Chapter 12
"Christopher?" Cynthia sat up and hugged him from behind. Christopher used his hands to remove her. In a hoarse voice, he said, "Emersyn Terassed the line just now. You should rest." Alarmed, he hurriedly got out of bed and left the room, as if escaping.
Shepherd Christopher Coibianohet after him, but when she opened the door, the hallway was already empty. She bit her lip and dug her nails into the doorframe. Her eyes were filled with resentment.
In the underground parking lot, Christopher got into his car, his eyes dazed and lost in shock. He held his forehead, feeling extremely agitated. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the new phone lying on the passenger seat. He quickly averted his gaze, looking a little guilty.
In the hotel room, Cynthia closed the door and went to the bathroom. In the mirror, she saw the marks on her neck and smirked. She took a photo and sent it to someone.
It was 11:30 pm when Christopher got home. He entered the elevator, holding the new phone. Melody had to be waiting for him with hangover soup. She always did, no matter how late.
At the thought, he remembered Melody giving him the cold shoulder and leaving home last night. He sighed and unlocked the door with his key. When he opened it, the scene before him differed from his expectations. The living room was dark and cold; the kitchen, extraordinarily silent.
Suddenly, Christopher rushed to the guest room without even changing his shoes. The door was open, the bed untouched, indicating Melody hadn't been there. "You're unbelievable, Melody. You might as well stay out there until you die!" he yelled.
Christopher's anger was so intense that the veins in his arms bulged as he crushed the phone box in his grip. He threw it to the guest room floor and went to his bedroom to shower and change.
After showering, he repeatedly called Melody's number while drying his hair, but received no answer. After dozens of unanswered calls, Christopher exploded. His eyes were fierce, his expression grim and weary. "Sheldon, find someone for me," he said coldly after calling his assistant.
Receiving a task in the middle of the night, Sheldon looked at the name and phone number Christopher had sent and froze. Melody?
As Christopher's personal assistant, Sheldon was the only one who knew his boss was married—a fact never publicly announced. He'd met Melody a few times while running errands; his impression was that she was gentle and beautiful. Recalling Christopher's tone, Sheldon thought he was being asked to hunt down an enemy. He didn't dare speculate further and focused on locating her.
At 6:00 am the next day, Melody woke up and switched on her phone. She saw over 300 missed calls, all from Christopher. Why had he lost his mind in the middle of the night? Besides the calls, there was a text message sent around 11:00 pm: "Mel, Christopher drank a little tonight, but don't worry. He's already gone home." Attached was a photo. The background was a hotel bathroom; Cynthia had taken a selfie in the mirror, the red marks on her neck and shoulders clearly visible. She was flaunting her infidelity.
Melody clutched her phone; a cold, sarcastic smile curved her lips. Recalling Christopher's frantic calls, she wondered if he'd gone home after cheating and found no one waiting. While she lay sleepless in the hospital, they'd been indulging in their intimacy. But why had Cynthia sent the picture? She hadn't cared long ago. Well, it might be useful; she should keep the evidence of their infidelity.
Meanwhile, at Fuller Group, Sheldon had been hounded by Christopher ten times since morning. He'd checked flights, trains, and ships, but found no trace of Melody. His forehead was beaded with cold sweat; he feared losing his job. "Mr. Fuller, does Mrs. Fuller have any friends or family? Maybe she went home," Sheldon suggested cautiously. "No way," Christopher replied. Melody was an orphan. How could she have any close friends?
Christopher clenched his fist, realizing for the first time that he knew nothing about Melody. He didn't even know where to begin looking.