Chapter 4
The footage lasted only a few seconds, but it felt like the most agonizing torment.
Then, mercilessly, the feed was cut off and the phone screen plunged into darkness, like a monstrous maw devouring every last bit of light.
In the darkness, I was petrified, hand raised and clutching my phone, frozen like a statue and unable to move for what felt like ages.
It was as if all the blood in my body had turned to ice, my limbs numb with a bone-deep chill—and a stabbing pain so sharp it felt like it could rip my soul apart.
My stomach twisted violently, while a coppery tang clogged my throat.
I slapped a hand over my mouth and bolted barefoot into the bathroom, retching hard over the cold porcelain.
But nothing came out—only icy tears poured down, hitting the cold tiles with a hollow echo.
[WTF? That's totally NSFW!]
[Is this homewrecker insane? Just posting bedroom pics straight up? That's illegal.]
[Charlotte, screenshot all of it. Keep the evidence and drag her to court. Make sure she never gets out of jail.]
[I'm so pissed right now. That cheater and his skank will burn in hell!]
[Feeling so sorry for you, Charlotte. Don't cry. That piece of trash isn't worth it. Sending hugs!]
In the bottom right corner of my view, the comments were blowing up—shock, outrage, and that cheap sympathy flooding in nonstop.
Each one was like a barrage of icy little needles, jabbing over and over into my already broken heart.
Taking screenshots, gathering evidence—going through all that now just felt ridiculous, pointless compared to the mess I was in.
Was truth what I really wanted? No. What I needed was an ending. One that Andrew would say himself—a final, crushing blow to all my hopeless fantasies, a period that cut everything off for good.
I couldn't wait any longer. If I kept dragging this out, this agony and endless doubt would eat me alive—I'd be driven mad, carved up piece by piece like some slow-motion nightmare.
It was deep into the night, the whole mansion sunk in silence—like a giant, lifeless tomb.
I drifted away like a lost soul, unseen and unheard, leaving that cold prison behind.
No lights, just my bare feet touching the freezing marble as I slipped through the halls.
The city's neon slid past my window, transforming into a cold, chaotic river of light.
*****
After Andrew got promoted, he used his fat bonus to rent a fancy apartment near the office—said it was for those late nights at work.
Now it was his and Vanessa's little love nest, a place completely off-limits to me—their private world where I didn't even exist.
I pulled up outside the apartment building.
I looked up—his apartment window was lit, glowing like a beacon in the night, almost as if it were daring me to come in, dragging me toward my final judgment.
The fingerprint lock let out a faint beep, and the door slid open. That cold, mechanical sound stood out in the silent hallway, clear as day.
Back then, I insisted on registering my own fingerprint—as if it was some stupid symbol of hope for our marriage. Now, it just felt like a knife I'd turned on myself.
The entryway was shrouded in darkness, except for an intimate sliver of light spilling from beneath the master bedroom door deep in the living room.
My heart hammered inside my chest, each thump sending a fresh stab of pain through my ribs.
Each step felt numb and weightless, like treading on cotton, yet every footfall burned—as if I was crossing red-hot blades.
I held my breath, slipped off my shoes, and crept barefoot across the icy floor, drawing closer to that door—the one that led straight to hell.
Just as my fingertips brushed the cold door, Vanessa's voice came through—sultry, hoarse with satisfaction, and edged with sly curiosity.
"Andrew, seriously..." she paused, her tone soft and sharp, almost like a feather teasing skin. "Do you still love Charlotte, that pathetic hag?"
"Did you see her at dinner today?" Vanessa scoffed with contempt. "Such a drama queen. Does she really think you'll love her again if she keeps being so clingy?"
Time seemed to freeze.
The world shrank to that thin line of light leaking through the door crack and the thunder of my own heart, booming so loud I thought my ribs would split.
I bit down hard on my bottom lip until my teeth sank into the soft flesh. The taste of blood—rusty, metallic—filled my mouth.
I waited for the final judgment, waited for the sentence that would drop me straight into hell.
A short silence. Every second crawled, clawing at my nerves.
Then Andrew's voice broke through. It was a voice I knew so well, but now it sounded like it was coming from the depths of hell.
It was tired, hoarse, and carried a chilling, ruthless finality—like an ice pick stabbing straight through my ears.
"Love?" Andrew let out a short, sharp laugh, harsh and grating, like glass scraping against metal. It cut through the silence of the night. "Vanessa, why bother asking when you already know the answer?"