Part 2: Red-Flag Real Estate and a Media Mess: The Plot Thickens!

As the weeks went by, a gnawing anxiety about the relationship settled in, like a roommate I didn’t ask for but couldn’t evict. There wasn’t any single event I could point to—just this constant sense that something was off. When I shared my feelings with him, he didn’t miss a beat. "You need to work on that and be comfortable in yourself," he said. The thing is, I *had* done a lot of work on myself, and I hadn’t felt like this before. But somehow, he made me believe it was all in my head, that I was the problem.

Then, one day out of the blue, I got a call from Mr. Exec. He announced that he was selling his beloved Bruny Island house, renting out his current place, and looking to buy something bigger. I was baffled—he’d always raved about that Bruny house, and why would a single man need a bigger place? Unless, of course, he had plans to expand his household.

Suddenly, I was bombarded with real estate links, with him asking for my opinion on multi-million dollar properties. Then, one Sunday, he invited me to go house-hunting with him. As we toured homes worth over a million dollars, I realized he was trying to sell me a lifestyle—planting the idea that this could be *our* life. I wanted to stay grounded; after all, we hadn’t been together that long, and I didn’t really know him. But it was hard not to be charmed by the idea that he saw a future with me, even if it was still early days.

Then, just two days later, it all came crashing down. It was a Tuesday at 7 a.m., and I got a call from him. His voice was tense as he told me that something really bad had happened. He was under investigation, and it had made national news—something to do with inappropriate conduct involving a female. My heart sank. I won’t go into the details of the investigation, as it’s ongoing, and despite everything, I still believe everyone deserves procedural fairness. But in that moment, I knew the fairytale he was spinning was about to unravel in the most spectacular, public way.

His daughter was supposed to go back to her mothers, but with everything going on, she decided to stay with him for an extra week. Fair enough, but that meant I couldn’t go over to his place, and he claimed his PR team had advised him not to be seen in public with me in case someone snapped a photo. I remember thinking, “Seriously? You’re an exec, not a Kardashian. Who’s going to care?” But I wanted to be supportive, so I didn’t pressure him to see me. Instead, I sat on the sidelines, and watched as the man I cared deeply about suffered.

What really gnawed at me, though, was that he’d known about the allegations since the Friday *before* we went house-hunting on Sunday. I mean, we’d spent that entire day touring million-dollar homes, and he acted like everything was perfectly normal—like he didn’t have a national scandal brewing in the background. Now, looking back, it freaks me out how effortlessly he carried on, as if nothing had changed. And honestly, I don’t think he would’ve ever told me if the story hadn’t hit the press. He would’ve just kept pretending, showing me open houses while keeping his own closet firmly shut.

In the days that followed, posts about him started cropping up in those infamous Facebook groups like "Sis, Is This Your Man?" and "Do We Have the Same Boyfriend?" You know, the digital equivalent of airing dirty laundry in the town square. At first, I thought it was just June and Joanne stirring the pot, so I ignored them. After all, there wasn’t anything new in those anonymous posts that I hadn’t already heard. But *he*—Mr. Calm-and-Collected-about-the-media-scandal—got absolutely livid about the Facebook posts. Odd, right? He was more upset about a couple of social media comments than a national investigation. That little detail stayed on my radar.

Time ticked on, and we were still planning our weekend getaway to Bruny Island. We had agreed that, despite everything, it was important to spend quality time together, especially with all the chaos swirling around us. It felt like the perfect chance to reconnect. But just a few days before our trip, I got a text: “Bad news, we can’t go to Bruny.” His reason? The open house for his place was on Saturday, and his adult son, who had been in the hospital, wanted him to break him out for the day. I couldn’t exactly argue with him about prioritizing his sick son over our weekend plans, could I? But deep down, I felt a pang of disappointment. It just seemed like yet another roadblock keeping us apart. One after another, obstacles kept cropping up, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it than just bad timing.

By Tuesday, he’d decided that selling the house was too much to deal with on top of everything else. So, on Friday night, we finally made our way to Bruny. Except it wasn’t the romantic, reconnecting weekend I had imagined. Instead, he spent the night getting drunk, listening to the saddest playlist ever, and falling asleep. Quality time, right? I started having serious doubts about the relationship. And, like clockwork, he must’ve sensed me pulling away, because after that, the attentiveness dialed up again.

Sunday morning, I went to yoga, and when I came out, I saw a bunch of missed calls and texts from him. Naturally, I panicked, thinking there was some kind of emergency. Nope. Just him being weirdly clingy out of nowhere. The rest of the week felt off, too. We’d made plans for him to come over to my place on Thursday for dinner, and he was supposed to stay the night. Originally, we were going to go out, but he requested we stay in, which seemed odd, but I went with it. Little did I know, things were about to unravel completely.

Thursday evening rolled around, and he showed up at 5:30 p.m. sharp. As soon as I opened the door, he dropped this bomb: “There’s been a disaster, and I have to work tonight. But I’m here for dinner, and I’ll go back to work at 8:30.” Disappointed but understanding, I figured, okay, the job comes first. But then came the *weirdest* part—he suddenly felt the need to prove his intentions. “I was intending to stay,” he said, leading me by the hand to his car. “Look, here’s my overnight bag,” he pointed out, like a magician revealing his trick. I hadn’t doubted him in the first place, but this whole production felt unnecessary like he was performing for an audience that didn’t exist. Something was off.

