Back then, I thought Zelda was different from other women.
I thought she didn’t like trying on clothes because she trusted my taste.
But looking at these dozens of photos, that sweetness was real.
There was no sign of impatience at all.
“What the hell are you doing?!”
Suddenly, a rush of warmth hit me.
Zelda yanked the phone from my hands, her grip surprisingly strong, pushing me aside.
“Don’t you know that’s private?” Her face was flushed from the heat, but her voice was chilling.
I silently looked down at my palm and noticed that a long scratch from her manicured nails was already bleeding.
To be honest, even if she hadn’t come in just now, I wouldn’t have kept scrolling.
I had already gone through those thousands of flirtatious messages.
Reading them from midnight till dawn.
Wanting to wake up the woman sleeping beside me, but feeling numb and giving up each time.
Who would’ve thought?
Seven years together, yet our chat history was always just me talking to myself.
Once in a while, when she was in the mood, she’d reply with a single emoji.
I used to think that was just her personality—cute in its own way.
But looking back now, I was nothing but a fool.