Chapter 2

On the way home, I drove mechanically while trying to recall who that man was. Suddenly, it hit me. This was Vanessa's flight manager, an old man over twenty years her senior. Not only was he balding, but he was also as fat as a pig. It was hard to believe how someone like him became a manager. From what Vanessa had mentioned, this manager was married but had a troubled relationship. He wasn't happy in his own marriage, yet he wanted to ruin others' relationships—what a scumbag! Once home, I immediately contacted a private detective. "Help me find out everything about the man in this photo, and keep an eye on their activities." After looking at the photos, the detective sighed repeatedly. "Modern women really have strange tastes." I couldn't agree more, but for Vanessa to be involved with him, he must have some special charm. "I'll send you the results as soon as possible." I barely slept all night, staying awake until dawn. Just then, the door opened, and Vanessa walked in. Pretending to have just woken up, I asked, "Didn't you have an early shift?" Her gait was odd, but she still managed a smile at me. "Someone covered for me last minute. I was exhausted from the night shift and didn’t feel like flying." I sneered inwardly: Probably not tired from work, but from being worn out by that fatso. She went straight into the bathroom to shower, as usual tossing her pantyhose into the trash. Suppressing my disgust, I picked them up and found they were intact this time, but there were several patches of milky white stains in one area. "Gag..." I couldn't help but retch. Shortly after, Vanessa, naked, crawled into bed. "Honey, I missed you..." As she spoke, she hooked her arms around my neck to kiss me. Thinking about where those lips might have been, I felt another wave of nausea. Turning away, I made up an excuse. "I haven't brushed my teeth since waking up. Rest well; I need to take care of some work." "Okay, darling, I want codfish. Can you make it for me when I wake up?" I closed my eyes, struggling to control the urge to punch her. She betrayed me just now and now expects me to cook for her? Am I that pathetic? But I held back and nodded, "Sure, sleep well." No sooner had I spoken than Vanessa fell asleep. Clearly, last night had taken a toll on her. Once I confirmed she was sound asleep, I grabbed her phone to check it. To my dismay, she had changed her password. Since we started dating, we knew each other’s phone passwords and even recorded each other’s fingerprints. But now, neither the password nor the fingerprint worked. Reluctantly, I carefully pressed one of her fingers against the phone, unlocked it, and opened the chat app. There was nothing unusual. I checked her contacts—colleagues, classmates, close friends, family, and me—but found nothing suspicious. This frustrated me; she must have deleted any incriminating messages. As I scrolled through her contacts, a symbol caught my eye. Vanessa had added prefixes to most of her colleagues’ names, but one name stood out because it lacked any prefix. Opening it, I saw their chat history. Instantly, my scalp tingled, and my hands trembled.