After dinner, I decided to cut to the chase. I asked him outright, "Do you actually want to continue this relationship, or are you just sticking around because you’re worried another woman is going to be mad at you?" He turned to me, looking all serious and said, "No, I want to be with you. I want to build a future together." Classic line, right? He even promised that we'd redo our weekend plans and that life would settle down. Cue the dramatic phone *ding*, and suddenly he’s rushing outside to make a call.

When he came back in, he was visibly shaken. "There’s another post about me on one of those Facebook groups," he said, running a hand through his hair like he was in the middle of a soap opera. He asked me to check for it, but when I looked, I couldn't find anything. Then, he told me his PA had sent him a screenshot, but when I asked to see it, he got all cagey, holding his phone like it contained state secrets. The post was from a group I wasn’t in, so naturally, I requested to join. While I was at it, I found another similar group and requested to join that one too. If there were skeletons in this guy’s closet, I was going to find them.

He got more and more agitated by the second and then announced that he had to go to work. No explanation, just left me sitting there, totally confused, wondering what the hell had just happened. I checked the posts again—nothing new, nothing that hadn’t been said before. Yet there I was, left with this sinking feeling that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't seeing the full picture.

The next day, I was accepted into the second Facebook group I’d requested to join, and let me tell you, that’s when the real drama started to unfold. There was an anonymous post about Mr. Exec, but this one hit differently. It wasn’t the usual "Is this your man?" kind of post. Nope, this time a woman claimed to have met his *girlfriend* at a gala dinner back in August. Here's the kicker—I was *not* at any gala dinner in August!

Naturally, I called him, asking, "WTF is this?!" He sounded anxious, fumbling for an excuse, saying, "Oh, that’s just Sally." According to him, Sally was someone he’d briefly dated in January, and now she was out to cause trouble. But the plot thickened—apparently, Sally had been at a gala in August where *Karen*, one of his "friends," was also in attendance. Karen, who, surprise, surprise, was allegedly in love with him, was super upset to find out he would date a woman like Sally, who was apparently drunk and making a fool of herself and not her. I mean, I couldn’t even keep up at this point.

I sat there, trying to make sense of it all. "So, let me get this straight," I said. "There are multiple women who seem to think they’re in a relationship with you, and you’re saying they’re all just delusional? That’s a bit... weird."

Then I asked the real question: "If Karen’s such a close friend, does she know about me?"

Silence. Then came his stammered response, "No... we, uh, we don't talk about relationships"

That didn’t sit right with me at all. "Wait, if you guys are such good friends, how does it make sense that she doesn’t know about me?" I asked, knowing I was hitting a nerve.

He started to get more and more agitated and then dropped the classic, "I’m at work, I really can’t talk right now."

Of course, he was at work! And there I was, driving to Port Arthur with my daughter, who had headphones on but probably sensed the chaos brewing. As I hung up, I could feel the walls closing in. This was the beginning of the end, and I had a feeling things were about to get even messier.

By the time I hit Eagle Hawk Neck, my anger boiled over, and I couldn’t hold back. I replied to the post, asking the anonymous commenter to contact me. Within moments, I was on the phone with Sally, and my heart sank as she revealed her side of the story.

Sally had been dating Mr. Exec from January until early June. She had a gut feeling that something wasn’t right, which is why she ended things. What really struck a chord was her belief that he was using his time with his teenage daughter as an excuse to juggle his other women. I asked her about the gala, since I was with him in August. She described how she’d arrived and noticed his name was on her table but that he hadn’t shown up. When she inquired about his absence, others at her table informed her that his daughter was sick, and one of them pointed out *Karen* as his girlfriend.

Sally introduced herself to Karen and discovered that she had been seeing Mr. Exec since October 2023! The moment Sally shared her timeline, Karen asked for proof, which Sally provided, and I can only imagine the chaos that ensued. Karen burst into tears and called him, while Sally decided to remove herself from the situation, leaving Karen in shock.

I felt physically ill as I absorbed all of this. I was beyond livid. I texted Mr. Exec, laying it all out—everything I’d learned. But what I got back was just more spin and denial, as if I were the one making it all up.

I reminded him of that weekend he’d told me he was going to Bruny with his daughter, and I pointed out how strange it was that he would take another woman to a gala and hide that from me. The web of lies was suffocating, and I’d had enough. In that moment, I ended it right there, feeling both a sense of relief and a weight of betrayal all at once.

I was supposed to be having lovely mother-and-daughter time over the weekend in Port Arthur, but instead, I found myself battling a whirlwind of emotions. While trying to keep a brave face for my daughter, my heart felt heavy with heartbreak. Each smile I forced felt like a mask over the turmoil inside me.

The next day, I decided to reach out to June. I owed her an apology for not believing her earlier. She responded graciously and kindly, assuring me she understood my hesitation. As we talked, June revealed that she had uncovered at least seven other women who had been involved with him around the same time. Each of them had similar stories about how safe he made them feel, yet they too had suspicions about the unusual amount of time he spent with his teenage daughter.

June kept in touch with me over that weekend, and her support was invaluable. She helped me navigate my feelings and reminded me that I wasn’t alone in this mess. It was comforting to know that I wasn’t the only one he had manipulated, and together, we bonded over our shared experiences. Despite the heartbreak, I felt a flicker of strength rising within me, buoyed by the solidarity of women who had been wronged by the same man.

There is still so much to tell so I'll write part 3 tomorrow!