Chapter 3
When I pushed open the master bedroom door, the room was completely silent.
Michael was sitting on the carpet in front of the terrarium, tweezers in hand, completely absorbed in trimming the moss.
Emily was nowhere to be seen.
Or rather, the full-sized Emily was nowhere to be seen.
"Why are you in here?" Michael said without even looking up, sounding annoyed.
"I came to get something," I replied.
I walked over to the bed, my eyes sweeping over my side of the pillow.
On the white pillowcase, there was the faintest little dip—so tiny it was barely noticeable.
If I hadn't been looking closely, I would've missed it completely.
The barrage of comments was blowing up in my mind.
[Holy crap, Sophie is right there! She's literally right next to them!]
[Emily is lying in the pillow's crease, and Michael's finger is touching her!]
[This angle is wild! Sophie's face is so close, the tension is unreal!]
[Michael, keep it together! Don't let her notice you!]
I noticed Michael's left hand resting right at the edge of the pillow.
His index finger was moving in a subtle, almost secret rhythm, subtly stroking the crease in the pillowcase.
His breath was noticeably heavier, and even though his gaze was locked on the terrarium, he kept stealing looks at the pillow out of the corner of his eye.
"What are you grabbing?" he asked, his voice a little hoarse.
"Just grabbing some disinfectant," I said, holding up the bottle.
"Why do you need disinfectant?" he asked, turning to me, his eyes wary.
"Something smells weird in here," Sophie said as she twisted the spray nozzle open. "Guess the room's been closed up for days—my pillow's starting to smell kinda funky."
I pointed the spray bottle straight at my pillow.
Michael's face went pale in a flash.
"Stop right now!" Michael yelled.
He lunged forward, practically ripped the disinfectant out of my hand, shoving me so hard I staggered back and crashed my lower back against the nightstand.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Michael shouted at me.
"I'm just disinfecting my own pillow," I said, steadying myself and shooting him a confused look.
"The smell from that disinfectant will seep into the tank! How many times do I have to tell you? Those miniature plants are incredibly sensitive!"
He tossed the disinfectant right in the trash can.
"If you can't stand the smell in here, then get out and sleep in the guest room!" he snapped.
Watching his fingers tremble with anxiety, I couldn't help but let out a silent, mocking laugh.
The comment barrage in my mind was going absolutely wild.
[Holy crap, that was close! She almost got sprayed with disinfectant!]
[Sophie totally did that on purpose, right? Did she figure something out?]
[No way, she's just an NPC—how could she possibly know about the system?]
[Savage, Michael! That's how you do it—kick her out!]
"Fine, I'm leaving," I said.
Without another word, I turned and walked out.
"Wait," Michael called out.
He walked over to the nightstand, grabbed a jewelry box, and threw it down at my feet.
"Take your stuff. I don't want to see it lying around," he said.
The jewelry box slammed onto the floor and burst open.
A bracelet rolled out and, with a loud crack, broke into pieces.
It was something my mom left me before she died last year.
I stared at the broken bracelet on the floor, feeling like my heart was being squeezed in a vice.
"What the hell are you doing?" I looked up, my voice trembling.
"How was I supposed to know it would fall out?" Michael's tone softened for a moment, but then he hardened again, snapping back to his usual attitude.
"It's just a worthless old bracelet. It's not even worth a few dollars. I'll just get you another one tomorrow, no big deal," he said, acting like it meant nothing.
"It's something my mom left me," Sophie said, her voice trembling.
"Who cares if your mom left it to you? It's your fault for not taking care of it," Michael said, waving his hand like he couldn't be bothered.
He waved his hand, totally indifferent, like it meant nothing at all.
"Enough already, stop sulking. Clean up this mess and get out. Don't interrupt me while I'm working on my terrarium," Michael snapped, barely even looking at me.
When my mom handed me that bracelet, she said, "If you marry the right guy, you won't even need it.
"But if you end up with the wrong one, this bracelet is the only thing you'll have left to lean on."
I just laughed and said, "Michael's so great—no way I'd ever marry the wrong guy."
Back then, he really was that good. I honestly thought having him was all I'd ever need.
I dropped to my knees and slowly picked up the shards of the bracelet.
The sharp pieces cut into my fingers, and blood started to seep out.
But I didn't feel any pain.
Spraying them with disinfectant? Way too merciful.
"Fine, I'll clean it up," I said.
I stood up, placed the shards of jade back into the jewelry box, then turned and left the master bedroom.
That night, I spent the whole evening sitting at my computer in the guest room.
I didn't cry, and I didn't throw a tantrum.
I simply placed an order online for a few ultra-tiny pinhole cameras and a set of industrial-grade temperature control equipment.
Michael, you really were obsessed with your miniature world, weren't you?
You honestly believed nothing mattered more than chasing your own thrills, huh?
Fine, I would make your little world even more flawless for you.
"Enjoy your new home in that tank," I murmured, eyes fixed on the order confirmation on my computer screen.