Chapter 3

Samuel didn't say anything—just sent over a voice message.

Charlotte's voice, playful and full of mischief, came through. "Samuel, for the last three years, I've only slept with James. So, does that mean I nailed that bet?"

Samuel said, "Honestly, I can't believe you managed to hold out. Tell me—was James's body good? So, are you still up to being with me now?"

"He was super obedient in bed, but I could never bring myself to treat you like that. Of course, I wanna be with you. You're not getting cold feet, are you?"

Her laughter carried in the recording, bright and teasing.

"Is that so? Because trust me, I'm more than ready for you..." Samuel's voice was full of flirty intent, dripping with innuendo.

Then came the sultry sound of clothes being unbuttoned—I couldn't stand it anymore.

Next thing I saw was a photo of some crazy sexy lingerie that was impossible to ignore.

[Bro, Charlotte insisted on wearing this for me, but we're not actually gonna do anything, okay?]

That "okay" at the end felt like a straight-up slap in the face, pure mockery. In Charlotte's world, I was worth less than nothing.

My fingers shook as I dialed Charlotte's number, tears streaming down my face.

The phone kept ringing, but nobody picked up.

She was probably busy with Samuel right now, doing God knows what. I shouldn't have expected her to answer.

Yeah, from the start, Charlotte was always in love with Samuel—never me.

Once I left here, whoever she loved wouldn't have anything to do with me.

When Charlotte came back, she was already wearing a brand-new outfit.

She couldn't hide the smile on her face.

I pretended to be asleep as she scooted closer, giving my forehead a tender, loving kiss.

Then she tried to burrow into my arms, like I was her biggest comfort.

But I pushed her away.

My distant behavior made Charlotte uneasy.

She edged closer, her tone soft and coaxing. "Babe, are you upset? I really didn't want to go, but work was just too hectic."

Funny how lies could sound so genuine.

No wonder I let myself get played all those years.

"Don't bother," I cut her off, my voice calm. "I don't want to hear it."

She parted her lips, clearly wanting to say more, but when she saw my indifferent look, a flash of irritation crossed her face.

"Suit yourself. Believe whatever you want," she shot back.

We spent the rest of the day in a cold war.

The morning of our wedding anniversary, I woke up to Charlotte beaming at me.

"Babe, it's our anniversary. Let me take you somewhere fun today," she said, her voice bubbling with excitement.

For a moment, looking into her sparkling eyes, I almost believed I saw the Charlotte who once loved me with all her heart.

But I knew that was just me dreaming.

Today was the day to leave. It was finally time to say goodbye. So, I nodded.

To my surprise, the place Charlotte brought me to was actually a warehouse.

There was a mysterious glint in her eyes as she said, "Babe, go have a look inside."

Looked like she'd set up some kind of surprise for me.

But barely had I stepped inside when the door banged shut behind me.

The room went pitch black—I couldn't see my own hand in front of my face.

Panic squeezed my throat until I could barely breathe; my fingertips shook violently.

"Ch-Charlotte, c'mon, quit it..." I called out, my voice shaky.

"Babe, sorry. You have to hang in there. Samuel wants to do some claustrophobic research." Charlotte's soothing voice came through the door.

I felt like I'd been tossed into an ice-cold pit; shivering, I stared at the only thing shining in that pitch-black room.

It was a camera. My heart sank—she was filming this nightmare.

When I was a kid, my so-called friends trapped me inside a cold storage room. Ever since, cramped, dark spaces have freaked me out.

Even simple stuff like riding an elevator would have me balling up my fists, trying to keep myself together.

I still remembered that day I tried to laugh it off, but Charlotte gently wiped away my tears.

At that time, I remembered how her eyes shimmered with so much tenderness.

She brushed away my tears and whispered, "Babe, that's really not funny."

And now, just for Samuel's damn experiment, she didn't care if I lost it or even died here.

"Charlotte, I swear, I'm gonna die here. Don't you get it? Please, let me out." My voice broke, raw with desperation.

My head started spinning, my chest so tight that I could barely catch a breath.

I kept banging on the door like crazy, but she just replied with that distant, breezy voice—like none of this even mattered. "Don't be so sensitive, babe. It's just twenty minutes. Don't make a big deal out of it."

Then Samuel called out from behind the door.

He sounded way too pleased with himself.

"Hey man, don't be mad at Charlotte when this is over. She's just trying to do her part for science," Samuel said, putting on that righteous, holier-than-thou attitude.

A perfect excuse for screwing someone over.

I had no idea how I survived those twenty minutes.

The second I got out and saw Samuel's bastard grin, I couldn't help myself—I drove my foot right into him.

He crashed onto the ground, eyes wide in disbelief.

Clutching his stomach, he gasped, "Bro, I was just running an experiment. Do you have to go off like that?"

Then, still holding his gut, he whined dramatically, "Oh, Charlotte, it hurts. Seriously, it hurts so badly."

Charlotte's eyes brimmed with sympathy—she didn't even glance at me before hurrying over to help Samuel off the ground.

"Babe, how could you just lash out like that? Samuel, are you okay? Come on, I'll take you to the hospital," she fussed, all worried and flustered.

Samuel looked up at Charlotte with those heartbroken, puppy-dog eyes. "Guess scientists like us get hated wherever we go. Just leave me here, don't trouble yourself."

"I've known everything," I said, keeping my tone even.

Charlotte was stunned, caught off guard.

She bit her lip, looking lost as she tried to figure out what I meant. After a moment, she ventured nervously, "Babe, I don't get what you're talking about."

I chuckled, catching the guilty look flickering across her face.

Was she worried about that bet, or freaking out about the affair? Or maybe there were so many things she'd done wrong, and she had no clue which one I found out about.