The 999th Unlock

My best friend caught my boyfriend cheating nine times. Except every single time, she had just climbed out of his bed. Seven years into our relationship, I received a photo of my boyfriend walking a woman back to his place for the ninth time. Before I could even process it, my best friend, Summer, rushed over in the dead of night to catch him in the act for me. She sent me videos of the wrecked apartment, crying hysterically and swearing she had slapped him across the face on my behalf. I almost believed her. Again. Until I zoomed in on the photo and spotted the limited-edition bracelet on the woman’s wrist. The exact one I had gifted Summer. Right then, a notification popped up from my boyfriend's smart lock: "Family member Summer has unlocked the door. This is her 999th entry." I checked the access history, and my hands began to tremble. On all nine of those supposed cheating busts, the person unlocking the door with their fingerprint in the dead of night was Summer. The first eight times, she cussed out Carter for me, cried with me, and urged me to forgive him. And every single time, she had just gotten off my boyfriend, cleaned herself up, and came right back to play the loyal best friend. There was never a third person in that room. The two people I trusted most in this world—one handled the betrayal, and the other provided the alibi. I booked a train ticket out of town. Then, I dropped the nine photos and the log showing 999 entries right into our group chat on SnapChat. "I found the other woman." …… I had zoomed in on the bracelet and circled it in red. After the message went through, the chat stayed dead silent for a long time. Summer was the first to reply with a question mark. Then came her texts: "Sienna, what's this supposed to mean?" "Did you misunderstand something?" "Just connecting the dots," I replied, pretending to brush it off. Staring at the silent screen afterward, I let out a cold laugh. Carter hadn’t said a single word from start to finish. To confirm my suspicions, I called Carter’s housekeeper, Clara. When the call connected, Clara’s voice was hesitant. "Miss Vance, it’s so late. Why aren't you asleep?" "Does Summer go over to Carter’s place often?" I asked directly. A heavy silence dragged on at the other end. Finally, Clara replied, "Miss Hayes and Mr. Hayes are close friends. It’s normal for her to visit." "Is it normal? Does she go there even when Carter isn't home?" I scoffed. "Clara, don't forget who gave you this job." Clara paused before admitting, "Sometimes she goes in when Mr. Hayes isn't there, saying she needs to pick up contracts." I gripped my phone tighter. "Was she there on the night of September seventeenth?" "Yes," Clara whispered. "That day, Mr. Hayes told me to change the sheets on the master bed. He also told me to put away the framed photo of you on the nightstand." A chill ran through my fingertips. He had planned it all so meticulously. He had wiped away every trace in advance. To him, I was probably just an idiot who was easy to fool. After hanging up, I sat on the living room floor, staring at the nine photos once more. The first one was from last winter. Carter, with his arm around a woman in a white dress, walking through the door. The second one was the night of my birthday. He had claimed a client changed a project last minute and said he couldn't make it to dinner. In the photo, a woman leaned against his shoulder, holding the hangover meds I had bought for him. The ninth one was taken tonight. I zoomed in. The bracelet on Summer’s wrist was clear as day. I had spent two months tracking it down for her birthday two years ago. When she opened it, she hugged me in tears, saying it was the best gift she had ever received. And now, she was wearing my gift while sleeping with my boyfriend. A sudden wave of nausea hit me. I bolted to the bathroom, gripping the sink counter as I dry-heaved uncontrollably. After washing my face, I pulled up the travel app. From this city back to my northern hometown, leaving the night before Thanksgiving. When the payment went through, staring at the confirmation text on the screen, tears welled up in my eyes. In the seven years I had spent with Carter, I had brought up going back north so many times. I wanted to visit home. I wanted Carter to come with me. My grandmother had left me an old photography studio there. Every single time, Carter claimed he was too busy. The first year, the studio was just starting out. The second year, he had to secure new venue leases. Later, when Summer joined the company, Carter barely even bothered making excuses. He would just say, "Go stay for a couple of days if you want, just don't neglect your work." It felt like my life was forever forced to take a back seat to his business and Summer. At two in the morning, the front door unlocked. Carter walked in, holding a takeout bowl of clear broth noodles. Seeing me sitting on the couch, he visibly breathed a sigh of relief. "Still awake?" He set the bowl on the table. "The diner downstairs was still open. I told the cook no scallions and light on the salt." Two perfectly fried eggs floated in the broth. Carter knew about my chronic stomach issues. He also knew that when I worked late into the night, this was the only thing I could stomach. Back when he used to travel for business, he would always schedule food delivery to my studio. The order note was always the same: