Month Five. She realized she wasn’t the only one. One day, she waited for him at the apartment. He said he’d come at 8 p.m. He didn’t show at 9. He didn’t show at 10. His phone went unanswered. His WeChat went unreturned. At 11 p.m., he finally replied: “Won’t be coming tonight. Got something to do.” She asked what it was. He said, “Work.” After that, this happened more and more often—he’d say he’d come, then cancel. He’d promise 8 p.m., then show up at 11. Sometimes he came only once a week. She started noticing small details. Occasionally, there was a scent on his collar that wasn’t hers. He never put his phone down—not even when going to the bathroom. He always stepped onto the balcony to take calls. One day in Month Six, she found a receipt in his coat pocket: a property management fee for another apartment—on a different floor of the same building. Same building. She didn’t knock on that door. But she knew. She called me. Her voice was flat. “Sis, I’m not the only one.” I asked, “You thought you were?” Later, she subtly asked his assistant. The assistant said nothing. She told me: “I don’t know how many there are. But there’s at least one more—upstairs or downstairs.” I asked, “What do you think about it?” She said: “30,000 U per month. I’m not dating him.” I asked, “Then why were you upset before?” She didn’t answer. It was the first time she admitted it to me—she had feelings. But she didn’t leave.