Chapter 7

As an "ally," Michael was the sole confidant. No, to be precise, it was Michael who taught her the art of fabricating fake itineraries. That day, Emily was like a diligent student, sending him photos she had taken to seek her "teacher's" approval, ensuring no gaps were left unfilled.

Michael felt a twinge of guilt, as if he had led a respectable woman astray. After sending the photos to Anderson, Emily added a few messages, reminding him not to skip meals because of work, that she was about to have lunch, and so on. Once she finished her "reporting," it was Michael's turn.

Michael dialed directly, and unlike Anderson, Amanda answered. Her sweet voice emanated from the phone, audible to Emily, whose heart sank further. Just by looking at the photos, Emily had already understood that this young woman was of a completely different type from her. Now, hearing her voice, Amanda's image became even more vivid in her mind.

Michael spoke to his girlfriend with a weary tone, mentioning that he had reached a highway service area, had a bowl of noodles, and was preparing to take a nap in the car. He then inquired about her lunch plans. Amanda's voice was calm, saying she had just arrived at Taikoo Hui and was about to go upstairs, urging Michael to rest well and drive safely. Michael chuckled softly, responded with "Okay," and waited for her to hang up before his smile gradually faded.

Emily watched his smile disappear bit by bit, like a sunset on the horizon. The atmosphere in the car grew less relaxed than an hour ago. Michael, craving a cigarette, grabbed his pack and told Emily, "I'm stepping out for a smoke."

Emily nodded, not objecting. She recalled that during their recent meetings, Michael always carried the scent of tobacco, sometimes faint, sometimes strong, but he never smoked in front of her. He either smoked during bathroom breaks or after they parted.

After he stepped out, Emily's gaze followed a few seconds later, catching him already lighting his cigarette. The glowing ember flickered on and off, soon engulfing his profile in white smoke. Emily noticed him gazing fixedly at a sign above, and she followed his line of sight.

The sign read "Mandarin Oriental Hotel," reminding Emily that the hotel was connected to Taikoo Hui, with an entrance directly leading to the hotel lobby. In the messages Michael had sent, the hotel mentioned was also the Mandarin Oriental.

Could they be planning to have lunch and then head upstairs to a room?

When Michael returned after his smoke, Emily couldn't wait to ask if that was a possibility.

"Yes, I thought of that too," Michael said, opening the car window slightly to disperse the smoke. "I've already asked someone to keep an eye out. If there's any room booking information for them, I'll be informed."

He looked at Emily, his usual nonchalance replaced with a serious expression. "Emily, are you mentally prepared?"

Last time, there was a time gap, but this time they were waiting right here in the parking lot, just a step away from following them upstairs. As soon as he received confirmation of their check-in, he could go to the front desk, book a room, and use the key card to go upstairs, catching them in the act.

Then what? Michael thought. He might not be able to restrain his fists, landing a few punches on that hypocrite's face to vent Emily's anger...

Wait, no… Anderson was the one sleeping with his girlfriend. Shouldn't his anger be directed at that?

The parking lot was much brighter than before, and a faint light shone in Michael's deep, dark eyes. A tiny spark seemed to ignite within Emily as well, searing her throat and reaching her chest, leaving a small scorch mark on her heart.

She swallowed, nodded, and said, "Yes, I'm ready."

In truth, Emily was uncertain what kind of mental preparation she needed. Years ago, videos of "spouses catching their unfaithful husbands" would occasionally surface online. Emily had fast-forwarded through a few, supposedly about catching adulterous husbands, but in the videos, it was always the mistresses who ended up bruised, disheveled, and barely clothed, unsure whether to cover their faces or their privates.

Back then, Emily couldn't bear to watch such scenes, and now, faced with a similar situation, she knew she couldn't act that way. Confrontations and arguments were not her forte, nor her preference. She braced herself, hoping she wouldn't falter at the last moment.

