The Vitamin Protocol

Maya's iPhone vibrated against her nightstand at 2:47 AM—the fifth time that week. She rolled away from David, his breathing deep and rhythmic, and tapped the screen. A corporate email. From David's account.

Three months ago, Maya had installed the spy app herself, suspicious of her husband's late nights at OmniHealth, where they both worked. David led their new vitamin supplement division; Maya handled regulatory compliance. The promotion he'd received had come with odd restrictions—classified research, nondisclosure agreements signed in duplicate.

The email contained a spreadsheet: "Vitamin X - Trial Results." Maya's fingers trembled as she scrolled. Phase III clinical data. The placebo group showed no improvement. The treatment group—the ones taking OmniHealth's new vitamin D supplement—had developed unexpected neurological symptoms. Memory loss. Tremors.

David knew. He'd known for months.

Maya slipped from bed, padding to the kitchen. The bottle of OmniHealth Vitamin D sat on their counter—she'd been taking it for six weeks, ever since David insisted the company's new formula would help with her chronic fatigue. Her hands. Had they always shaken slightly?

She opened the app on her phone again, scrolling through David's messages. Clinical trial participants considered "acceptable losses." Launch timeline prioritized over additional safety studies. And then: an email from Maya herself, sent from David's account last week, declining an interview with the regulatory board because of "personal health concerns."

He'd been managing her too.

The iPhone glowed in the darkness, illuminating her betrayal. She wasn't just his wife. She was collateral damage, another acceptable loss in the quarterly report.

Maya walked to the bathroom and flushed the remaining vitamins. Then she returned to bed, lying beside the man who'd sacrificed her neurological function for a vitamin supplement's market launch. She'd need proof—more screenshots, forwarded emails, documented evidence. But not tonight.

Tonight, she'd let him sleep. Tomorrow, she'd show him what a real spy could do with a corporate email account and eight years of marriage to a compliance officer.