Chapter 3
Just then, someone knocked on my front door.
It wasn't a loud bang, just three controlled knocks—almost polite.
Could it be Chad?
No way, he's still downstairs, probably dripping wet.
I walked over to the door and peeked through the peephole.
All I could see was a black baseball cap.
Orson?
What's he doing here?
I hesitated for a moment, then opened the door.
Orson was standing at my door, holding a black plastic bag.
His cap was pulled down so low that only his sharp jawline showed, looking downright icy.
"Trash," he said, his voice clipped.
He handed me the bag without another word.
I just stood there, totally confused.
"Huh?" I blurted out.
What's with the trash?
[LOL, Mr. Foster's such a typical guy—classic clueless move!]
[That's the trash Chad left in the hallway. There's some crucial evidence inside!]
[Mr. Foster: Hurry up and take it! I went digging through the trash for you—so nasty!]
[Orson Foster: Is my wife judging me for digging through the trash? I want to cry.]
I saw his ears burning red, but his face stayed cold and aloof.
I felt a rush of warmth inside.
I took the bag from him. "Thank you."
Orson stiffened, looking surprised that I actually thanked him.
He just nodded and turned away.
"Um..." I called out.
He froze, his back stiff as a board.
"Sorry you had to see me make a fool of myself downstairs," I said.
Orson didn't turn around, his voice low and rich—like the sound of a cello.
"It's okay," he muttered.
He paused, then managed to force out another line. "Nice splash."
With that, he awkwardly shuffled into his apartment and slammed the door behind him.
[Mr. Foster: Oh no, was I too harsh just now? Is my wife gonna be scared of me?]
[Mr. Foster: She actually thanked me! Her voice is so sweet! I'm totally losing sleep tonight!]
I couldn't help but burst out laughing.
That gap between his icy exterior and his shy thoughts is just too adorable.
Once the door was shut, I tore open the black plastic bag.
Inside, there were a bunch of shredded paper scraps and a couple of squashed pill boxes.
I tried to piece the scraps together.
It was a remittance stub.
Recipient: Beatrice Paul.
Amount transferred: 150,000 dollars.
Date: Three months back.
That was the money we saved for our house deposit.
He kept saying the cash was stuck in some investment and couldn't be withdrawn, but he'd already transferred it to Beatrice!
There were also a few pill boxes.
Meds for keeping a pregnancy safe.
And they were big doses, which meant the pregnancy was in trouble.
One box was even for treating syphilis.
My hand trembled.
Syphilis?
Beatrice has syphilis?
And Chad...
I quickly checked the comments.
[Yep, Beatrice's been sleeping around and got infected. Chad probably caught it too, but he's still totally clueless.]
[That disease could get passed to the baby, so Beatrice's been popping pills to suppress it.]
[Poor Chad—he's not just stuck playing daddy, he's also got a bonus STD surprise waiting for him.]
A chill ran down my spine.
Thank God.
Thank God we haven't been together these past few months. He kept using work as an excuse, so I really dodged a bullet.
If we had, I would've been screwed just like them.
Those two are absolute scumbags—utterly shameless!
I clenched the evidence in my hand.
Chad, Beatrice.
You wanna play dirty? Fine, I'll play right back—just wait and see.
Just then, my phone buzzed.
It was a voice message from Chad.
"Emily, don't go too far. Open the door, I need to talk to you. Beatrice's having stomach pains—if anything happens to her, you'll be held responsible!"
He's got the nerve to threaten me?
I shot back, "Want to come in? Fine, but you come up alone. Leave that slut downstairs."
After a moment, footsteps echoed in the hallway.
They were heavy and rushed.
Chad was coming up.
I tucked the evidence away and started recording on my phone.
If we're gonna fight, I'm going all in—no holding back.