02

2

Every image exuded a powerful, enticing charm.

The latest self-portrait was captured at the lodging where Clayton was staying during his work trip this evening.

I hadn't slept at all, endlessly browsing her updates for what seemed like an eternity.

It became apparent that Odessa's recent posts were nothing more than a brazen display aimed at me.

Half a year earlier, she had written: [Returned midway, my partner was nearly shocked to death, the initial scheme failed, but he made amends the following night at the inn.]

That event had no connection to a collision from behind or negotiating reimbursement.

They had initially intended to engage in intimate activities at home, but when I appeared unexpectedly, they were forced to alter their plans quickly.

The next evening, Clayton claimed he had to work late and didn't return until morning.

A quarter of a year ago, she shared an image of a couple holding hands. The man wore a wedding band that bore a striking resemblance to Clayton's.

[My partner adores me immensely. To facilitate our meetings, he purchased a residence for me in the adjacent unit! Naturally, I had to express my gratitude in the bedroom.]

At that time, Clayton had claimed he had left his wedding ring at his workplace.

In reality, the ring had been left at his mistress's home.

Four weeks ago, she posted a photograph taken in a private theater, the image only revealing the man's attractive collarbone.

I couldn't help but notice the crimson birthmark on his collarbone—identical to Clayton's.

If my recollection was correct, that day marked the anniversary of my parents' passing.

Clayton had vowed to join me at the gravesite, but upon receiving a phone call, his demeanor changed.

"Irene, a customer requires my immediate attention. I must leave at once."

However, he didn't go to meet any client.

Instead, he was in the private cinema Odessa had arranged, immersed in a moment of romantic passion.

I wept uncontrollably at the cemetery while he was embraced by another woman, his eyes gleaming with passion.

I observed throughout the night, and as dawn broke, sleep still eluded me.

I rose to purchase some morning sustenance, my mind clouded, stumbling through the streets. As I wandered aimlessly, a vehicle sped towards me, and in that instant, a forceful hand pulled me back.

"Irene," Matias stood there, his countenance etched with worry. After a brief silence, he spoke, his voice gentle yet unwavering.

"You've witnessed all those recordings, haven't you?"

I nodded, silently urging him to proceed.

We sat in a coffee shop, Matias' hands fidgeting nervously, his discomfort evident.

"Irene," he began, his voice filled with remorse. "I regret that you had to discover this in such a manner, but you deserve to know the facts."

I scrutinized him intently.

"But aren't you Clayton's closest confidant?" I inquired, my tone laced with doubt.

"You two have been inseparable since your university days, established the family enterprise together... shouldn't you be assisting him in concealing his actions?"

I arched an eyebrow, my words dripping with sarcasm.

"Why would you be willing to disclose all this to me, Matias?"

Clayton had placed complete trust in him, never concealing anything, even when he was with his lover, oblivious to Matias observing.

Matias hesitated momentarily, his lips curling into a melancholy smile.

"I never imagined you'd still be unaware after all this time."

His gaze shifted upward, meeting mine, an unusual intensity behind his eyes.

"Irene," he said softly, his voice barely audible, "because I have feelings for you."

I was stunned; my breath caught in my throat.

His voice was tender but carried weight as he continued, "Irene, throughout these years, my friendship with Clayton was because of you."

A small, rueful smile played on his lips as he added, "I even developed feelings for you before he did."

Matias, Clayton, and I had been acquainted since our university days, and Clayton and I had experienced love at first sight. In what felt like an instant, we had become a couple, a romance that spanned from campus to matrimony for eight years.

But Matias, Matias had never once been in a relationship.

Those around us had whispered, even joked about his "unusual" preferences, but he had always remained aloof, avoiding close relationships with any woman.

"You see? I'm a performer, Irene. No one ever discerned the truth, did they?"

He lowered his gaze, a self-mocking smile curving his lips as if to laugh at his own concealed reality.