As I was about to go to bed, I habitually unzipped Jack’s pants, only to catch a faint whiff of cigarette smoke. He rarely smoked, except for the occasional post-coital cigarette after we made love. We hadn’t seen each other for two months due to business trips. When I tried to wrap my arms around his neck for a kiss, he pushed me away listlessly: “My back hurts. Not tonight. Let’s just sleep.” Looking at the man snoring beside me, I frowned. My instincts told me that Jack was having an affair, and the girl was young enough to drain all his energy. My name is Rachel Lewis, I’m 28 years old, and my husband Jack is 12 years older than me, having just turned 40 this year. Due to our age difference, I called him “honey,” and he often said that having a young wife like me made him look good when we went out together. I would just smile it off. When we first met, I was an outstanding college intern at the International Jewelry Exhibition, while he was already a suave small business owner. Attracted by his successful and elegant demeanor, we fell in love almost at first sight. Now, five years into our marriage, I’m a “daddy’s girl” with a son, financially well-off, and seemingly happy. At 40, time had turned him into a paunchy middle-aged man with deep nasolabial folds. After giving birth, despite the care of high-end beauty salons and wellness centers, the stretch marks on my body were hard to eliminate, and I was no longer as youthful as before. “This is how marriage is. After the passion fades, it slowly transitions into a familial relationship,” I comforted myself, gradually shifting my focus to taking care of our son and my career. Jack still treated me the same as always, never forgetting to send gifts for Valentine’s Day, anniversaries, and birthdays. On our wedding anniversary, he had the housekeeper deliver a Cartier diamond rose gold necklace, claiming it was a limited edition. “Only two were available in the city, and I pre-ordered one for you,” he said, hugging me from behind and kissing my cheek, his stubble tickling my neck. Jack chuckled softly, feeling aroused, and promptly pinned me down on the office desk. I pushed him away, blushing, “What are you doing? We’re in the office…” He nibbled on my earlobe, unusually eager, like a young man again, “Then let’s go to the room.” After years of marriage, Jack rarely showed such urgency. My office had a small resting area where I would occasionally take short naps when tired. He picked me up and carried me behind the curtain, while the entire company outside remained oblivious to the intimate scene unfolding in the small alcove. Jack’s technique was skillful. Suddenly, he leaned close and whispered in my ear: “Rachel, I…” After he said something, my face immediately turned bright red. Due to work requirements, I often wore black stockings, but Jack had never shown any particular interest in them before. That day, he was exceptionally passionate, almost to the point where the employees downstairs could hear us. If he hadn’t been stimulated by something, Jack, being over forty, shouldn’t have been so fired up. I vaguely remembered him taking a pill midway through. When I asked what it was, he said it was a painkiller. Jack had a herniated disc, and he would take painkillers whenever it flared up. But after that time, I found a thin aluminum pill wrapper on the floor. I clearly saw the words “Viagra” printed on it. The purpose of this drug was self-evident. But why did he carry Viagra with him? And why did he lie to me? This incident planted a seed of doubt in my mind. Two months later, the jewelry exhibition co-hosted by our company was about to open. As a member of the organizing committee, I was swamped with work, while Jack had disappeared without a trace. When I called him, he made excuses about entertaining clients. Finally, I managed to get his location and went to the hotel where he was staying in the neighboring city. “Honey!” I hugged his neck, pretending to be overjoyed, and pulled him into the room. “Mm, I missed you,” Jack said, his demeanor unchanged, though I clearly noticed his fatigue. He lowered his head and touched my necklace. That limited edition Cartier necklace he had given me. “Honey, only when you wear it do I think it’s the most beautiful,” he smiled sincerely. As I was about to go to bed, I habitually unzipped Jack’s pants, only to catch a faint whiff of cigarette smoke. He rarely smoked, except for the occasional post-coital cigarette after we made love. We hadn’t seen each other for two months due to business trips. When I tried to wrap my arms around his neck for a kiss, he pushed me away listlessly: “My back hurts. Not tonight. Let’s just sleep.” Looking at the man snoring beside me, I frowned. My instincts told me that Jack was having an affair, and the girl was young enough to drain all his energy. Taking advantage of his deep sleep, I secretly picked up his phone. Although Jack was a small business owner, he was somewhat out of touch with the times, using an old-fashioned BlackBerry phone. He conducted business negotiations through his male assistant, who would then use a smartphone to guide him in communicating with others. I closed his phone, expressionless. The keypad phone was clean, with no messages or call records. It seemed I would have to work on his trusted assistant to get information. The next day, I borrowed the assistant’s phone under the pretext of checking some design