My husband, Jake, was a big-shot stylist in the industry. His clients? All high-spending wealthy women. He’d come home late, shed his clothes, and just crash. But one night, I found a receipt in his jacket pocket. Just one item listed: condoms. The purchase time was 8:16 PM, that very evening. My blood ran cold. Jake and I hadn’t been intimate in ages. So, who exactly was that box for? My name is Natalie. I’m 26 and I work at a bank, primarily in investment and wealth management. My parents were strict educators, so it was a shock when I insisted on marrying Jake, someone whose background and upbringing were so completely different from mine. Jake was effortlessly charming and undeniably handsome—the kind of guy who’d make any woman’s heart flutter with just one glance. At the time, he worked as a stylist at an upscale salon. My office was nearby, and I’d often pop in for a haircut. That’s how we got to know each other. He was witty, humorous, and incredibly composed—nothing like the loud and obnoxious guys I’d known in college. I was utterly captivated, and soon enough, we started dating. When my father found out, he hit the roof. He tore into me, screaming. I cried my eyes out, but my mom, bless her heart, intervened, mediating between us for what felt like forever. In the end, my father reluctantly gave in. I thought being with the man I loved would be like living in a dream, every day sweeter than the last. Instead, after we got married, I was under immense emotional stress. Insomnia, nightmares, hair loss, I looked utterly dreadful. Every time I caught my reflection, it was like staring at a ghost. I’d turn my head to look at Jake, sprawled on the couch, glued to his phone. His shirt would ride up, revealing his defined abs. Compared to him, I felt even more self-conscious. My parents, seeing how much I’d wasted away, were heartbroken. Soon after we married, they dipped into most of their life savings to buy us a house in a prime school district and even gave Jake a chunk of money to further his hairdressing skills. After his advanced training, he really took off. He became the salon’s star stylist and was promoted to creative director. But ever since Jake became a director, he got busier and busier. He was out early and back late; I barely saw him. When he did come home, it was usually late, smelling of liquor and unfamiliar perfume. He wouldn’t even bother to take off his clothes, just crash onto the bed and pass out. That night, Jake didn’t get home until after midnight, just like always. He stumbled onto the bed, still in his jacket, and within moments, his snores filled the room. My heart ached for him. I reached out, gently took his arm, and carefully pulled his jacket off. With a soft shake, a few strands of wine-red, curly hair drifted from his jacket and landed on the floor. I didn’t think much of it; Jake was a hairdresser, after all. He always had different women’s hair on him, I was used to it. I picked up the hair, tossed it into the nearby trash can, and draped his jacket over the back of a chair. Suddenly, a small crumpled piece of paper fell out of his jacket pocket. Curious, I smoothed it open. It was a supermarket receipt. Just one item: condoms. Purchased at 8:16 PM, tonight. I froze. Jake and I hadn’t been intimate in ages. So, who exactly was that box of condoms for? The thought sparked, and doubt took root deep in my heart . I picked up Jake’s jacket again, carefully checking every inch. Finally, on the collar, I spotted a deep, unmistakable lipstick stain. Jake had often told me his job involved a lot of women: the sexy receptionist, young new clients, and chatty female stylists. But of course, his most frequent clients were the high-spending wealthy ones.
