She spoke with a lightness of voice, her gaze serene. Yet my heart sank and my fingers couldn’t help but clench the quilt.

No. 9 Middle School? She transferred last year?

But Diego had clearly said it was when Emily picked up the child that she ate potato chips in his car, leaving crumbs behind.

A chill ran up from the soles of my feet, so cold that my breath was stifled.

I forced a smile and nodded lightly. “Oh, I see. That makes things so much easier.”

My voice remained composed, but inside, a storm was brewing.

So that dream was real. Diego had truly cheated on me.

The next day, Diego returned.

As soon as he entered, he quickly walked over to the bed, his tone filled with nervousness.

“Flavia, are you feeling better? The doctor said your constitution is weak and you need to nourish yourself properly.”

As he spoke, he set down several large bags filled with my favorite fruits and tonics, plus a limited-edition silk scarf.

“You glanced at it a few times last time we were at the mall? I remembered and went out of my way to buy it today.”

At that moment, my heart skipped a beat.

He was still the same as before—attentive to every detail, remembering all my preferences and keeping me dear in his heart.

After dinner, he took the initiative to cook, preparing my favorite pork rib soup while reminding me to limit my phone use and get to bed early.

Yet inside, my emotions were churning violently.

Later that night, he went to shower and casually dropped his phone on the bedside table.

I stared at that phone. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of my mouth.

In the end, I reached out and picked it up. The passcode was still my birthday.

The screen lit up, revealing a wallpaper of our beach trip. I leaned into Diego’s arms, laughing heartily. He looked down at me, his eyes melting with tenderness.

My fingers trembled as I opened WhatsApp and scrolled through the chat history. There were no flirtatious exchanges and no secrets. Every conversation was clean and innocent.

M-Banking, PayPal and even payment records were filled with purchases for me.

My doubts about him have almost disappeared.

Until I opened TikTok.

A chat box named ‘Don’t Eat Cilantro’ suddenly appeared in the message list.

Opening it revealed pages of densely packed messages.

[Honey, I miss you.]

[You’re so annoying. You were so rough last night, I’m still sore all over.]

The words on the screen stabbed into my eyes, one by one.

What shocked me even more was that Diego, who was always sparing with his words and cold as ice to outsiders, was patient and tender with her, unlike his usual self.

[Silly girl, are you still lazing in bed?]

[Be good, if you’re sore, don’t move around. Remember to apply the ointment.]

[I’ll make it up to you next time, okay? Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.]

Every word was saturated with affection, as tender as coaxing a little girl.

My fingers froze on the screen as suffocating pain churned in my chest.

I clicked back to the TikTok profile of the person who didn’t eat cilantro.

Her posts were all about daily life, yet every one carried trace of intimacy.

A blurry back view showed a man’s broad, familiar shoulders. The watch on his cuff was identical to Diego’s.

A late-night short video showed two sets of bowls and cutlery on the table, with the caption. [Thanks for the midnight snack, Honey.]

And the latest update featured a long, strong hand fastening a necklace around her neck.

The caption read: [The most excellent luck of my life is meeting you.]

My palms were drenched in cold sweat as I clutched the phone.

Diego, the man everyone hailed as “the perfect husband,” wore a mask of cold detachment in public yet showed me quiet consideration and restraint. However, he had shed all reserve with this woman, revealing nothing but unbridled passion and devotion.

A sudden, sharp pain pierced my heart, as if someone had brutally ripped open a wound.

I flipped to the next photo. It was the purchase receipt for that necklace.

It was a Harry Winston necklace worth twelve million.

There was a line of small text below: the gift was a silk scarf.

I covered my mouth in disbelief as tears welled up uncontrollably. It was the scarf Diego had given me today.

I dropped my phone, my chest feeling like it had been struck by a sledgehammer, leaving me gasping for breath.

I lay awake all night, my mind replaying memories over and over.

