"Does Frank enjoy spicy food?" I asked her.
Her face twisted in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
I smiled faintly. "Have you forgotten I don't eat spicy food? Yet you took me to a Texas restaurant?"
Her complexion turned ashen. "I'm sorry... I forgot... I just..."
I shook her off and walked away. She ran after me, but I ignored her, got in my car and drove off.
Lucy didn’t return home until after midnight.
By then, I was already asleep, but she came into the bedroom and shook me awake.
"What is it?" I asked, annoyed.
She wrapped her arms around me and said softly:
"Alex, I just thought the restaurant looked good and wanted you to try it. I didn’t mean to take you somewhere spicy."
She hesitated, then added, "It was my own idea to go there. It has nothing to do with Frank. Please don’t be mad, okay?"
"Hmm," I responded coldly.
She looked up at me, her eyes pleading. "If you have issues with Frank’s company, tell him directly so he can make improvements. Don’t cut him off completely—it’s so hard for him to run a startup."
Once again, she was pleading Frank’s case.
I pushed her away and sneered. "You think running my company is easy? That beggar ate at my table for two years and now that I don’t want to feed him anymore, I’m the bad guy?"
"Alex, why have you become so selfish?" she said, looking utterly disappointed.
Selfish? My fiancée had been fooling around with Frank and I’m the selfish one?
I laughed in disbelief. "Anything else? If not, I’d like to get some sleep."
"Hmm! Sleep then! For all I care, sleep yourself to death!" she snapped and stormed off.
I followed her to the door. When she turned back, thinking I might apologize, I slammed the door in her face and locked it.
We didn’t speak for two days. Neither of us tried to bridge the silence and when we were home, we each did our own thing.
Then one day, Lucy called, her tone sharp. "Alex, how long are you planning to play dead? Are we still getting married or not?"
"Of course," I replied indifferently.
At that moment, I was reviewing new photos sent by the private investigator. They showed Lucy visiting an expensive private hospital for scar treatment—with Frank by her side.
Afterward, they went to a hotel and stayed there for five hours.
With the wedding fast approaching, they were clearly racing against the clock to enjoy themselves.
On the phone, Lucy demanded, "I want to pick out the most expensive wedding dress—serves you right for making me mad! Blame yourself!"
"Sure," I said, hanging up immediately.
Moments later, she sent me a message on WhatsApp:
"How dare you hang up on me? Alex, you’re getting more and more impatient with me. Is it because you’ve had me and now don’t cherish me anymore?"
Cherish? She wanted me to cherish a woman who had been thoroughly used by another man?
I didn’t reply and left her message unread.
That afternoon, the private investigator sent me a video, warning: "Mr. Alex, the content of this video might be upsetting. Please prepare yourself."
I clicked play.
In the video, my fiancée—dressed in a luxurious wedding gown—was flirting with Frank in a fitting room.
As I stared at the screen, a new message from Lucy popped up on my phone.
It was a photo of her, wearing the same wedding dress, taking a selfie in front of a mirror.
"Alex, don’t I look beautiful in a wedding dress?"
Expressionless, I replied, [You look great.]
She sent a smiling emoji and followed up with: [You should be grateful I’m marrying you.]
The day before our wedding arrived quickly.
