“Keren No.18, Room 1.”At the moment the message was sent, Eranthe did not immediately put down her phone. Her thumb remained on the screen, as if confirming something, or as if waiting for some irreversible result.She knew very clearly what she was doing.Just forty-five minutes earlier, she had been standing outside that not-fully-closed door, watching everything inside.That man, Dylan, her boyfriend of more than two years, was leaning lazily against the sofa, while another woman’s leg was slowly and suggestively moving along his body.They made no attempt to hide it, and even carried a kind of composure that suggested they would not be discovered.At that moment, her emotions did not explode.Instead, there was an extreme calm.Calm enough for her to turn and leave, press the elevator button, and even see her unusually composed face reflected in the mirror.Then, she made this decision.When the doorbell rang, she had already changed into the “gift” she had originally prepared for
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