No scallions, light salt, no cilantro. I used to think that remembering those tiny details meant he truly loved me. Looking back now, it was probably just the easiest way to keep me placated. Carter walked over, reaching out to pat my head. "I saw the photos in the chat." "Don't overthink this. I didn't cheat on you. Summer was just worried I had too much to drink and walked me back to grab some files. A lot of people have that bracelet. Don't go scaring yourself." I turned my face away and slapped his hand aside. "Then why does she have her fingerprint registered on your door? Do you remember what you promised me?" Carter’s hand froze in midair. He stayed silent for two seconds, then handed me the forks. "Eat your noodles first." "You haven't eaten all day." I looked straight into his eyes. "Carter, answer me. You said yourself that the fingerprint lock would only ever belong to the woman of the house." He furrowed his brows. "She grabs documents for me sometimes. Registering her print was just more convenient. It’s no big deal." "If it bothers you that much, I'll delete her access tomorrow." Before I could reply, Carter’s phone screen lit up. Summer sent a voice note, sobbing uncontrollably. "Carter, I'm out here all alone and I'm terrified. I don't dare go home..." Carter’s expression shifted instantly. He grabbed his jacket and moved toward the door. "Are you going to look over contracts in the middle of the night again?" I asked. "I'm just driving her home. It's late and it's not safe for a girl alone." I stared at him, my heart turning ice-cold. "What about me? Do you even remember that I'm your girlfriend?" Carter paused at the door, softening his tone. "Sienna, stop letting your imagination run wild." "I'll be right back." With that, he walked out without looking back. After the door clicked shut, I stared at the bowl of noodles. The steam slowly drifted away. I carried the bowl into the kitchen and dumped it into the trash can. Cold noodles tasted awful. And as for Carter—I was done with him, too.The next morning, Carter surprisingly didn't go into the office. He picked up the camera I had left on the table. "The lens is jammed. Let's go get it fixed." That camera had been with me for seven years. After I graduated and booked my very first wedding gig, Carter had saved up three months of his salary to buy it for me. That night, carrying my gear bag, he waited outside the venue with me until dawn. When I snapped the final shot, he pressed a warm coffee into my hands. With a bright grin, he told me, "Sienna, go capture all the beauty in the world. I'll always have your back." I didn't turn him down and went along to the repair shop. The technician took the lens apart and frowned. "Moisture got inside. Has this been sitting in a humid environment lately?" It hit me instantly—Summer loved placing damp towels right next to where I stored my camera gear. Doing it once or twice wouldn't cause this kind of damage. It took constant, prolonged exposure. I glanced at Carter, but he avoided my gaze. All he said was, "Fix whatever needs fixing. Cost doesn't matter." Leaving the repair shop, I looked at him. "How many times has Summer actually been inside our place?" Carter’s face hardened. "Sienna, stop digging into this." "I already told you, it's a misunderstanding. There's nothing between me and Summer." I stared at him. "Can you say no to her, just once, for my sake?" Carter went dead silent. The wind on the street felt biting cold. He tried to reach out to zip up my coat, but I shoved his hand away. "Carter, we're over." Carter hurried after me, opening his mouth as if to say more. I didn't want to hear another word. I headed straight to the company. I owned a stake in this business; I couldn't just abandon it completely. Summer was sitting in the conference room, crying her eyes out. A client complaint was laid out on the table. In the wedding gallery delivered to a client, private party photos of Summer had somehow been mixed in. The client was demanding a full refund and threatening legal action over privacy violations. Seeing me walk in, Summer’s tears fell even faster. "Sienna, I was just helping you double-check the raw files yesterday. I must have dragged the wrong folder by mistake." "I really didn't mean to." I logged into the system backend to check the history. The file modification timestamp showed 2:00 AM. I had been at home at that hour. Summer was the one with administrative access. "This isn't the export I finalized," I stated coldly. Summer turned pale. "Are you saying I framed you on purpose?" Carter rushed in right then, immediately frowning and instinctively taking her side. "Let's focus on handling the client first." I looked up at him. "The login logs can prove exactly who did it." "So what if they do?" Carter snapped, his patience wearing thin. "The client already filed a formal complaint, and Summer is terrified." "Can't you show a little accountability?" My chest tightened painfully. "What about my professional reputation?" Carter looked at me. "You're the head of post-production. You need to apologize first." "I'll cover the financial loss." I froze. "I didn't do it. Why should I be the one to apologize?" Carter lowered his voice. "Because you're the most qualified person to smooth this over." "Summer just started taking on accounts. She can't have a stain on her record right now." I stared at him. It turned out he knew