Chapter 4

Given her transparency, Michael certainly couldn't bring himself to scrutinize her chat history.

Moreover, spreading such suspicions would be futile; none of his friends would believe it. They all insisted that if either of them were to stray, it would undoubtedly be Michael, not the demure and well-behaved Amanda.

Michael wondered if he was suffering from pre-wedding jitters, causing him to be overly suspicious.

He convinced himself to think generously and continued with the proposal preparations.

However, the small, stinging doubt in his heart remained, steadily leaking discomfort.

By early May, a friend inexplicably asked about his relationship with Amanda.

Michael grew suspicious and pressed for answers, eventually feigning distress to extract the truth. Reluctantly, his friend confessed to seeing Amanda at a Valeria hotel during the May Day holiday.

The friend, there with his own mistress, spotted Amanda walking in arm-in-arm with another man. He didn't greet Amanda, fearing the awkwardness, but knowing Michael was planning a surprise proposal, he felt compelled to inform him.

Life is long, and wearing a cuckold's hat occasionally is inevitable.

But once or twice is enough; one must cut losses in time. Wearing it perpetually is not an option, as that color is far from flattering.

Michael's mind buzzed. Amanda had indeed gone to Valeria during the holiday, supposedly with her girlfriends, as evidenced by numerous Disneyland photos on her social media.

Wait, something was amiss.

No other women appeared in those photos.

It was either solo shots of Amanda or ones with Mickey and Minnie, or scenic views of the park.

Michael checked Amanda's social media again, finding only the last three days visible.

However, among the visible photos was one from a dinner with "girlfriends" two days prior.

As he recalled, it similarly featured only the restaurant's setting, the dishes, and Amanda's selfies, but no girlfriends.

Endless suspicions sprouted like bamboo shoots after rain. Michael kept quiet and didn't confront her. Instead, he discreetly hired a private investigator.

Unexpectedly, Amanda, the supposedly innocent girl, had impressive counter-surveillance skills. It took nearly half a month for Michael to learn the lover's identity.

Anderson, thirty-four, not a local, stayed in Star Harbor after university, running an e-commerce company.

When and where they had started their affair was still unknown. Michael squinted at the photo of the handsome, tall, and slender man with a gentle smile, thinking, so Amanda prefers this type of "cultured scoundrel."

Indeed, quite different from himself.

Another detail in the report piqued Michael's interest.

The man was married. His wife, named Emily, was a well-known food blogger who had published several cookbooks.

Curiosity got the better of Michael, and he soon found Emily's social media.

She had many followers and high engagement, with fans affectionately calling her "Jiji."

Michael scoffed, thinking they sounded like a bunch of little mice.

He discovered one could purchase "Jiji's" online cooking classes on a culinary app. For $9.99, he bought a tutorial on "Three Ways to Cook Beef Brisket."

The woman in the video exuded the quintessential homemaker vibe.

The kind who would spend all day in the kitchen, making soups, meals, and desserts, and then rush out to greet her husband with a smile as soon as he walked through the door.

She meticulously explained each step and detail, her ponytail bobbing slightly, her makeup minimal, occasionally pushing up her black-rimmed glasses.

Her round face, round eyes, and even her round figure matched the cartoon character on her apron.

Michael revisited Emily's social media, noting that most of her daily posts were about her meals, be it Chinese, Western, Japanese, or Korean cuisine—she had it all.

Her followers praised her endlessly, saying her husband was fortunate to have such a wife.

"Fortunate indeed," Michael thought bitterly.

Michael was no naive young man, but neither did he indulge in playing the field. He took every relationship seriously, whether he pursued the woman or vice versa.

Especially with Amanda, he had intended to spend the rest of his life with her. But this sudden twist felt like a slap in the face.

The more he scrolled through Emily's posts, the angrier he became, feeling his eyes turning green with envy.

Why did Anderson get to sleep with someone else's wife and still have homemade meals?

This woman must be foolish.

Her husband was out having affairs, and she still cooked all these delicious meals for him?

In a moment of heated frustration, Michael obtained a disposable phone card and texted Emily the simple message:

"Your husband is cheating on you."

...

"There, in front."

From afar, the white BMW's rear was now visible. Emily unknowingly leaned forward, as if that would grant her a clearer view. "Is that the way to your place? Was Amanda awake when you left?"

Since getting into the car, Emily hadn't stopped talking, asking questions, narrating, sometimes even answering herself.

Michael could sense her unusual anxiety and excitement today.

And a lot of fear.

His chest ached with a dull pain, and his clenched back teeth softened.

Michael regretted it once more. He shouldn't have dragged Emily into this mess.

Michael suddenly recalled his first phone call with Emily.

Initially, the phone used solely to contact Emily was often turned off, but every few hours, Michael would power it on, hoping to see if she had sent a message.