From the very first day of our marriage, I chose to trust him. I never questioned his work. But seeing that lipstick stain on his jacket and that box of condoms, I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling. My mind started racing, consumed by wild suspicions. The overthinking clearly impacted my work efficiency. I asked my supervisor for a day off and went straight to ‘The Muse’ salon. After marrying Jake, I’d never once been to his workplace. He never invited me to work events, either, so over time, I didn’t know any of his friends or colleagues. After asking around, I finally found The Muse salon. It was on the fifth floor of a mall, taking up a huge space, entirely enclosed by transparent glass. As soon as I stepped off the elevator, I saw The Muse’s prominent sign. Through the glass doors, I spotted a short-haired girl with bright green hair, lounging at the reception desk, practically *melting* into a smile for Jake. Jake flashed a wicked grin. He reached out and lightly brushed her hair with his fingers, and her smile widened even more. Jake’s gaze swept over the short-haired girl’s body, and he reached out again, giving her waist a playful squeeze. She didn’t pull away, instead, she pressed his hand into her waist, rubbing against it. The electricity between them was palpable. I stood there, stunned. *This* was my husband’s normal work environment? My legs felt like concrete; I couldn’t move an inch. Jake leaned in, whispered something into the green-haired girl’s ear, then turned and walked deeper into the salon. I quickly pushed through the doors and followed his direction. I saw him disappear into a VIP room. The green-haired girl looked at me, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. “Haircut or perm? Do you have a regular stylist?” I shook my head. “No. Just find me anyone.” The green-haired girl yelled inside, “Kevin! Client for you! Come wash her hair.” A slender, somewhat effeminate guy responded, his hair dyed yellow. He smiled at me. “Right this way, beautiful.” I followed him, passing by a mirror. Seeing my own dreadful reflection and hearing him call me “beautiful,” I felt like their profession required a serious lack of conscience. Kevin quickly washed my hair, then led me to a chair near the corner. A white towel was draped over my face. I heard him ask, “So, beautiful, how do you want your hair cut?” “Just… whatever,” I mumbled. Kevin took the towel off, let my hair down, and started cutting. He was quite talkative, chatting idly with me, which was perfect. It gave me a chance to pump him for information. “How did you hear about our salon, beautiful?” he asked. “A friend recommended it. She’s a client of… Tony. I don’t see Tony around, though?” I asked, feigning casualness. Kevin scoffed, a hint of bitterness in his voice. “Oh, *our* Tony? He’s far too busy. Not just anyone can see him. You need to have *this*.” He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together in front of me, clearly indicating money. “Oh?” I couldn’t help but ask, intrigued. “How much are we talking?” Kevin looked at my face, confused, then seeing my serious expression, he dropped his smile. He glanced around, then leaned in close, whispering, “Look, sis, you seem like an honest person. Just don’t get yourself mixed up in this mess.”
It seemed Kevin knew a lot. I looked at his reflection in the mirror and said, “Tell me about him, and I’ll buy a Gold Card here.” Kevin’s eyes instantly lit up. He grinned at me. “Sis, are you also interested in Tony? We have tons of clients who are!” Kevin started talking. “Tony is handsome, charming, and he has the most clients. Not just a lot, but they’re all wealthy women, driving fancy cars!” Kevin continued to chat as he cut my hair. Apparently, Jake only served clients in the VIP section. To get into that room, you had to have spent at least ten thousand dollars at the salon. “That much?” I exclaimed, surprised. Kevin seemed unfazed. He took a strand of my hair, snipped it, and continued, “Our Tony is worth it! Who can blame him for being so skilled?” His tone was dripping with envy. I looked at Kevin. He wasn’t bad-looking himself, and he was younger than Jake. Logically, why wouldn’t those rich women choose him? I asked curiously, “You’re pretty handsome too. Rich women should like your type.” Kevin paused for a moment, then burst into a happy laugh. “Sis, you’re too kind!” He put down his scissors and leaned in close, whispering, “Tony has his own methods. He knows how to make those rich women willingly open their wallets for him.” I looked at him, shaking my head, curious. Kevin sighed, speaking as if he were disappointed in Jake. “It’s pickup artistry, you know? I heard he’s a master at it. No feelings involved. If they’re pretty, he uses them for sex. If they’re rich, he bleeds them dry.” Just then, I heard someone shouting at the entrance, “I *have* to see Tony! I know he’s here! No one else will do!” The girl stood at the reception, hands on her hips, yelling loudly. No one around moved; everyone just kept busy with their work. I was shocked. I pointed at the girl. “Hey, aren’t you going to do something?” Kevin shushed me. “We see this all the time. Someone always comes looking for Tony after a while.” I looked back at the girl. Her face was flushed with anger. No matter how much she yelled, no one paid her any mind. Finally, Chloe, the green-haired receptionist, couldn’t take it anymore and shouted back, “Ma’am, if you really want Tony to style your hair, I can make an appointment for you.” The girl immediately started spewing insults. “Book my ass! You have no idea what my relationship with him is!” She tossed her head and waved her finger. “I’m telling you, we slept together yesterday! What, he just uses women and tosses them aside now?” Kevin snickered when he heard that. But I couldn’t find anything to laugh about. All I could think was: *Jake cheated. My husband cheated.* I sat there, watching the girl scream, unable to process anything. As I sat there in a daze, Jake emerged from the VIP room. The girl, seeing him, instantly changed her demeanor. She scurried over to Jake, calling out sweetly, “Darling, I’ve been looking for you all day! Why did you take so long?” Jake’s face was cold as he stared at her. “This is my workplace. What are you doing, making such a scene?” The girl, who had just been so belligerent, instantly fell silent. She hung her head, standing before Jake, docile as a kitten.
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