exactly who was at fault. My reputation was simply more expendable—a convenient shield to take the bullet for Summer. I shoved the complaint form back across the desk. "I can offer the client a complimentary reshoot." "But I will never take the blame for something I didn't do." Summer sobbed, "Sienna, I'm so sorry, I really didn't do it on purpose." Carter stepped right in front of her. "That's enough." "Look at the state she's in. How much further do you plan on pushing her?" I looked at him. "Carter, I just want her to admit her mistake. It's not the end of the world." "She can't handle it!" he blurted out. Then, as if realizing how bad it sounded, he tried to backtrack. "You're stronger than she is." Those words hit like a needle. The initial prick wasn't unbearable. The real pain came from the fact that it couldn't be pulled out. "I'm not apologizing." With that, I turned around and walked out. That evening, Carter came home carrying my favorite chestnut cake, along with fresh batteries he had bought for my camera bag. "I didn't handle things well today," he admitted softly. "I know how much that camera means to you." I looked up at him. Carter placed an agreement on the table. "Sign off on the client's refund settlement first." "Cash flow is tight at the company right now. Once things settle down, I'll pay you back out of pocket." I flipped to the final page. Every single cent of the liability was assigned to me. The chestnut cake sat beside the papers, piped with frosting that read: "Sienna, please don't be mad." A bitter laugh escaped my throat. "Did you buy this cake just to get me to sign?" Carter’s expression shifted. "I'm trying to clean up your mess." "My mess? Or Summer's?" He fell silent. I pushed the agreement back to him. "I'm not signing." Carter stared at me for a long time. Finally, he said, "Take a couple of days to cool off. You still need to deal with the client." Once he left, I sliced the chestnut cake open. Half went straight into the trash can. The other half, I gave to the night guard downstairs. Then, I opened my banking app and systematically transferred all the project earnings that rightfully belonged to me back into my personal account. I used to not care about keeping strict tabs on money because I viewed us as a team, a family. Now, every single penny needed to be accounted for.In the end, I was the one who went to apologize to the client. I refused to let my professional name be dragged through the mud. The next day, Carter asked me to meet him at a private lounge. He claimed the backend logs had been verified. The person who modified the files was indeed Summer. Standing at the doorway of the meeting room, a slight weight lifted off my chest. Over the past two days, I had been waiting. Waiting for the truth, hoping Carter still had a shred of decency left. Yet, after sliding the printed log over to me, he spoke: "Summer broke down crying." "Her mental state is fragile. She can't handle a client coming after her." I raised my head. "So? What did you tell the client?" Carter kept his voice low. "Let's wipe the logs." "Let's just leave it at this. You already apologized anyway." "You're handling the client's account, so just cover the settlement." "Carter, this wasn't my fault. Why should I be the one paying for it?" I refused flatly. He was quiet for a long moment. "You're the best person for it. Besides, she didn't do it on purpose." A wave of coldness washed over me. "You want me to take the fall? You're asking me to take the blame for her fraud? Why on earth would I agree to that?" Carter placed his hand over my phone. "Sienna, don't blow this out of proportion." "She can't take the hit." I pulled my hand back. "So that means I can?" Carter looked at me, exhaustion etched into his eyes. "You've always been stronger than her." I let out a faint laugh. My eyes stung. All these years, he praised me for being sensible, praised me for being independent, praised me for being resilient. It wasn't out of love or pride. It was just so he could dump every single grievance and burden onto me with a clean conscience. I went back to the studio to grab my external hard drives. The moment I pushed the door open, I saw a new promo banner hanging on the wall. Summer was wearing my studio apron, holding my camera in her hands. Beneath the image ran the caption: "Summer Hayes, Lead Creative Director of the Carter Wedding Media Team." I recognized that camera instantly. There was a small scratch along the rim of the lens. I had gotten that during my very first wedding shoot when I tripped on the venue stairs out of pure nerves. Just yesterday, Carter and I had taken it to the shop together. The receptionist murmured timidly, "Mr. Hayes said you were taking time off, so he let Manager Hayes borrow it for a few days." Summer walked out from the back office, looking pale and fragile. "Sienna, I... I didn't know this was your camera." I held out my hand toward her. "Give it back." She didn't move. Carter walked down the hallway toward us. "The promotional campaign is already live. Let her use it for a couple of days." I looked at him. "This belongs to me." "It's just a camera," Carter frowned. "She needs to secure these accounts right now. Stop making a scene over trivial things." I pointed straight at the wall. "The camera is mine." "The workstation is mine." "Even the portfolio shots on display were taken by me." "And now she's standing