plans. He was very cautious, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Lewis, but Mr. Lewis instructed that due to business confidentiality, only he can look at his own phone.” I smiled lightly, crossing my arms: “Business confidentiality? I’m the boss’s wife, what secrets could there be between us? I just want to look at a file.” The assistant pursed his lips, still unwilling to give me the phone. I frowned and casually said: “Then I’ll call Jack now. I’ll have him fire you right away for being such a disrespectful assistant to his wife.” The assistant finally handed me the phone reluctantly, and I did indeed only look at work-related emails in front of him. After about ten minutes, I nodded calmly and returned the phone to him. As I left the assistant’s office, my palm held a small USB drive. Just moments ago, while looking at the files, I had discreetly plugged it into the phone and copied all the information, covering it with my hand. Back home, I immediately opened my computer to check the records. I found that the chat records on the messaging app were all normal. So why was his assistant being so secretive? I didn’t believe it, so I casually clicked to switch accounts. Sure enough. The assistant had even opened a separate account for Jack, with the ID “Can’t escape your eyes in this flowery world.” Very fitting for a sleazy middle-aged man. He had a group chat called “The King no longer holds morning court,” which was full of lewd conversations with his unsavory friends. Jack’s last message in the group was: “These young ones, they really drain my Viagra supply. My old back can’t take it anymore.” In the gallery, I also found dozens of scandalous screenshots. They were one-sided screenshots Jack had taken of video chats with a friend using a Hello Kitty avatar: In the small window in the upper right corner was Jack’s greasy, wrinkled old face, while below was a dimpled young girl with a flawless body. I gripped the mouse tightly, etching the girl’s face into my memory, and scrolled through their chat history: “Daddy, you’re so amazing. An old war horse still eager for battle (rose)(smile)” “Haha, your little waist is still the best. My herniated disc can’t handle it…” Things hadn’t deviated from my suspicions. My face darkened, and I scrolled faster and faster. Heh, interesting. A college student working part-time? Currently interning at our company, doing menial tasks like serving tea and water. She kept saying it was “compensated dating” with Jack, providing him with emotional comfort while he gave her some financial support. I never thought this “support” would end up in bed. Among the new summer interns at our company, I looked through the HR files and my gaze stopped on a familiar ID photo. That delicate face matched perfectly with the girl Jack was chatting with in the screenshots. I narrowed my eyes, locking onto a name next to that photo: Bella Baker.
When I first met Jack, he was in his early thirties, an elegant and scholarly elite. Now, I thought he should have completely lost his appeal to young girls, but unexpectedly, he still attracted trouble. Jack, who was starting to gray and show signs of balding, with a slight beer belly, was the type who exuded sleaziness with every belch. What did this girl see in him? Was she attracted to his age and poor hygiene, or his three-bedroom apartment? I sneered sarcastically and continued to compare the chat records with the HR files. Bella Baker came from a poor family background and claimed to be working her way through school. She appeared to be a frail and introverted country girl, but her ambition was sky-high, dreaming of marrying into wealth and living a life of luxury. They had been intimate for about two months, which meant he had just gotten a taste two months ago. No wonder he was so vigorous that time in the office. He was clearly stimulated by his new conquest. In their chats, she often hinted at the topic of divorce. Bella Baker said naively: “Daddy, I’m willing to give you three more children. We can name them ‘Do Re Mi’, just like musical notes.” She’s really a fake innocent romantic little green tea bitch. And Jack actually responded with the most classic “sober scumbag” lines: “I have a wife, what children are you talking about giving me?” “What we’re doing now is called an affair, not love. Bella, you need to be clear about that…” The young girl still persisted, bringing it up at every opportunity. I couldn’t help but laugh coldly. Playing mind games with me, a seasoned professional, her wall-digging tactics were quite amateurish. Meanwhile, Jack kept evading and brushing her off. I knew that Jack didn’t dare mention divorce to me, and he was just playing around with her. Business circle relationships are like this. The company’s largest shareholding belonged to Jack and me, and we had invested all our efforts into it. It was a delicate balance. He couldn’t leave me, but he had violated my emotional bottom line – infidelity. My eyes noticeably darkened. I never thought that one day I would have to use the strategies I used against competitors in the workplace on my own husband. Since you betrayed me first, don’t blame me for being merciless. … The jewelry exhibition was proceeding as scheduled. I managed it discreetly while secretly observing this pair of cheaters. Jack had a new red Hello Kitty lighter among his personal items.
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