My girlfriend’s name is Angela.
She is very beautiful and has the pure and innocent look of a younger girl.
Just thinking about what they did makes me feel sick.
My girlfriend’s name is Angela, and she is very beautiful; she fits the innocent younger girl type.
My name is Fadi, and we started dating after the winter break of our freshman year, and we’ve been together for three years now.
We started our internships in the second semester of our senior year.
She complained that the company was too far from school and wanted to rent a place to live outside.
The rent required a deposit and three months’ rent in advance.
She had three thousand dollars on hand, and I gave her the five thousand I saved from tutoring, which barely covered the rent for a small room at two thousand a month.
But when I helped her move, I found out she had actually rented a one-bedroom apartment in New York.
“Angela, did we go to the wrong place?” I dragged two large suitcases, incredulously staring at this huge room.
“Nope, hurry up and come in.”
“How much is the rent for such a big place?” I asked after putting down the suitcases.
“Didn’t I say? Two thousand a month,” she impatiently closed the door.
This place is located in a bustling commercial area of the city, featuring exquisite Instagram-style decor—two thousand a month? Twelve thousand might not even cut it.
While I was puzzled, I heard someone knock on the door.
“Who is it?” Angela turned around to open the door.
A man in a casual T-shirt walked in, around forty years old, slightly balding: “Angela, have you moved in?” As soon as Angela saw him, her face lit up with a bright smile: “Jacky, it’s you! Come in quickly.” Then, Angela introduced me, saying this was the landlord.
The landlord didn’t say much to me; his attention was entirely on Angela.
I could tell Angela’s outfit today was very alluring.
Throughout her four years in college, she always dressed very innocently, but today she wore a professional suit and black pantyhose, highlighting her curves and looking very appealing.
While talking, Angela bent down to shove her package under the bed, her figure on full display, and the landlord’s eyes widened.
I deliberately coughed and shot the landlord a glare.
Men understand each other.
But he didn’t take me seriously and brazenly said, “Angela, your figure is really something.”
That’s a pretty sleazy way to compliment someone’s body.
However, Angela didn’t mind at all; she leaned back and flirted with him: “Thank you, Jacky.”
landlord said, “Look at those long legs. It must be great to be your boyfriend.”
I was furious.
Flirting right in front of me—what’s that supposed to mean? To my surprise, Angela completely ignored me, stood up, and flipped her long hair, saying, “How can I be as happy as you? You have five houses, doesn’t even need to work, and earns more from rent than most people.”
What? Five houses? I was shocked.
In this city, that’s got to be worth a few million, right?
That’s when I noticed the landlord was sporting a flashy diamond watch.
The landlord said to Angela, “If I could have a girlfriend like you, I’d be willing to trade five houses for her.”
I couldn’t hold it in anymore and asked on purpose, “Five houses? Isn’t there a purchase restriction?”
The landlord looked at me and said, “I had three houses before 2007, and later I bought two more through some small tricks.”
I asked, “What kind of tricks?”
Angela interrupted me, “What does it matter to you? Jacky is just capable.”
Oh, so quick to defend the ‘house lord.’ I couldn’t be bothered to argue with her and turned to go to the bathroom.
Angela and the landlord chatted more and more happily, and it was half an hour before the landlord finally left.
I said to her, “That guy seems like a creep; you should steer clear of him.”
Angela replied, “Are you kidding me? Why do you think he’s so bad?”
“I haven’t even asked, how is this place only two grand a month?”
“Jacky said he would take care of me since I’m interning, so he only charges this much for now, and will raise the rent once I start working officially.”
Jacky, Jacky—she even calls him that casually.
Why can’t I come across such good fortune? I said, “I see that he doesn’t have good intentions; don’t be greedy for small advantages and end up suffering a big loss.”
Angela suddenly raised her voice, “This is a small advantage? Do you know how much this place costs per square meter? Will you ever be able to afford it in your lifetime?”
I didn’t want to argue with her and didn’t respond further.
I knew that after three years of dating, as we were stepping into the real world, we would eventually have to face the issue of housing.
But I never expected that back then, Angela had already done something so shameless for the sake of a place to live.
