wife's secret

Ever since my wife, Tang Jia, was promoted to the finance manager at their company, she's been working overtime almost every day, sometimes all night, even occasionally on weekends when called in by the general manager. Tang Jia says the pressure is immense, and she’s extremely busy every day. I'm not sure if she's really always working overtime, but I can't help but suspect otherwise. A woman working overnight, not coming home... Tang Jia is beautiful, with an excellent figure. Being around men and women all night, it's only a matter of time before something happens. You see, my wife is the epitome of attractive, wealthy, and successful – a slim waist and long legs, facial features to die for. She was the belle of her university and has had admirers since she graduated. As far as I know, one of her senior classmates still hasn't gotten over her. Despite my suspicions, this is her job after all. Nowadays, she earns an annual salary of three hundred thousand. Our home and car down payments and installments – it's all her and her family’s doing. My meager salary barely covers the simplest of lives. I can't assert myself in front of Tang Jia or her family, so I just harbor resentments silently, not daring to make a peep. One night, Tang Jia returned home, looking exhausted, after eleven o'clock. She glanced at me, lounging on the couch watching TV, and said, "So tired, haven't you slept yet?" She placed her bag and phone on the coffee table and rummaged through the wardrobe for clean underwear, undressing in front of me before heading into the bathroom to shower. As she entered the bathroom, I inadvertently glanced her way and thought I saw a mark on her buttocks – red, like a handprint, but it could also be from sitting too long. The sight made me jump to my feet. What the hell was going on? If that was a handprint, it was a sure sign of trouble. Considering how distant Tang Jia has been since her promotion, I suspect she's seeing someone else. Her interest in me is fading; even our marital affairs have nearly halted. Every time I initiated, she'd refuse, citing exhaustion, leaving me without intimacy for three months. I was about to follow her into the bathroom to investigate when her phone on the coffee table began to vibrate. I picked it up – it was a call from an unfamiliar number in Magic City, no name displayed. It was probably a sales call. I get such nuisance calls all the time, so I hung up. But moments later, a text message came through that sent a chill down my spine. It was from the same number: "Honey, when do you plan to take down your husband?" My scalp tingled at the thought. Was this talk of murder? Did Tang Jia despise me so deeply that she and her lover would conspire to kill me? A cold shiver ran down my spine. The sweltering summer suddenly felt icy. Surely, Tang Jia was cheating. Even if she no longer wanted to be with me, a divorce would suffice. Why resort to physical elimination? Lost in dread, Tang Jia emerged from the bathroom wearing a bathrobe. She saw me holding her phone, panicked for a split second, and asked, "What's wrong? You look like you've lost your soul. Why do you have my phone? Did I get a call?" Her expression was not right. Maybe it was my paranoia, but that moment made me feel like I was looking at a would-be killer. I replied indifferently, "You got a call, and a text message. See for yourself." I handed her the phone with a cold expression, my hand trembling with anger and fear. She unlocked it and read the message, eyes wide, breathing hastened, hands shaking. "This is some asshole's sick joke, sending this kind of thing in the dead of night. It's disgusting!" she exclaimed angrily. A prank? Who would play such a prank at this time of night? I scoffed silently, waiting for her to explain, to justify herself. "Husband, this is absolutely a prank. Don't fall for it," Tang Jia explained frantically: "There are some genuinely twisted people out there who can't stand to see others happy or doing better than them. Ever since I got promoted, so many colleagues have been talking behind my back, out of jealousy." Her explanation had some merit but felt forced. Jealousy to the point of playing such a damaging prank? "Do you have any idea who sent this text?" I asked, pressing for an explanation. "It's probably someone from my department, but I can't say who for sure. Wait, I’ll call them and find out which bastard it is." She redialed the number and turned on the speakerphone, but no one answered. Tang Jia's complexion grew increasingly troubled, and the situation became murkier. "So no phone answer means you think you've won?" Tang Jia angrily hung up the phone and sent a text message: "Who are you? Why do you want to harm me? Have the guts to answer the phone, I want to see who you really are." After sending the message, there was no reply from the other party; all was silent as if they were dead. Tang Jia tried calling several times with no answer, stomping her foot in anger. "Fang Wen, you mustn't take this to heart, this is definitely a prank. Someone is trying to sow discord in our marriage, planting a thorn in your mind," Tang Jia explained, looking at me. I nodded, unsure whether or not to continue believing her when I suddenly remembered the faint mark I’d seen on her buttocks earlier. I got up and went behind Tang Jia, pretending to embrace her waist affectionately, "Wife, I believe you. It's been a while since we've been close, let's be together tonight." Tang Jia had a great figure, a slim waist, and notably soft and full buttocks, which always got a reaction from me. "You want it again? You're like a never-satiated little cat; can't help you. Go take a shower, and wait for me in bed afterward." Tang Jia turned and smiled gently at me; surprisingly, she didn't use tiredness as an excuse to refuse. Could it be she felt guilty? However, my true purpose was to check if the handprint on Tang Jia's buttocks was real. If I didn’t clear this up, I'd surely be up all night. Cautiously, I began to undress her bathrobe gently, looking at Tang Jia’s buttocks for that handprint. Strangely enough, there was no mark to be seen, just a smooth, snow-white surface as perky as ever. Had I really been seeing things? My eyesight has always been excellent; it's impossible for me to be mistaken, isn’t it? Maybe the mark wasn’t deep enough and faded after the shower? My mind was full of confusion. The mysterious text message and the seemingly non-existent handprint had become an obsession, yet I had no idea where to start looking for answers.