A blank chat window with no previous messages suddenly popped up with a new text, [I left my stockings in your car. Hurry up and bring them back to me.]
Seconds later, the message was deleted.
But I had already seen every single word.
Clutching the phone, I began to tremble uncontrollably.
"What’s wrong, darling? Are you still feeling unwell?"
Jared’s concern was focused entirely on me. He didn’t notice my shaking hands as I discreetly slid his phone face down onto the couch.
"I’m just a bit tired. I think I’ll take a shower." I brushed his hand away gently, standing up from the sofa.
Jared seemed to sense something was off. His gaze followed me with suspicion as I walked away, and then he suddenly turned back toward the corner of the couch where his phone lay.
By the time I entered the bathroom, he had already picked it up, his expression growing tense.
What he didn’t know was that just moments ago, I had implanted a chip into his phone that would sync all his chat logs to mine.
A new message appeared almost immediately. [Why did you delete it? Haven’t I told you not to text me when I'm at home?]
The reply came in an instant. [I was just trying to be thoughtful! If your precious darling finds my stockings in your car, how will you explain it?"]
[You know she’s my one and only, and you still dare to seduce me? Don’t text me again. Tonight, I belong to my darling.]
[Fine, fine, I won’t bother you anymore. I’ll go model for your nemesis instead—let him see your masterpiece from today.]
[Don’t you dare!]
Their back-and-forth made me physically nauseous.
I bit down hard on my arm to stifle my sobs, tears silently streaming down my face as I stood in the bathroom.
My blurred vision was no match for the endless flood of tears. I wiped at them furiously, but they wouldn’t stop.
I clenched my teeth and tried to comfort myself.
'It’s okay. I’m leaving soon anyway.
Whatever Jared does from now on, no matter how outrageous, it won’t have anything to do with me.
Don’t cry. It’s your birthday today. Grandma said birthday girls shouldn’t cry.
Don’t...'
But just then, a wave of nausea rose from my stomach, and I couldn’t hold it back.
"Ugh!"
Jared heard the noise and rushed to the bathroom door, knocking anxiously. "What’s wrong, darling? Do you need to go to the hospital?"
I turned on the faucet, trying to drown out the sound of my retching as my body convulsed in pain.
Swallowing my tears, I managed to force out a weak reply. "I’m fine."
At that moment, another message from that woman appeared.
[Having a nice birthday, Lia? Want to make a bet? I can have you sleeping alone tonight with just one word.]
I didn’t reply, and she grew bolder, sending one video after another.
The videos showed her and Jared, both unclothed, as he painted her in various intimate settings.
[I’m his exclusive model. These are his masterpieces. One day, I’ll stand beside him on the highest podium. Aren’t you jealous, Lia?]
I still didn’t respond. Unfazed, she continued her taunts.
[Did you know? He said the scar on your chest is disgusting, that you’ll never be fit to be his model.]
She was right—I had a scar on my chest, a memento from three years ago when I shielded Jared from a knife.
Every time he saw it, his brows would furrow instinctively. I had always thought it was out of love and concern.
But now I knew—he found it revolting.
It turned out I was an eyesore to him all along.
The pain in my chest spread throughout my body, numbing me entirely. Outside the door, Jared gripped the handle nervously.
"Open the door, darling. What’s going on?"
The housekeeper, hearing the commotion, hurried over with a bowl of sobering soup.
"Did she drink too much today? Maybe it upset her stomach?" she wondered.
