Chapter 4

I changed my flight from a week later to two days from now.

All travel plans with Jake were canceled.

But since I was already in South Korea, I couldn't miss out on the aesthetic treatments I'd booked.

The next day, after being discharged from the hospital and feeling better, I returned to the hotel to shower.

But I discovered my silk nightgown was missing.

It occurred to me that Jake might have pulled it out when he was rummaging for the medicine last night.

I got dressed and went to knock on his door.

However, the person who opened it was Jake, shirtless.

He froze when he saw me.

Before I could even ask anything, he stammered, clearly flustered.

“Chloe was upset last night, so I took her hiking to clear her head.”

“We were just too exhausted when we got back, and you didn’t send me your new address, so I just crashed on the couch.”

I sneered internally.

He said all those lies without even bothering to wipe off the lipstick marks on his neck.

“Jake, is that the housekeeper?

“How inconsiderate of them to come now. We’re still in bed.”

Chloe’s sweet, complaining voice floated from inside.

She skipped over like a little bird, looking bashful.

I saw the familiar purple silk nightgown on her.

My anger instantly flared.

I pushed past Jake and strode in, grabbing the hem of her gown. “Are you a beggar? So poor you can’t even afford clothes?”

“How dare you wear my clothes without asking!”

She shrieked, clutching the hem of her gown and looking at Jake for help.

Jake, who had just moments ago looked apologetic toward me, came over, his face dark.

“It’s just a nightgown! And I bought it for you!”

“Do you have to say such nasty things? Who are you looking down on?!”

I knew the words “beggar” and “poor” stung him just as much.

When we were together, I was always so careful, weighing every word for ages before speaking, mindful of Jake’s deep insecurity and fragile ego.

This kind of spoiled rich-kid mentality (of a poor kid).

I was now too lazy to deal with it.

I let go of the gown’s hem, about to tell her to pay for it, when I noticed my palm was sticky with a white, gooey liquid.

Chloe’s face flushed, and she stammered, “It’s a milk tea stain. I accidentally spilled it.”

“My bad. I shouldn’t have been drinking milk tea in bed.”

The more she spoke, the more wronged she sounded.

And the more certain I became that it was absolutely not milk tea.

It was something *they* had produced.

It was so disgusting!

So filthy!

The moment I realized what it was, I rushed to the bathroom and threw up.