Gradually, he found himself checking more and more frequently, aware he shouldn't but unable to resist. When no new messages arrived for days, he would vaguely hope for some new piece of evidence.

His mindset was twisted; his own suffering wasn't enough—he needed to drag someone else into the misery.

What was this? Some kind of "Green Lantern" alliance?

Sending over intimate photos of the two lovers, he received a barrage of angry messages from Emily. Reading the incessant texts, Michael found himself laughing out loud.

How strange it was, that mere words seemed to convey her voice—urgent, furious, fearful, blustering, and fundamentally insecure.

That call was a genuine accident; Michael hadn't intended to answer.

Indeed, he shouldn't have, as their relationship was already complicated enough, and further contact with Emily was ill-advised.

Yet, against his better judgment, his thumb pressed the answer button.

He realized then that he too was just a blusterer, masking his racing heartbeat and feigning calm as he greeted her.

"I'm the husband of your husband's lover," he said, and his heart immediately leapt into his throat.

He heard the woman on the other end gasp, his ear tingling, and his heart felt as if it were plummeting.

He didn't press her, waiting for Emily to absorb the information.

After a moment, he heard her trembling voice ask, "Do you have children?"

Now it was Michael's turn to be at a loss. He and Amanda weren't even married yet, let alone having children.

He didn't answer, instead suggesting, "It's hard to explain over the phone. Why don't we meet in person? Face-to-face, we can discuss this properly."

Emily hung up, and Michael thought she had been scared off again. But five minutes later, he received a message.

A time, a restaurant, a private room number.

Concise and clear.

Michael raised an eyebrow. Had she just taken control of the situation?

He texted, "So, will you be catching them in the act at the hotel?"

This time, he received no reply.

The hotel room number had been provided by someone else and, while accurate, there was a time lag.

In other words, by the time they reached the hotel, the two might have already finished their rendezvous and gone home.

Sure enough, as Michael awaited Emily's response, Amanda called, laughingly saying she was going to the supermarket and asking if he would like steak for dinner, which she would cook for him.

Michael, injecting as much regret into his voice as possible, declined, saying his sister had arranged a meeting to discuss the shop, and he could hear Amanda's slight disappointment. He patiently consoled her.

That night, he stayed late at the seafood shop before going home, where Amanda was already asleep. Seeing her phone on the bedside table, he ultimately did nothing and went to the bathroom to wash up.

He lay silently on the bed, turned away from his girlfriend, unable to sleep.

He was no longer thinking about Amanda and her lover at the Mandarin Oriental but about what he would say to Emily when they met the next day.

The following morning, Michael dropped Amanda off at school before heading back to the city for the meeting.

He arrived half an hour early and was considering asking the waiter for more water when the private room door opened.

Emily walked in, catching Michael mid-sip, his mouth still open in surprise.

He thought to himself, the camera does add some pounds.

Emily, possibly flustered or angry, was visibly redder than usual.

It was raining heavily outside, and Emily, who hadn't driven, was holding a wet floral umbrella. Her hair and the hem of her dress were damp.

Truthfully, she looked a bit bedraggled, yet her still-damp face resembled a dewy peach.

The room's atmosphere was tense and awkward, with neither speaking. Fortunately, the manager knocked and entered, asking if they were ready to order.

Michael rotated the lazy Susan, pushing the heavy menu towards Emily, indicating she should order.

Emily ignored the menu, wiping her hair with a tissue while deftly naming dishes to the manager.

After the manager left, Michael stood, extending his arm to pour tea into Emily's porcelain cup, and casually asked, "Did you go to the hotel yesterday?"

Emily's eyes showed a hint of wariness as she shook her head. "Of course not. I couldn't immediately verify the truth of your message. What if it was all a hoax?"

Pausing for a few seconds, she murmured, "Besides, I don't even know who you are."

Michael chuckled, no longer stringing her along, and introduced himself, answering her earlier question, "I don't have any children. But Ms. Emily Johnson, I'm curious, what does having children have to do with infidelity?"

"It doesn't, really... I just think that a parent's infidelity, regardless of how it's handled later, will inevitably affect the child's upbringing," Emily said quietly, her voice tinged with sadness. "It makes me more anxious."

....

A car ahead braked suddenly, and though Michael was multitasking, he managed to stop in time, halting his reverie.

Emily, restrained by her seatbelt, exclaimed, "Oof—"

"Sorry, I braked too hard."

"It's okay," Emily adjusted her glasses, looking worried, "It seems there's been a rear-end collision up ahead."

"Indeed."

Seeing the driver of the car that had braked get out and turn on his hazard lights, Michael quickly reversed, sharply turning the wheel to escape the growing traffic jam before it could trap them.