The more I read, the more shocked and chilled I became, covering my mouth to stifle any sobs.
Each unabashedly intimate message felt like a slap across my face, burning with betrayal.
Now I finally knew where Arthur was working late on all those nights.
Upscale restaurants, hotels, even Lyla's small but cozy apartment...
They discussed where to meet without any reservations, all while I was in the dark.
In the photos, they were tightly nestled together, as if they were the closest people in the world.
Perhaps he was sure I wouldn't go through his phone, so the chat history of the past six months was laid out before me in its entirety.
Lyla's approach gradually shifted from tentative to provocative, and Arthur, who had initially been hesitant, began to respond. It was hard to believe that this was the same self-disciplined Arthur I knew.
A wave of nausea surged in my stomach.
The images on the screen were so piercing I had to squint, relentlessly scrolling until I stopped at the very first photo Lyla sent.
It was from two months ago, a shot taken from above at 11 PM, showing her flushed from drinking, revealing her pale skin and delicate collarbones.
[Do I look good?] She had asked.