The car grew quiet. Emily's phone conversation with her husband ended with Anderson's "Alright, go eat now." Michael repeatedly lit up his phone screen, not to call or text, but simply to check the time before turning it off again. In the span of half an hour, he had stepped out to smoke three times, each time needing to air out before re-entering the car.

As he reached for the cigarette pack again, Emily gently tugged his sleeve, then quickly let go. Michael turned back. The harsh parking lot lights made Emily's thick glasses appear opaque, like the well-worn bottom of a glass jar, but her eyes remained clear and resolute, reflecting faint light. She spoke with forced calmness, "Don't be anxious."

Michael relaxed slightly, putting away the cigarette pack, and managed a small smile. "I know." For the next two hours, he resisted the urge to smoke, though his anxiety grew. As the lunch hour passed, Michael was about to make a call when Emily suddenly grabbed his arm, shaking it urgently. "Look, Michael, look!"

Michael nearly dropped his phone. Squinting, he saw their long-awaited targets emerging from the bright mall entrance. Amanda and Anderson walked side by side; his shirt and trousers impeccably pressed, her floral dress fluttering. Though close, they refrained from holding hands, likely to avoid recognition. Anderson carried two shopping bags, one yellow and one black—an LV bag slightly larger, and a Chanel bag, presumably holding a wallet or accessory.

Emily instinctively ducked, hiding most of herself behind the car door, but she didn't forget her goal, raising her phone to capture her husband and his lover. The distance was still too great, and her trembling hands struggled to focus the camera, resulting in blurry shots. Michael leaned in, whispering, "Don't take photos, record a video."

She hunched over, and he bent down, their proximity becoming almost intimate. Emily's hands continued to shake, the lens wobbling like autumn leaves. Michael sighed, "Let me do it," taking the phone and recording a few seconds of video before the couple disappeared around a corner.

When the pair vanished, Michael's frustration spilled over, cursing under his breath as he checked the video. "It's a bit shaky, but their faces are visible... It's progress. Set the GPS, and we'll follow their car after they leave."

His words halted abruptly, the phone hanging in mid-air. He stared at Emily, who was covering her face, shaking uncontrollably. At that moment, something inside Michael felt as though a sandslide had begun, his heart sinking. Holding the phone gently, he resisted the urge to embrace her, instead remaining silent, waiting for her to process the harsh reality.

After about five minutes, Emily's emotions began to calm. She sat up, avoiding his gaze, her voice hoarse. "I'm alright now. Let's not lose them..."

She removed her glasses, wiping the tear-stained lenses with her shirt. A blur of white entered her vision—Michael offering a tissue. Squinting, she realized what it was, and the act of narrowing her eyes released more tears. This time, Michael moved faster, catching the teardrops with the tissue before they fell.

His voice was rough when he spoke, "No rush."

In the long nights to come, Michael would often recall this small interlude, a silent, unexpected intrusion into his memory, leaving a lasting impression.

Ten minutes later, Michael was again tailing the white BMW. Both tacitly ignored Emily's earlier breakdown, as if the incident had left no scars. Emily even joked about Michael's skill in tailing cars, suggesting he should become a private investigator. Michael smiled faintly, replying that if his store ever went under, he'd consider a career change.

Anderson drove north, not towards Emily's or Michael's homes. The route suggested destinations like Baiyun Mountain or the airport, making Emily wonder if they had rented a place in the suburbs for their trysts. Traffic thinned as they left the city, and after seven or eight traffic lights, Anderson pulled into Baiyun Mountain's parking lot.

Michael paused on a side road nearby. They exchanged puzzled glances, unsure of the couple's intentions. Despite the overcast afternoon, the air was stifling, hinting at an impending storm. Why would they come here for fresh air?

Then Michael considered another possibility, his expression darkening as he cursed, "They're probably looking for a spot for a car rendezvous."

Emily shared his suspicion, feeling a throbbing pain in her temples. At this hour, few people would come here to hike, meaning the parking lot had plenty of spaces and few visitors.