After moving in, Angela claimed she wanted to maintain her independence and wouldn’t allow me to cohabit.
Even though I put in five grand for the rent, I had to respect her wishes and agree.
Usually, I would get off work early, come back to cook for her, and after eating together, we would chat for a while.
At ten in the evening, I would take the subway back to school for over an hour.
But I noticed that every week, there were a couple of nights when she’d push me to leave right after nine.
At first, I didn’t think much of it, but that Friday, something felt off.
That day after I finished cooking, I lay down on the bed to rest, and when I turned over, I found a hair, about five or six millimeters long.
I suddenly realized that this hair definitely wasn’t mine since I have a buzz cut.
It couldn’t possibly belong to Angela either, as she has long hair.
I immediately thought of the landlord and his “Mediterranean” hairstyle; the hair on the edges is just that long.
Had he been in this bed?
Then I recalled his lewd gaze from that day and Angela’s flattering attitude towards him, and I felt something was off.
In the evening, when Angela came back, I picked up the hair and asked her while she was changing: “Angela, how come there’s a hair on your bed? It doesn’t look like either of ours.”
Angela was clearly taken aback and came over to take a closer look while half undressed, saying: “This is mine.”
“How do you have such short hair?”
“It’s my bangs, look.”
I thought about it, and she was right; her bangs are short.
But I still had my suspicions.
After riding the subway for two stops, I thought more and more that something was wrong; the short hair, combined with her hurried insistence that I leave, definitely indicated there was an issue.
I had to go back.
I immediately got off and switched to the other subway line, returning to her rented apartment.
I entered the password to get in, but found the door locked from the inside.
My heart sank as I impatiently knocked on the door.
Angela’s voice came from inside: “Who is it?” “Angela, it’s me, I forgot something,” I said.
There was a long silence—almost two minutes—before the door finally opened.
I saw that Angela was wearing that professional outfit and those black pantyhose
I asked: “Why are you dressed like this so late at night?”
Moreover, her face was flushed, her hair disheveled, and her eyes a bit flustered.
I asked again: “Why did it take so long to open the door?”
Angela stammered, “I was just…”
Then a man’s voice came from inside, and the landlord swaggered out of the bathroom!
I was furious.
“What are you doing here?”
“Angela called and said the toilet was clogged, so I came to fix it,” the landlord said calmly.
Is he messing with me? I asked, “Why was the door locked just now?”
Angela didn’t know how to respond, and the landlord said, “Oh, it might be that I accidentally locked it.I have a habit of locking it behind me.”
Then he strolled out the door, saying, “Since the toilet is unblocked, I’ll be on my way.”
It was definitely not that simple.
After the door closed, I asked Angela, “Why did you change into this outfit?”
She replied, “The landlord is coming; it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to wear pajamas.”
That makes sense.
Am I just being overly suspicious?
But I noticed a long tear in Angela’s tights and asked, “Angela, how did your tights get torn?”
Angela quickly turned to look and said, “Oh, I accidentally snagged them; it’s fine, I’ll just take them off and throw them away.”
Why did she immediately turn to look at the part I hadn’t mentioned?
I couldn’t help but imagine a very unpleasant scenario.
But I didn’t want to think too much about it.
Later, I pretended to search for my subway card, and while she went to the bathroom, I picked up her phone.
We had been dating for three years, and we both knew each other’s phone passwords.
I quickly entered the password, opened WhatsApp, and wanted to see her chat with the landlord, but found that the conversation was completely normal and very polite.
Could it be that I was overthinking?
At that moment, I felt a twinge of guilt, and when I heard Angela coming out, I hurriedly put the phone down.
Then, after lingering until well past ten, I finally left.
But the more I thought about it on the way, the more I felt something was off.
Fixing a toilet in the middle of the night? Was the toilet clogged at such a time?
Angela had probably betrayed me; she and that landlord surnamed Jacky, looking all respectable, might have done all sorts of despicable things behind my back.
I had to get to the bottom of this.
On Saturday, I stayed at Angela’s place until ten in the evening.
