My President Boyfriend Gave My Bonus to His Mistress

Beckett called me into his office at nine sharp. I knew something was wrong before I sat down.

Ivey Mendoza was already there. She leaned against his desk in a cream silk blouse, champagne-blonde extensions falling over one shoulder. She held her phone like a crown. She was supposed to be the daughter of Marco Mendoza, a board member. She never let anyone forget it.

She bent down and whispered something in Beckett's ear. He nodded.

"Makenna," he said. He adjusted his watch. The watch I bought him for our third anniversary. He told people he'd bought it himself. "We're moving the Sterling project to Ivey."

My fingers went still on my knee. "I designed that project. I negotiated it. Julian Sterling signed because of my plan."

"And we're grateful." He smiled. It was his boardroom smile. "Your year-end bonus goes to Ivey too. She'll be leading now."

"Based on what?"

"Babe, be realistic." He tilted his head, like I was a child. "Ivey has the connections this project needs. I'm doing what's best for the company."

Ivey laughed softly. "Don't take it personally, sweetie. Some of us are built for the boardroom. Not the backroom."

Beckett slid a paper across the desk. A reassignment memo. Warehouse. Manual inventory.

"Temporary restructuring," he said.

I looked at the man I'd loved since Columbia. The man I'd stood with on a rainy rooftop, promising forever. The man I'd quietly placed in this company, one string at a time, until he became president. He didn't know any of that. He didn't know my last name meant anything at all.

I folded the memo once. "Understood."

His jaw twitched. He'd expected tears.

---

The warehouse smelled like cardboard and machine oil. The lights buzzed. I worked alone in the back aisle, counting boxes, scanning labels.

Then I heard the groan of metal.

I looked up. The shelf was leaning. Then it was falling.

I threw my arm over my head. Boxes slammed into my shoulder. A steel edge tore through my sleeve. I hit the concrete hard.

"Oh my God! Makenna!"

Footsteps. Chloe Vance, a junior associate from upstairs, dropped to her knees beside me. Her hands shook as she pushed boxes away.

"Are you okay? You're bleeding."

"I'm fine." My sleeve was turning dark red.

Chloe looked at the base of the shelf. Her face went pale. "Makenna," she said quietly. "These bolts. They're loose. Somebody unscrewed them."

We looked at each other. Neither of us said Ivey's name.

"Should I call the manager?" she asked.

"No." I pulled out my phone. I took pictures of every bolt, every angle. My arm throbbed with each click. "Not yet."

---

That night, the apartment was dark. Beckett wasn't home. He hadn't been home much lately.

I walked into the bedroom and sat on the bed. Then I smelled it. His cologne, yes. But under it, something sweet and floral. Not mine.

I pressed my palm flat against the sheet. It was cold.

My eyes drifted to the shelf. The brown teddy bear sat there, like always. Beckett gave it to me on our first Valentine's Day. I used to talk to it on nights he worked late. Silly, I know.

Something about its left eye looked wrong. Too shiny. Too glassy.

I stood. I picked it up. I found the seam behind its head and pulled it open with my fingers.

Inside was a tiny camera. A small red light blinked at me.

On. Off. On. Off.

It was live.

---

I set up the network in this apartment myself. Beckett never even learned the router password. It took me forty minutes to follow the signal. It led to one place. Ivey Mendoza's phone. Her laptop. Her cloud storage.

Weeks of saved footage.

I opened one file. Ivey and Beckett on a white leather couch. Wine glasses in their hands. My bedroom on the TV screen in front of them.

I watched myself on that screen. Sitting on the bed. Holding the bear.

Ivey's voice came through, sweet and cruel. "Oh my God, she's talking to the bear again. She actually thinks he loves her."

Beckett laughed. Really laughed. His head fell back against the cushion.

I didn't cry. I didn't move. Something inside me went very quiet, like a door closing in an empty house.

I sewed the seam shut. I put the bear back on the shelf. Same angle. Same spot. Red light still blinking.

Then I walked into the kitchen, out of its view, and picked up my phone.

Kenneth Greene answered on the first ring. My father's right hand. He had been waiting five years for this call.

"Miss Collins."

I straightened my cuff over the bandage.

"It's time."

---

The next morning, I made a cold black Americano and opened my laptop.

Years ago, I had built Beckett's corporate accounts myself. I kept the access codes. He never asked. He never thought he had to.

I logged in to the subsidiary's financial system. Rain tapped against the window.

By noon, I had found it. Shell companies with boring names. Transfers in small, careful amounts. Millions of dollars, sliding offshore. Every approval carried Beckett's digital signature.

I took screenshots. Every ledger entry. Every timestamp. Every account number.

I encrypted the files and sent them to a private cloud drive.

Then I sat back and finished my coffee.

In the bedroom, the bear was still watching.

Let it watch.