there, claiming she's the Lead Creative Director." Tears spilled down Summer’s cheeks instantly. "I only wanted to help out..." Carter pulled her behind him. "Don't talk to her like that." A surge of sheer absurdity washed over me. Over the past seven years, how many weddings had I shot for Carter? How many sleepless nights had I endured? How much pride had I swallowed, putting on a smiling face for difficult clients? That was how this studio grew into what it was today. And with one word that Summer needed it, I was expected to hand everything over. In the end, simply asking for my own stolen property back was framed as me bullying Summer. I snatched my camera back. "Starting today, I'm not taking on another company project." Carter’s face twisted. "Are you going to throw a tantrum over this forever?" I looked him dead in the eye, my voice devoid of warmth. "It's not about the camera." "It's about me finally realizing there was never a place for me here to begin with." Back at the apartment, I packed up my hard drives, contracts, and photography equipment, shipping everything straight to my hometown up north.On my final day, Carter noticed several boxes missing from the apartment. He stood in the bedroom doorway, watching me take down picture frames. "Where did your equipment go?" "Shipped it back home." Carter blinked, momentarily stunned. Then, a visible sense of relief washed over his face. "Going back for a few days is good for you." "Once you cool off, I'll drive up to pick you up." My hands paused. "What if I'm not coming back?" He chuckled. "You will." Carter took the frame from my hands and helped unfasten the clips on the back. "The weather is damp up north. I'll book you a nice hotel." He bent down to help fold my clothes. "Haven't your parents been asking about you? It's the perfect time to stay with them for a couple of days." I stared at him. "Do you even remember the last time I went home?" Carter’s hands froze. He had no answer. The doorbell rang. Summer stood outside with a rolling suitcase, her eyes red and puffy. Carter took her luggage without hesitation. "She's staying here for a few days." I looked up. "Here?" "She's terrified of staying alone right now," Carter explained as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "You're heading north anyway. The spare room is just sitting empty." I clutched the sweater in my hands, my knuckles turning white. "I haven't left yet." Summer immediately tugged at Carter’s sleeve. "Never mind, Carter. I can stay at a hotel. I don't want to make Sienna uncomfortable." Her meekness only made Carter more protective. "You don't always have to shortchange yourself." He turned to me. "Sienna, she's only staying temporarily." I smiled coldly. "Funny, considering she's already unlocked that front door 999 times." Summer’s face drained of color. Carter’s voice dropped low and warningly. "Drop the door lock thing." "You know how much it hurts her to hear that." I stared at him. "And what about me? Doesn't it hurt me? When the two of you were crawling into bed behind my back, did either of you give a damn about how I felt?" Carter dragged me into the kitchen, his voice a frantic whisper. "I told you, it's a misunderstanding! She's mentally fragile right now!" "Just let her stay for a few days." "You can't deny a friend a place to crash just because you're heading home to clear your head." In that moment, a crushing weight settled onto my chest. I had spent seven years turning this apartment into a home. And in the end, he was moving Summer right in. I took our framed photo off the wall and held it out to Summer. "Hang yours up instead. We're over, Carter." Summer didn't take it. Carter snatched the frame, his expression ugly. "Do you really have to talk like that?" I looked at him. "I'm being remarkably polite." That afternoon, Clara handed me an old canvas pouch. Inside was a worn Polaroid. In the photo, Carter stood outside my grandmother's old studio, holding up a handmade wooden sign: "Sienna's First Creative Studio." Back then, he was dead broke. He had nailed the boards together with his own hands. Running my thumb over the edges of the photo, a sharp sting hit the back of my eyes. Carter helped load the last heavy box into the trunk of the car. At the train station, he reached over to adjust my seatbelt. "Stop acting out. Quit throwing the breakup word around, alright? Just clear your head." "Text me when you get there." Right on cue, Summer’s call came through. Sobbing, she claimed she couldn't find an important contract and panicked about whether the company was ruined. Carter’s face went pale. He looked at me. "Go ahead inside." "Once I handle this, I'll drive up north to find you." I took the camera bag from his grip. "Don't bother." Carter frowned. "Sienna, stop playing games." "Summer is having a hard time." Looking at him, every ounce of desire to argue evaporated. "Don't worry, Carter." "From now on, I'll never make things difficult for you again." I turned around and walked through the terminal gates. Once aboard, I muted Carter’s notifications. I deleted Summer’s chat thread. Then, I powered off my phone. As the train pulled away from the platform, Carter’s phone vibrated in his pocket. It was a text from Clara: "Mr. Hayes, Miss Vance shipped all her things out this afternoon. She left her keys on the entryway console." Staring at those words, the blood slowly drained from his face.