His Side Chick Made Him Dump Me… 100 Times! Now Watch Him Beg! - Chapter 84: Chapter 84
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On vacation day, I battled my curling iron for an hour—total disaster.
My boyfriend Ryan Mitchell? Swooped in like some hair wizard. Sectioning, twirling, BAM—gorgeous waves in fifteen minutes flat.
Then he stared at my reflection and frowned.
"Something's off..."
My blood went ice cold. "What's off?"
"The curl should be... bigger, I think."
Hold up. WHAT?
Since when does Ryan know curl patterns?
"Ryan." My voice came out deadly quiet. "Who exactly taught you this?"
Panic flickered across his face. "Oh, uh... college drama club stuff. You know, did makeup for the girls sometimes..."
I forced a laugh. "Huh. Five years since graduation and you're still THAT good?"
Something wasn't adding up.
While he was packing, I grabbed his phone and stumbled across something crazy—my boyfriend who NEVER watches TikTok was following a street photographer.
@CurlyShootsPhotos
Clicked on her profile. First video? My boyfriend flirting with HER!
The air went dead silent.
The heat from the curling iron felt like it was burning straight into my heart.
My fingers tightened around the comb, throat closing up.
"Have you done this for someone else before?"
Ryan's hand froze mid-air.
"Ding-a-ling! Eight o'clock! Time to GO, Delilah!"
The custom alarm he'd set for me suddenly blared.
Ryan jolted like he'd been shocked, nearly burning my neck with the iron.
He fumbled to turn off the alarm, forcing his voice to sound casual: "Oh, right... back in college, the drama club used to rope me into helping out..."
"Just... occasionally did hair and makeup for the girls, you know."
The explanation made perfect sense—Ryan was indeed the type to be everyone's reliable senior in college clubs. But somehow, my unease hit a new peak.
"Oh, I see." I gave a light laugh. "Five years since graduation and you're still that smooth, huh?"
He let out an awkward chuckle, grabbing my bag for today. "I've forgotten most of it by now."
"Come on, if we don't leave soon, Disney's gonna be PACKED."
I took a deep breath, watching him expertly pack my compact, sunscreen, and tissues into my bag. He even found the exact lipstick I'd mentioned casually last night.
I relaxed my brow and muttered to myself: "I'm probably... just overthinking this."
Thank God traffic was light. We got to Disney before the crowds hit.
I'd been looking forward to this trip for three whole months. The second we got inside, I was dragging Ryan around for photos.
Ryan raised his camera, directing me:
"Tilt your head left a bit."
"Chin down slightly, don't slouch."
Weirdly enough, I looked absolutely STUNNING in his shots today.
Composition, lighting, angles—everything was perfect. He'd even learned to use wide shots to avoid the crowds.
I looked radiant in every photo, but my hands started shaking as I scrolled through them.
In five years together, Ryan had always been accommodating about everything except photography—he found it annoying and always half-assed it.
They say someone who loves you can capture your most beautiful moments, because that's how they see you. I'd fought with him countless times over his terrible photos.
That unease from this morning crashed back down on me.
Could someone's photography skills really improve THAT much overnight?
Seeing my expression grow more serious, Ryan asked quietly, "What's wrong, babe? Not happy with them? It's totally my fault—let me try a different angle."
I shook my head, swallowing the bitter taste in my throat, then forced a smile. "No, they're gorgeous. You made me look so good I'm not used to it."
Ryan chuckled, ruffling my hair. "You always complained about my photography, so I actually went and learned from someone. Pretty big improvement, right?"
I stared into his eyes. "So this teacher of yours must be amazing. I tried teaching you for five years, but she got through to you right away."
Ryan froze for a second, then spread his hands with a shrug. "Babe, she's a professional. Plus, aren't you happy? You always said I didn't love you enough to capture your beauty properly. Now I can prove I love you, right?"
I can't even remember what I said back—only remember the rest of the trip was a blur.
Until that night back at the hotel, one thought kept circling in my head:
Who the HELL had he learned from?
Ryan stripped off his jacket the moment we got in, tossing his phone on the bed before heading to the bathroom.
