'I was dating a very small-time celebrity, until I discovered something I couldn't unsee.'

As told to Ann DeGrey.

I met my boyfriend Jake while we were both working at the same radio station. I worked in sales while he was in the newsroom and, from the moment we started talking, there was a spark.

He had this big, confident personality, the kind that filled a room. He wasn't exactly famous, but in his mind, he was. He did the sports new updates, and while most people wouldn't recognise him on the street, he acted like he was a household name.

At first, I found it charming. Our relationship moved fast with weekend getaways, nice dinners at fancy restaurants and surprise gifts. It was fun, exciting. We had the same self-deprecating sense of humour. I liked that we could talk about work and understand each other's pressures. It felt like a really solid match.

But then, the warning bells started ringing.

Watch: Red flags to watch out for. Post continues below.

The first red flag came one afternoon when a colleague, Lisa, pulled me aside in the lunchroom. She looked uncomfortable, barely looking me in the eye.

"I don't know if I should say anything, but I think you should know… Jake hit on me a few weeks ago."

I was shocked. "What?"

She nodded. "He was really flirty. Said we should 'get a drink sometime.' I reminded him he had a girlfriend, and he just laughed it off."

At first, I told myself it didn't mean anything. Maybe he was just being friendly. Maybe Lisa misread it. Or maybe Lisa was lying and she'd been flirting with Jake? So I let it go.

A few months later, the second red flag was waved in my face when another colleague, Emma, approached me. This time, there was no hesitation. 

"I have to tell you something. Your boyfriend is a creep," she said. 

I felt my heart sink.

She told me he'd been messaging her late at night, complimenting her in a way that went beyond friendly. When she finally confronted him, saying, "But you're not single, you have a girlfriend," he shook his head. 

"Oh, that's just casual. We have an open relationship."

Oh, really? An open relationship? That was news to me! I felt sick. What a sleazebag.

We were exclusive, and we had never discussed anything else.

I should have ended things right then. But somehow, I convinced myself that maybe it was a misunderstanding. Maybe he was just an idiot who didn't realise how his words could be misinterpreted.

I still wasn't ready to see the truth.

Then, I found out about his Raya attempts.

For those who don't know, Raya is an exclusive dating app for celebrities and high-profile people. You can't just sign up; you have to be accepted. Actors, athletes, musicians, real A-listers — they're the ones who get in.

Jake? Well, he was a small-time radio sports journalist in Australia. On a station most people barely listened to.

One night, a producer at work casually mentioned it over drinks.

"Did you know that Jake has been trying to get on Raya?"

I nearly choked on my wine.

"Raya? As in the dating app?"

"Yep. And they keep rejecting him."

I couldn't stop laughing. It was just so… pathetic. He genuinely thought he was famous enough to be on an app meant for celebrities. The ego!

Of course, the humour faded quickly when I realised what it meant. He wasn't just flirting with women at work — he was actively trying to meet someone else.

Then came the final nail in the coffin: the Tinder profile.

A week later, another colleague, clearly enjoying the drama, sent me a screenshot.

It was Jake. On Tinder.

There was no doubt it was him. Same photos. Same bio. Looking for "fun and adventure".

I stared at my phone, rage literally bubbling in my chest. He wasn't even trying to hide it. He wasn't just lying to me, he was actively searching for other women while still coming home to me every night. I was done.

That night, I confronted him. I asked him if he was on the dating app. 

His face went bright red. "What? No! Of course not."

I held up my phone, showing him the screenshot. "Try again."

For a second, he just stared at it. Then, instead of apologising, instead of even trying to explain, he yelled at me.

"You're overreacting! You're an idiot!"

It was just an old profile that he'd forgotten to delete, he said.

"And Raya? Was that an accident too?"

His mouth opened, then closed. He had no excuse.

I grabbed my bag and walked out, and I haven't heard from him since. No apology, no attempt to explain. Nothing.

I won't lie; there was a part of me that missed him. We had fun together, and for a while, I really thought we had something special. But the man I thought I loved didn't exist. He was just an insecure, arrogant guy who wanted to feel important.

Now, I'm with someone new. And I can finally laugh about it.

Because, honestly — Raya? Jake, please.

Feature image: Getty.