Chapter 73

“Hey, is she really the mistress?” The woman beside Sebastian sounded almost gleeful.

Abigail recognized her, the same woman who’d been with him in the private room that day.

The onlookers who’d been inside the restaurant now crowded around the entrance, surrounding them in a tight knot.

“Have you seen proof of her being his mistress?” Sebastian’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried to the crowd, and of course, to Abigail.

His words jolted her into focus. Abigail pushed down her emotions and stepped toward the still-arguing Timothy and Yvette.

“Mrs. Newman, you said you have proof that Timothy’s having an affair with me. I want to see it. I was splashed with juice for no reason, and everyone here thinks I’m the other woman.

“I want to believe this is just a misunderstanding, but I can’t let myself be wronged like this.” She deliberately raised her voice so the crowd could hear every syllable.

Though her clothes still had juice stains, her expression was calm, utterly free of guilt or anger.

Timothy, too, calmed at her composed tone. “Right, if you have proof of an affair, show it now and prove I cheated. There are people filming with their phones. If you can prove I cheated, I’ll bow, apologize, and walk away with nothing.”

Yvette’s fury began to fade at their words.

One said, “Yeah, put up or shut up. What a sleazy pair. We’ll help you get justice. He said he’d bow, apologize, and leave empty-handed.”

Another said, “You said you had evidence earlier. If you’re in the right, the truth will out.”

The crowd joined in.

Yvette pulled out her phone, flipped through the photo album, and displayed some screenshots.

The screenshots showed Abigail and Timothy exchanging flirty, even raunchy messages—exactly the kind of conversation you’d expect from a cheating couple.

Abigail stared at the screenshots, which meant nothing to her, and let out a bitter laugh. It was absurd how easily a few fake screenshots could turn her into public enemy number one.

A street photographer and social media influencer, on the hunt for viral content, crowded in to snap pictures of Yvette’s phone.

Abigail didn’t stop him. Once he was done, she said, “Mind taking a shot of my phone too? It’s an old model from three years ago. I can show you the make and model.”

The influencer looked puzzled but agreed.

After he’d taken the photos, Abigail turned to Yvette. “I can share my phone’s hotspot so I can install an app on your device. Is that okay?”

With all eyes on her, Abigail didn’t bat an eyelid. Yvette handed over her phone.

The woman clinging to Sebastian couldn’t hold back her curiosity. “What’s she up to?” she whispered.

Sebastian didn’t answer, his gaze fixed on Abigail, unreadable.

Abigail downloaded a software tool and started coding right on the phone. The influencer hovering nearby gaped in disbelief. “You’re a programmer?” he blurted out.

Abigail ignored him, her fingers flying across the screen.

In less than ten minutes, she finished analyzing the images. Handing the phone back to Yvette, she said, “My phone is an old domestic model from three years ago. But these screenshots? They were taken on the latest iPhone.

“The resolution, aspect ratio, and file format—they all give it away.”

The influencer also filmed the image analysis she’d uncovered, and when he looked at Abigail, admiration flickered in his eyes.

Timothy held up his phone, revealing to everyone that he used a domestic brand too.

“Who sent you these screenshots?” Timothy demanded of Yvette.

Abigail tuned out the couple’s conversation and addressed the influencer. “You’ve been filming this from start to finish. I want to use your video to send a message—whoever’s spreading lies about me, you’d better stay hidden. Don’t let me track you down.”

“Keep the last part in,” she told him. After he nodded, she decided to leave.

But before walking away, she couldn’t help glancing at Sebastian. If not for his earlier words, she might still be stunned by the chaos, her mind blank.

She wanted to thank him, but seeing the woman beside him, she stopped—better not to invite another misunderstanding.

“Mr. Robinson…” Timothy, now having soothed Yvette, froze at the sight of Sebastian. He’d been too enraged earlier to notice him, and now awkwardness flushed his face.

Sebastian gave him a cold look. “Fix your personal problems.”

“Yes, sir.” Timothy felt deeply sorry for Abigail, but with Yvette still fragile, he could only apologize briefly before escorting his wife away.

The crowd dispersed.

Abigail looked at Sebastian across the street. The streetlamp cast light on his sharply defined features, his gaze piercing.

She heard him ask, “Can the screenshots lead us to who did this?”