As usual, it was time for me to leave, but I insisted that even if it meant sleeping on the floor, I didn’t want to go back to school; I was tired.
Angela strongly opposed, but in the end, she couldn’t argue with me and had to compromise.
What I didn’t expect was that something would happen that night that would nearly exceed my imagination.
Before sleeping, Angela snuggled into my arms, her soft body made me feel incredibly happy.
In the middle of the night, I woke up needing to pee.
Just as I was about to get up, I noticed Angela wasn’t beside me.
I was startled, reached out to feel around, turned on the night light, and found the other side of the bed empty.
I instinctively called, “Angela?”
No one responded.
I quickly got out of bed and looked for her; she wasn’t in the bedroom or the bathroom.
I threw on some clothes and stepped outside to look for her, but just as I pressed the elevator button, I heard a noise from the stairwell, and Angela came out from inside.
She was wearing a professional outfit and black pantyhose, and it startled me.
“Where did you go?” I asked.
Angela’s face flushed as she fixed her hair, and I heard more sounds from the stairwell.
“Who’s there?” I asked.
Angela blocked me, saying, “No one, why are you up?” The noise in the stairwell stopped again.
Did I just mishear that? But I didn’t have time to think about that right now.
I asked, “Why did you come out in the middle of the night, wearing that getup?”
“I…” Angela hesitated, “I think I sleepwalked.”
Sleepwalking? That sounded pretty far-fetched.
Angela continued, “If you hadn’t called me just now, I wouldn’t have woken up. It’s really cold outside; let’s go back.”
But various signs made me strongly feel that she was sneaking around with someone while I was asleep.
“Step aside, let me see who’s in the stairwell,” I pushed her aside.
She tried to stop me, saying, “Who could it be? You must not have slept well.” I stepped into the stairwell and went down three flights, but didn’t see anyone.
Angela followed me, pulling on my hand and pouting, “Oh, come on, it’s late at night, don’t make a fuss. Just take me back to sleep; I’m scared.”
I glanced at her professional outfit and pantyhose, feeling something was off, but I had no choice but to take her back home.
Once we were in bed, she snuggled into my arms, but I had no interest at all.
I feigned tiredness and closed my eyes.
Sleepwalking? That was too far-fetched.
She must have been sneaking around in the stairwell, and that guy was probably the landlord.
This was too much; were they trying to pull something? I remembered that the landlord had five properties, was wealthy, and likely had all sorts of perverse interests.
Making Angela wear that outfit must be one of his quirks.
I needed to dig deeper.
On Sunday night, I pretended I was heading back to school and left Angela’s place.
But I hid out in a little grove in the community park, keeping a close eye on the stairwell entrance.
I waited until two in the morning, but the landlord never showed.
I figured he was tired from last night and was probably resting at home.
Alright, I’d keep an eye out tomorrow night.
On Monday after work, I went to grab dinner with Angela like usual, and after nine, she nudged me to head out.
I felt a rush of joy and pretended to stall for a bit before stepping out and hiding again in the small grove.
Sure enough, at nine-thirty, the landlord appeared, in casual clothes and a fancy watch, strutting towards the hallway.
Angela, I guessed right after all.
A wave of sadness hit me.
But I noticed that a man, who looked to be of similar age and dressed in a suit, was following the landlord.
Strange, could he not be here for Angela? I followed them into the hallway and found that the elevator had stopped on the 12th floor, which was where Angela lived.
Suddenly, I remembered something: the man the landlord was with, I had seen him last night! He was wearing the same outfit, entered the building around eleven, and seemed to have come out around twelve.
After all, at that hour, it was rare for someone dressed in a suit to come out of the building, so I recognized him.
Before entering the building, the landlord glanced around as if he was looking over his shoulder, his expression quite lewd, clearly hiding something sordid in his heart.
My heart sank; it was pretty much confirmed.
Shortly after they entered, I climbed up to the twelfth floor from the stairwell, held my breath for a long time, and crouched at the door to listen.
Sure enough, I could hear the landlord’s voice inside.
The more I listened, the more I hated it; I knew exactly what they were up to! I was furious and tearing up, wanting to kick the door down and storm in to strangle those two bastards.
