It was like I was picking up someone else’s leftovers.
Soon, my indifference bored her.
Zelda was perceptive—she knew I was angry. But since I was always the one to back down first, she had gotten used to it.
She saw no need to appease me.
Tonight was already a rare concession.
While she went to take a shower, her phone buzzed non-stop.
Annoyed, I picked it up and glanced at the screen.
Eugene had sent her several photos of the two of them in wedding attire.
In the pictures, Zelda looked stunning in a wedding gown, her figure graceful and elegant.
The way she gazed at Eugene was filled with sweetness, and a dull ache throbbed in my chest, followed by overwhelming anger.
So, all of her impatience was reserved just for me.
There was a time when I desperately wanted to see her in a wedding gown.
I spent money reserving several gowns, just waiting for her to try them on.
I had imagined what she would look like in one.
But she kept standing me up.
“It’s all the same. You know I’m lazy—what’s the point of trying them on?”
I still remember the frown on her face when she said that.
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.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have looked at your private messages,” I apologized sincerely.
Zelda froze.
She hadn’t expected me to react like this.