Part 3
Claire didn't expect me home for a couple of days more, and when we entered my apartment out of the blue, she and that Sinkie lawyer bastard were completely caught by surprise. For me, it was terribly devastating. The feeling of a beautiful relationship crumbling before my angry but hurtful eyes still evoke a dull but piercing heartache to this very day, as I write about this account in this thread.
Seeing my opened bottle of Châteaux Lafite Rothschild and two wine glasses on my dining table didn't make me feel any better. I wanted to smash both of them with it, but Glocky held me back. I knew the relationship was over. Unsalvageable. Irreparable. Beyond repair. I cooled down, told both of them to get changed, and GET OUT.
Claire remained unrepentant. While packing her belongings, she started screaming at me and accused me of two timing her with my business partner (who is presently my Shanghainese girlfriend), justifying her own straying like a stubbornly mad and hallucinating Ginfreely.
A week after, I found my cabriolet convertible scratched from bonnet, body to boot at the club's carpark. I wasn't impressed, especially upon viewing CCTV footages of a woman in a dark brown cap, with a black face mask, of Claire's height and size, wilfully performing the misdeed. Not wanting to blow the matter up, I declined the club security personnel's suggestion to make a police report.
To be cuckolded is already bad enough. It's my mistake getting into a relationship with a young temptress. There wasn't any point in making matters worse by getting police involved.
(To be continued...)