Chapter 7

"What's wrong with me?" I finally smiled, but the smile was ice-cold.

Ignoring his screaming, I walked straight into his bedroom and threw his wardrobe open.

I was greeted by the scent of expensive cologne, along with several luxury brand clothes and shoe boxes I had never seen before.

I reached in and pulled out a designer hoodie that still had the tag on.

[How dare he touch my things?!]

[Christine just bought me that last week!]

[It's a limited edition! I was going to wear it to our date tomorrow!]

Deaf to the screaming in his head, I gripped the hoodie and walked back to the living room.

"Caleb, you make three grand a month. After rent, you can barely afford to eat. How did you buy this?"

I threw the hoodie hard at his face. The price tag showing "$1,800" hit him like a physical slap.

"Without eating or drinking, you'd have to save for two months for this."

He stumbled back, desperately catching the hoodie as if it were a lifesaver.

"I... I used a personal shopper! It was on sale! Super cheap!"

His eyes darted around wildly as he stammered, his voice lacking any real confidence.

[He can't find out. He absolutely cannot!]

[If he finds out I'm using Christine's money and makes a scene at the Miller estate, Jennifer will destroy me!]

"Is that so?" I nodded, pretending to believe his terrible lie.

I unlocked my phone and opened my banking app right in front of him.

"What a coincidence. I wanted to buy some things too. Give me your personal shopper's contact."

"I recall that after graduation, to make utility bills easier, we set up a joint credit card account under your name."

"And every month, the bank sends the statements to my email."

My finger slid slowly across the screen, my gaze cutting like a knife across his pale face.

"Let's see your statement for this month..."

Caleb stopped breathing. He stared at my phone as if it were a live bomb.

The screen lit up. The statement was long, and every large expense was clearly documented.

Not a single one was from a "personal shopper."

But there was a charge for $1,800 at a high-end department store, and another for $1,200 at a luxury suite.

The merchant was the Sky Hotel—a five-star luxury hotel famous in the city.

The date of the transaction: last Friday night.

The exact night my custom suit went missing.

I zoomed in on the hotel charge and took a screenshot.

The sharp camera click sounded like a death knell, ending our seven-year friendship.

"Sky Hotel, Presidential Suite. Caleb, does your personal shopper also provide bedroom services?" I sneered.

Caleb’s lips trembled violently, but he couldn't squeeze out a single word.