Angela, I finally understand why you could rent such an expensive place.
You must be paying the rent in this way! I listened for a full two hours, hearing all sorts of strange noises from inside.
After three years with her, she had never been this uninhibited before! Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore and ended up at McDonald’s for the night.
I wanted revenge.
But how could I take revenge?
What could a regular university student from a small town do against him? I spent three days in torment, during which I made excuses about work to avoid seeing Angela.
On Thursday afternoon, Angela called me on voice chat: “Fadi, our company is having an annual team-building trip next week, a seven-day tour to Hawaii.” “Hawaii? Your company is quite generous.” I was honestly surprised.
“A lot of companies offer perks like that,” Angela said, “I just wanted to remind you to water my plants while I’m gone.”
I couldn’t help but sneer inwardly; she cares more about flowers than people.
Over the next week, I kept a close watch for four days.
During this time, the landlord came over three times in a row.
That balding old man was surprisingly healthy, and I gritted my teeth thinking: how is it that this old man hasn’t had a stroke and died on that bed?
On Sunday, Angela asked me to help her pack because she had a flight that evening.
After ten o’clock, she took a taxi to the airport by herself.
Before leaving, she said, “For these seven days, I’ll be generous and allow you to sleep at my place.”
How shameless of her to say that.
That worn-out bed was practically falling apart from all the use, and she still treats it like a treasure to dangle in front of me? In her eyes, I must be a complete fool.
I thought, what if the landlord shows up in the middle of the night? Wouldn’t he scare me to death when I open the door? Of course, I knew I was overthinking it; she was traveling, and the landlord must know that.
But at that moment, I never imagined she wasn’t going on a trip with her company at all; she was actually with the landlord.
That night, I sat on the sofa, wanting to check the real price of this apartment, so I picked up Angela’s iPad, opened the local rental app, and searched for this neighborhood.
Her phone and iPad were linked, and the app automatically logged into her account.
I clicked on her homepage, only to discover a chat log between her and the landlord.
I scanned the messages and was stunned; those shocking conversations pierced straight through my heart.
After reading for a while, everything became clear.
No wonder I hadn’t found any evidence on WhatsApp before; I never expected that she and the landlord had been using the rental app for actual conversations!
I read for a full half hour and finally understood everything.
Just as I suspected when I first eavesdropped on them, Angela was involved in something extremely dirty!
She hadn’t paid a single cent in rent for this apartment and had been living there all along.
The landlord’s name was Jack Reacher, and the conversation revealed that he had contacted Angela after seeing her rental request.
Normally, the rent for this apartment was thirteen thousand a month, but he said he wouldn’t charge her a dime—there was just one condition.
That condition made me feel nauseous—disgusting, absolutely revolting.
It was disgusting to the core—absolutely revolting.
I nearly dropped the iPad.
Remembering everything that had happened before, I couldn’t help but feel sick.
Angela, what do you think of yourself? What a terrible sin you’re committing.
My mental state was on the brink of collapse.
I finally understood why Angela didn’t want me to live with her; it was to avoid getting in her way.
So why did she take my five thousand dollars back then? That’s just plain cruel.
Looking further, I discovered that on the night I first stayed over, Jack Reacher had planned to come over at ten.
After my plans were disrupted, Jack Reacher suggested that once I was asleep, Angela should get dressed and meet him in the hallway.
Angela even asked, “What are we going to do in the hallway?” Jack Reacher sent two cheeky emojis, which said it all.
Jack Reacher insisted that every time they met, Angela had to wear professional clothes and pantyhose because he was into that.
And I also understood why Angela’s pantyhose had ripped while he is fixing the toilet.
This landlord is a pervert.
At the end of the chat logs, I found out that this trip was actually an invitation from Jack Reacher; it had nothing to do with the company! The cost of the trip was, of course, covered by Jack Reacher, and she was just accompanying him.
I felt completely betrayed and was seething with anger.
So having five houses gives you the right to do whatever you want?
I took screenshots of all their chat logs on my phone and sat on the sofa all night, consumed with thoughts of revenge, but I had no idea how to get back at them.
