After Abandoning Her, She Discovered That Her Partner Was a Paranoid - Chapter 12

When Wen Jin’s fingers brushed against the toppled box, the world seemed to suddenly lose all sound.

As the box overturned, dozens of photographs scattered across the floor like withered leaves, their surfaces gleaming eerily in the moonlight.

Wen Jin’s first reaction was joy.

Knowing Jing Feizuo’s passion for photography, she assumed these were carefully preserved mementos of their love.

But the next moment, she saw her own “resume.”

On the sheet of paper—which hadn’t yet been placed in the notebook—was a photo of herself wearing a deep crimson suit. Wen Jin remembered this was taken by Jing Feizuo at a banquet hall shortly after they began dating.

Though it wasn’t a particularly hot season, cold sweat beaded on Wen Jin’s forehead. A single drop trickled down, leaving a small, damp stain on the textured paper.

Her eyes immediately focused on the lines of text:

Wen Jin, Chairman of Financial Group.

Reason for Termination: Excessive possessiveness. Early termination required.

Archived Location: Box 19.

The words were few, but each one pierced her like a needle, striking precisely at her most vulnerable nerve clusters.

Wen Jin’s teeth had unconsciously clenched down on her lower lip. She only snapped out of it when the metallic tang of bl00d filled her mouth.

She looked down and realized her left hand was gripping the paper containing her “file” so tightly that her knuckles were white. Her perfectly manicured nails had left four crescent-shaped bl00d marks on her palm.

Wen Jin suddenly turned her gaze toward the small room.

She remembered her first visit here, when she had been curious about the locked room. Jing Feizuo had then dismissed it as merely a storage space for paintings she wasn’t satisfied with.

Now, intuition told her that far more agonizing truths lay hidden within. Yet, she stumbled toward the room’s entrance.

Unlike its usual locked state, the door now stood slightly ajar.

Wen Jin entered the room. Her eyes immediately fell upon the dozen or so boxes stacked on the floor. She opened one.

These weren’t Jing Feizuo’s paintings, but rather photographs of people—faces of all ages, their smiles frozen on the glossy paper, both unfamiliar and strangely familiar.

Her knees buckled uncontrollably, the expensive suit pants brushing against the wooden floor of Jing Feizuo’s apartment with a soft rustle.

She picked up the nearest photo. It showed a young woman with glasses smiling in a café, her name, identification information, and a series of dates written on the back.

She picked up another: a profile shot of a short-haired girl standing before an easel. The back was similarly labeled with a brief description.

Bl00d began to pound at Wen Jin’s temples, her head throbbing as if a miniature pile driver were operating inside her skull.

She continued rummaging through the boxes, discovering various gifts neatly stored like specimens: delicate trinkets, expensive necklaces and jewelry, and stacks of love letters.

Wen Jin suddenly realized that if she were to place the gifts she had once given Jing Feizuo among these, they wouldn’t seem out of place at all.

This realization felt like a dull knife slowly piercing between her ribs.

Wen Jin’s breathing became labored, as if someone had stuffed her chest with damp cotton.

She looked up, trying to draw in fresher air, but noticed two notebooks—one large, one small—lying on the table. She slowly stood up, her knees creaking softly.

Wen Jin first picked up the larger notebook.

The black leather cover was worn, its corners slightly curled, clearly from frequent use. As she reached for it, she noticed her fingertips trembling.

This physiological reaction was so unfamiliar it startled her. Whether facing hostile board members or fending off malicious takeovers, she had never lost control of her body.

The ornate title on the notebook’s flyleaf was elegantly glaring. She mechanically flipped through the pages, each one resembling the texture of her own “file,” each page meticulously recording a name and a relationship, like a carefully curated collection.

The rustling of the pages was jarringly loud in the silent apartment. Halfway through, she stopped, as if the next page weighed a thousand pounds, beyond her strength to turn.

Her energy drained completely, yet her eyes involuntarily drifted to the smaller sketchbook lying beside it.

With a final snap, Wen Jin flipped open the sketchbook, the pages settling on a familiar face.

Beneath the starry prairie sky, Shen Zhiyi stood alone, the night wind brushing through her hair, starlight flowing around her. Wen Jin saw her former friend gazing through the paper, her eyes reflecting the entire Milky Way, a hint of unspoken tenderness lingering at the corner of her lips—a tenderness not meant for Wen Jin, but for Jing Feizuo.

It was a unique painting. Wen Jin recognized Jing Feizuo’s style at first glance, but from the second look onward, her vision blurred. She had to close her eyes and take a deep breath.

The movement brought the apartment’s distinctive scent to her nostrils, a scent she often caught on Jing Feizuo’s clothes. Once a comforting aroma, it now left her disoriented.

A strange, burning sensation spread from her chest to her limbs.

Wen Jin suddenly remembered Jing Feizuo’s ever-present camera, the countless times she had told her, “Don’t move,” her evasiveness whenever the future was discussed, and her resistance when Wen Jin suggested moving in together.

“So that’s how it is,” she murmured, her voice hoarse and unlike her own.

She went to the bathroom and splashed water on her face. The woman in the mirror was as pale as paper, with only two dark flames burning beneath her eyes.

Wen Jin curled her lips into a cold, emotionless smile, a stark contrast to the gentle demeanor she usually presented to the world.

She began methodically tidying up the scene, returning each photograph to its original order and precisely placing the notebooks and sketchbooks back in their designated spots.

As she worked, her heartbeat gradually returned to normal, her fingers stopped trembling, and she even found herself admiring Jing Feizuo’s meticulous organizational system—numbered storage boxes, detailed relationship records, and precise time-stamped archives.

Once everything was in order, she opened her phone and dialed a number.

“Lawyer Zhang, I need to add some special clauses to the Swiss asset management agreement. Yes, regarding the long-term residency rights. Also, contact the security system supplier. The villa needs an upgrade.” Her voice was unnervingly calm.

After hanging up, Wen Jin gazed out the window at the flowing city lights.

A plan was taking shape in her mind. This time, however, the roles of collector and collected would be completely reversed.

“The game has only just begun, darling,” she whispered into the air, her voice so gentle it was chilling.