'My girlfriend and I were struggling for money. Then I found her secret account.'

As told to Ann DeGrey.

When I first met Kayley, I thought she was the love of my life.

We were introduced by mutual friends and within minutes, we'd bonded over something most people in their 30s didn't care about: opera.

She loved Puccini; I preferred Verdi, and we spent the whole night debating which composer told a better story through music. It was refreshing to meet someone who shared my passion.

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Our relationship moved quickly. Within six months, we moved in together and life was pretty good until we fell on hard times.

The first tough thing that happened was when I lost my job. It wasn't anything to do with my performance — the company downsized, and I was one of the unlucky ones.

I thought I'd find something quickly, but weeks turned into months, and all those rejection emails piled up. Money became tight.

Kayley was incredibly supportive. She had a decent job at a publishing company, and she reassured me that we'd get through it together. And we did, for a short time. Then she lost her job too.

We were both unemployed, watching our savings slip away.  I eventually found another job, but the pay was nothing like what I used to make. We could afford rent and bills, but not much else. So our life really changed. 

We stopped going to the opera. No more fancy dinners, no spontaneous weekends away. Even takeaway meals became a rare treat. Our nights were mostly spent at home, eating simple dinners and trying to stay upbeat.

Kayley said she was struggling to find work. She sent out applications, took on small freelance graphic design gigs, but nothing steady came in. I felt bad for her. But I had no idea what was really going on.

One evening, I was browsing YouTube on her iPad that she'd left unlocked, when I noticed an account signed in that I didn't recognise.

"Luxe Whisperer."

I was curious, so I clicked on it. A video popped up, and there was Kayley, dressed stylishly, sitting in a well-lit room, smiling at the camera.

"Hi, everyone! It's the Luxe Whisperer here, and today I have a very special unboxing for you: Chanel's new limited-edition bag!"

What the hell was this I was looking at?

I clicked on more videos. There were dozens of them — Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Prada…

Bag after bag, brand after brand. She wasn't just reviewing them; she was talking about how much she loved "investing" in luxury items, giving tips on how to spot fakes, showing off designer shoes, perfumes and watches.

It made absolutely no sense. We barely had enough money to cover groceries; where was she getting all of this?

That night, when she came home from a friend's place (which is where she recorded her videos), I was sitting at the table with her YouTube channel playing on my laptop.

She froze, with a horrified expression on her face.

"Want to explain this?" I asked. She didn't say a word, but she sat beside me.

"When were you going to tell me? Before or after you bought another designer bag with money we supposedly don't have?"

She started to cry and told me she didn't mean to lie, she just didn't tell me everything.

She'd been ghostwriting books for wealthy clients, she said — self-help books, memoirs, even fiction. It paid well. Very well. But instead of using the money to help with our struggling finances, she used it to buy luxury handbags.

Then, she'd review them on her channel, build hype, and sell them for a profit.

She explained that she is now an influencer and that people trust her.  If she buys the right bags and sells them at the right time, she can make even more money.

So here I've been, living like we're broke, worried sick about money. And all this time, Kayley had a secret job because she wanted to be an influencer. I felt like an idiot.

All those nights I stressed over bills, all the times I told her I wished we could go to the opera again, all the moments I thought we were struggling together, she'd been sitting on a secret income, using it for things we could never afford as a couple.

I saw this as a huge betrayal, but it wasn't just about the money. It was the lies, the secrecy, the fact that she had let me think we were both drowning when, in reality, she had been happily staying afloat.

We tried to move past it. I loved her, so I wanted to try again. She swore she hadn't meant to hurt me, that it was just something she did for herself. But I couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal.  I felt that the trust was gone. And, just a month later, we broke up.

I never looked at her channel again, but a mutual friend told me she was doing very well, her subscriber count was climbing, and she had even started getting sponsorships.

I should be angry. And maybe I am, a little. But mostly, I just feel sad. 

She clearly didn't love me the way I loved her. So I guess our breakup was a blessing in disguise. 

The Kayley I fell in love with, the one who cared more about opera than handbags? She probably didn't ever exist.

Feature image: Getty.