I sat on the bed's edge, staring at his phone. After a few seconds, I picked it up with trembling hands.
The password was still my birthday.
I swiped open the screen, heart hammering.
Instagram, call history, texts, even his food delivery orders... all spotless.
Everything looked perfectly innocent.
I exhaled in relief. Just as I was about to put the phone back, I noticed his weather app:
Chicago, Sunny, 82°F
Portland, Cloudy, 79°F
Portland? But we lived in New York.
My chest felt like someone was squeezing it in a vice.
Ryan had been to Portland—three months ago, right before our trip.
In that instant, I knew:
Ryan Mitchell was cheating on me.
The shower stopped running.
Ryan came out toweling his hair, saw me holding his phone, and grinned. "So how'd the inspection go? Find anything juicy?"
His tone was way too relaxed, almost teasing—like he was confident I'd found nothing.
I forced a smile. "Just browsing."
He walked over and kissed my forehead, his damp hair brushing my cheek.
"Send me some of today's photos. I wanna post them."
I nodded, transferring the photos from my phone.
He scrolled through them, smiling, finger tapping the screen.
"This one's perfect."
I leaned over to look. It was me standing with fireworks in the background, curly hair cascading down my back—completely different from the straight hair I'd worn for years. From this distance, you could barely tell it was me.
"Let's go with this one," he said.
I stared at his screen, throat tight. "You... can't even see my face clearly."
He didn't look up. "It's about the vibe, babe. Besides, all my friends know you're my girlfriend."
A few minutes later, his Instagram updated.
Caption: "Practice makes perfect."
My heart completely died.
He wasn't posting this for me to see.
He was posting it for his "photography teacher."
Late that night, I hid under the covers, muffling my sobs.
I kept asking myself why.
Why was I being betrayed?
But why did it have to be Ryan Mitchell?
Why Ryan, who'd pulled me out of my darkest place? Why the man I'd loved for five years?
I wanted so badly to keep lying to myself.
But right now my phone still held the evidence of their couple videos.
My boyfriend Ryan Mitchell? Swooped in like some hair wizard. Sectioning, twirling, BAM—gorgeous waves in fifteen minutes flat.
Then he stared at my reflection and frowned.
"Something's off..."
My blood went ice cold. "What's off?"
"The curl should be... bigger, I think."
Hold up. WHAT?
Since when does Ryan know curl patterns?
"Ryan." My voice came out deadly quiet. "Who exactly taught you this?"
Panic flickered across his face. "Oh, uh... college drama club stuff. You know, did makeup for the girls sometimes..."
I forced a laugh. "Huh. Five years since graduation and you're still THAT good?"
Something wasn't adding up.
While he was packing, I grabbed his phone and stumbled across something crazy—my boyfriend who NEVER watches TikTok was following a street photographer.
@CurlyShootsPhotos
Clicked on her profile. First video? My boyfriend flirting with HER!
The air went dead silent.
The heat from the curling iron felt like it was burning straight into my heart.
My fingers tightened around the comb, throat closing up.
"Have you done this for someone else before?"
Ryan's hand froze mid-air.
"Ding-a-ling! Eight o'clock! Time to GO, Delilah!"
The custom alarm he'd set for me suddenly blared.
Ryan jolted like he'd been shocked, nearly burning my neck with the iron.
He fumbled to turn off the alarm, forcing his voice to sound casual: "Oh, right... back in college, the drama club used to rope me into helping out..."
"Just... occasionally did hair and makeup for the girls, you know."
The explanation made perfect sense—Ryan was indeed the type to be everyone's reliable senior in college clubs. But somehow, my unease hit a new peak.
"Oh, I see." I gave a light laugh. "Five years since graduation and you're still that smooth, huh?"
He let out an awkward chuckle, grabbing my bag for today. "I've forgotten most of it by now."
"Come on, if we don't leave soon, Disney's gonna be PACKED."
I took a deep breath, watching him expertly pack my compact, sunscreen, and tissues into my bag. He even found the exact lipstick I'd mentioned casually last night.
