Chapter 3
The next day, pounding on my door jolted me awake.
After a sleepless night processing my husband’s betrayal, being woken up put me in a foul mood. I yanked open the door, irritated.
Jade from 301 sashayed into my apartment like she owned the place, her designer dress hugging every curve as she surveyed my home..
A stranger would think she was the rightful owner, not me.
I blocked her path. “What are you doing in my apartment?”
Jade didn’t answer. She stood there in her stilettos, her fitted dress showcasing her perfect figure, chin lifted in defiance.
Meanwhile, I looked like a mess bedhead, wrinkled pajamas, and house slippers, radiating sleep–deprived crankiness.
Her smugness fueled my anger.
I grabbed her shoulders and pushed her toward the door.
Jade stumbled backward, catching herself against the wall.
She quickly regained her composure, arching her back and running her manicured fingers through her perfectly styled waves, her voice dripping honey: “I heard you complained about the noise from my place last night. What’s wrong, lonely without your husband? Jealous of other people’s… happiness?”
I remembered using my property manager alias when sending her the recording I’d made
upstairs.
That must have given her the wrong idea.
I couldn’t be bothered to explain. “Just get out. Why are you here causing drama?”
“Don’t be like that! I heard you’re all alone, probably can’t even get a hot meal. My
Tom Late in Sav Sorry
Chapter 3
boyfriend made this amazing braised pork belly, and I thought you might want a taste.”
Looking down, I noticed she was holding a bowl of steaming meat, its familiar aroma bringing back memories.
Back when we were broke, Ryan and I could barely afford rice, let alone meat or eggs.
Later, he found work at a construction site twelve–hour days for minimal pay.
When the project finished, he hid his earnings under my pillow and made me braised pork
belly.
From then on, that simple dish became our private celebration whenever something good
happened.
Now here was another woman flaunting my husband’s cooking, using it as a weapon to
mock me.
The emotions hit hard.
Right on cue, my father’s assistant arrived with my usual lunch delivery.
Jade glanced dismissively at the bags. “How can you eat this cheap takeout garbage every day? No wonder…” She looked me up and down suggestively, clearly implying something about my figure.
Before I could respond, my father’s assistant jumped in: “Watch your mouth! You clearly don’t know quality when you see it. This is from a Michelin–starred chef, specially prepared for Miss Claire. Most people can’t get this even if they’re willing to pay.”
Jade assumed he was lying, her smirk growing: “Michelin–starred? Please. That’s obviously cheap meal prep. And what kind of ‘Miss‘ rents an apartment?”
The assistant looked at Jade, biting his tongue.
She was still bragging about Ryan’s cooking being healthier and more loving, her smug expression screaming: She had a man’s attention while I didn’t- and that man was my
husband.
Since when did mistresses get to flaunt their affairs to the wife’s face?
I grabbed her bowl of pork belly and dumped it over her head. The sauce ruined her
makeup and stained her expensive dress.
Jade ran downstairs crying, her parting shot: “You’ll regret this!”
She probably wasn’t used to confronting wives, and was off to tattle to my husband Ryan.