Meanwhile, starting from Monday, Angela began bombarding her social media; she was posting a new set of pictures every couple of hours—one moment she was taking photos at a hotel, the next she was on a yacht, then surfing, and in the evening, she was watching a fireworks show.
But in all those pictures, it was just her, with some shallow bragging captions like “On the first day in Hawaii, I caught the fireworks show, so happy~,” or “A ten-minute helicopter tour cost 2600! It hurt my heart,” or “First time learning to dive, giving a thumbs up for the instructor’s six-pack abs!” It could be said to be pure show-off.
During the seven days, she occasionally sent me pictures of the blue sky and clear sea, and I would perfunctorily reply with something like “That’s great,” but she didn’t have time to chat with me much.
I spent the week in agony, and on Sunday night, Angela returned.
As soon as she walked in, she collapsed on the sofa, complaining about being exhausted and raving about how much fun she had.
I kept my face neutral, waiting for her to finish recounting her experiences with “colleagues” in Hawaii, then I asked her, “Did you even think of me while you were gone?”
Angela, without missing a beat, replied, “Of course, I think of you every night and even dream about you.”
I let out a cold laugh to myself; you must be thinking of me while you’re with Jack Reacher at night, and I bet thinking of me is probably his command, right?
I asked, “Did you bring me any gifts?”
Angela was taken aback; clearly, she hadn’t, but she quickly replied, “I originally wanted to buy you something, but the suitcase was too small to fit it.”
I glanced at the large box of new skincare products and sneered inwardly.
She got up and wrapped her arms around my neck, “Besides, I know the gift you most hope to receive is for me to come back safely and jump into your arms, right?”
I felt so disgusted I almost gagged, pretending to go wash her clothes, I pushed her away.
In the bathroom, I nearly cried, but I held it in.
She didn’t deserve my tears.
That night, she went to bed early, and I returned to school.
I didn’t go to her place for three days straight.
On Thursday, she said she wanted to eat shrimp and asked me to buy some for her after work.
I wanted to take revenge but I hadn’t come up with a good plan, so to avoid her noticing, I could only continue to play along.
I bought her shrimp, and we ate until after nine, but she urged me to leave again, clearly because Jack Reacher was coming.
I was furious; I decided I wouldn’t leave tonight, not for anything, just to make sure you two couldn’t meet and to make you squirm.
I said, “I’ve been too tired these past few days; I don’t want to go back tonight.”
At first, she disagreed, but I just lay on the bed, turned over, and pretended to doze off.
I caught a glimpse of her picking up her phone, clearly texting Jack Reacher.
I thought to myself, I’ll see how you explain this to him later.
But I didn’t expect what happened that night would once again change my perspective.
First, I actually fell asleep, and when I woke up, it was already ten-thirty.
Angela was sitting on the couch, and when she saw me get up, she handed me a glass of water, “You must be thirsty?”
I took it, dazed, and drank most of it, asking, “What’s wrong? Aren’t you going to kick me out?”
Angela had a fake smile on her face, “I have to feel sorry for you, right? Alright then, I’ll allow you to sleep here.”
I thought, how come you’ve already made plans with Jack Reacher and are still going to the stairwell?
But I was overthinking it.
I looked at my phone for a bit, and after more than half an hour, I felt sleepy again and dozed off.
I don’t know how long it was before I vaguely heard some rustling sounds coming from the bathroom.
But I felt like I was being pinned down by a ghost and couldn’t get up.
I dreamed of a party happening in the bathroom of this place, and it seemed like someone was doing stand-up, with men and women laughing nonstop, and others clapping enthusiastically, but I couldn’t make out the jokes.
I struggled a bit but ended up not getting up.
Later, when I woke up, it was already ten in the morning, and there was no one at home.
Angela sent me a message on WhatsApp: “Dear, I couldn’t wake you up this morning, I’ve left, remember to go to work quickly.” I was puzzled, wondering how I had slept so deeply.
I grabbed the iPad to check how she explained things to Jack Reacher the night before.
I opened the local rental app and looked at the chat records for a while; first I was stunned, then I was almost furious.