Beatrice had loved cilantro since childhood, always piling extra handfuls onto her noodles and beef soup.

More importantly, her mother had been driven to her death by a mistress. She despised mistresses above all else and would never do what she herself loathed most.

As for Emily, she’d added cilantro to the salad she ordered at the company dinner, declaring, “It really brings out the flavor,” and ate it with relish.

So, she probably wasn’t one of them either.

That left only Camilla.

I had no idea what her taste was.

My heart grew cold as I made up my mind.

I had to go to her house to find out what was going on.

I didn’t dare go alone; afraid I might do something impulsive and irreversible. So, I called Beatrice to come with me.

We arrived at Camilla’s house just as it was getting dark.

Her younger brother was crouched in the yard playing video games, demanding meat with an impatient tone.

A small, frail figure emerged from the fields.

Under the scorching sun, Camilla’s shoulders seemed weighed down, almost bent.

Her skin was sun-darkened. Her face glistened with sweat.

She was stunned when she saw us.

“Flavia and Beatrice, why are you here?”

I stood rooted to the spot, watching her small, thin and timid form. An indescribable ache welled up in my chest.

No matter how I looked at her, she didn’t seem like the kind of mistress who could make someone like Diego lose his mind.

But then, my gaze fell on the clothesline in the corner of the courtyard. Hanging there was a brand-new silk nightgown, which was clearly expensive.

In such a shabby courtyard, that nightgown stung my eyes painfully.

I tried to speak several times, but my throat tightened and the words wouldn’t come out.

Beatrice followed my gaze, her expression darkening instantly. Just as she was about to confront Camilla, I hurriedly reached out to stop her.

“Let’s go.”

Beatrice looked reluctant, but I pulled her away anyway.

All the way back, she held her tongue, but finally couldn’t contain herself. 

“Flavia, why didn’t you ask for clarification? Are you just going to let it go like this?”

My vision blurred. My tears spilled uncontrollably down my cheeks.

My fingertips clenched my palms tightly and my voice cracked.

“Beatrice, find me a lawyer. I need help with the property division and divorce proceedings.”

Beatrice was stunned, then wrapped her arms around my shoulders in sympathy.

She was my best friend and she understood my thoughts almost instantly.

More than confronting the other woman, I wanted to know the answer.

How could Diego, who once loved me so profoundly, suddenly fall for someone else?

While doing those things that betrayed me, was there even a single moment when he felt guilty and thought of me?

After returning home, I felt like a lost soul, my entire being floating in a void.

The living room was bathed in warm yellow light, yet I felt only cold.

In the fridge was fruit Diego had specially bought for me and meals he’d cooked himself. It was such a bitter joke to me.

Every corner was etched with our memories, but now, those memories only cut into my heart like knives.

On the evening of the third day, my phone suddenly rang.

It was the lawyer Beatrice had arranged for me. Her voice sounded frantic and panicked.

“Miss Atkins, hurry over! I’ll send you the address.”

“I saw Mr. Rodriguez with that mistress!”

My hand froze mid-air, my voice trembling beyond recognition. 

“Is it Camilla?”

There was a two-second silence on the other end.

“No.”

My throat tightened and even my breathing became ragged. 

“Then who is it?”

The only sound I could hear was her rapid breathing. She trembled as if she had seen a ghost, her voice hushed, yet filled with uncontrollable fear.

“Miss Atkins, you really should come and see for yourself. You’ll understand once you’re here.”

I don’t recall how I made it out the door, only feeling a hazy blur before my eyes.

The bustling traffic and clamorous crowds seemed separated by thick glass, their sounds failing to reach my ears.

The moment I stepped out of the car, I spotted two figures walking side by side in the crowd.

The man who radiated an aloof and aristocratic chill was Diego.

And the woman beside him...

The moment she turned her head slightly, I felt as if my chest were being ripped open by a sharp blade. My vision went black and I nearly collapsed to my knees.

How could it be her? It really was her!