I relaxed my brow and muttered to myself: "I'm probably... just overthinking this."
Thank God traffic was light. We got to Disney before the crowds hit.
I'd been looking forward to this trip for three whole months. The second we got inside, I was dragging Ryan around for photos.
Ryan raised his camera, directing me:
"Tilt your head left a bit."
"Chin down slightly, don't slouch."
Weirdly enough, I looked absolutely STUNNING in his shots today.
Composition, lighting, angles—everything was perfect. He'd even learned to use wide shots to avoid the crowds.
I looked radiant in every photo, but my hands started shaking as I scrolled through them.
In five years together, Ryan had always been accommodating about everything except photography—he found it annoying and always half-assed it.
They say someone who loves you can capture your most beautiful moments, because that's how they see you. I'd fought with him countless times over his terrible photos.
That unease from this morning crashed back down on me.
Could someone's photography skills really improve THAT much overnight?
Seeing my expression grow more serious, Ryan asked quietly, "What's wrong, babe? Not happy with them? It's totally my fault—let me try a different angle."
I shook my head, swallowing the bitter taste in my throat, then forced a smile. "No, they're gorgeous. You made me look so good I'm not used to it."
Ryan chuckled, ruffling my hair. "You always complained about my photography, so I actually went and learned from someone. Pretty big improvement, right?"
I stared into his eyes. "So this teacher of yours must be amazing. I tried teaching you for five years, but she got through to you right away."
Ryan froze for a second, then spread his hands with a shrug. "Babe, she's a professional. Plus, aren't you happy? You always said I didn't love you enough to capture your beauty properly. Now I can prove I love you, right?"
I can't even remember what I said back—only remember the rest of the trip was a blur.
Until that night back at the hotel, one thought kept circling in my head:
Who the HELL had he learned from?
Ryan stripped off his jacket the moment we got in, tossing his phone on the bed before heading to the bathroom.
I sat on the bed's edge, staring at his phone. After a few seconds, I picked it up with trembling hands.
The password was still my birthday.
I swiped open the screen, heart hammering.
Instagram, call history, texts, even his food delivery orders... all spotless.
Everything looked perfectly innocent.
I exhaled in relief. Just as I was about to put the phone back, I noticed his weather app:
Chicago, Sunny, 82°F
Portland, Cloudy, 79°F
Portland? But we lived in New York.
My chest felt like someone was squeezing it in a vice.
Ryan had been to Portland—three months ago, right before our trip.
In that instant, I knew:
Ryan Mitchell was cheating on me.
The shower stopped running.
Ryan came out toweling his hair, saw me holding his phone, and grinned. "So how'd the inspection go? Find anything juicy?"
His tone was way too relaxed, almost teasing—like he was confident I'd found nothing.
I forced a smile. "Just browsing."
He walked over and kissed my forehead, his damp hair brushing my cheek.
"Send me some of today's photos. I wanna post them."
I nodded, transferring the photos from my phone.
He scrolled through them, smiling, finger tapping the screen.
"This one's perfect."
I leaned over to look. It was me standing with fireworks in the background, curly hair cascading down my back—completely different from the straight hair I'd worn for years. From this distance, you could barely tell it was me.
"Let's go with this one," he said.
I stared at his screen, throat tight. "You... can't even see my face clearly."
He didn't look up. "It's about the vibe, babe. Besides, all my friends know you're my girlfriend."
A few minutes later, his Instagram updated.
Caption: "Practice makes perfect."
My heart completely died.
He wasn't posting this for me to see.
He was posting it for his "photography teacher."
Late that night, I hid under the covers, muffling my sobs.
I kept asking myself why.
Why was I being betrayed?
But why did it have to be Ryan Mitchell?
Why Ryan, who'd pulled me out of my darkest place? Why the man I'd loved for five years?
I wanted so badly to keep lying to myself.
But right now my phone still held the evidence of their couple videos.
End of His Side Chick Made Him Dump Me… 100 Times! Now Watch Him Beg! Chapter 84. Continue reading Chapter 85 or return to His Side Chick Made Him Dump Me… 100 Times! Now Watch Him Beg! book page.