How The Other Half Lives: Including Photography Ending Explained?

I'm a private photographer. Many female college students come to me to get their portraits shot. In return, they choose to offer me their supple bodies. One day, I receive an order to take wedding photos of a couple. However, that night, the bride insists on having me sleep with her… Could it be that her husband can't even afford to pay me for my services?

My mom has always been biased toward my younger sister, Nina Henderson. But before she passes away, she leaves the only house she owns to me. Meanwhile, Nina, who has always been the apple of my mom's eye, obtains nothing but a jewelry box. Just as I'm about to feel touched, I see comments springing in front of my eyes. "The truth is, their mom owes someone a huge sum of money. She left Leah her house because she wants Leah to take over the debt. In the end, Leah is forced to jump off a building by the debt collector. What a poor woman." "Nina, on the other hand, is able to marry the richest man's son thanks to the photo hidden inside the jewelry box. She gets to enjoy a lavish and comfortable life." "It's such a shame that Nina begins cursing at her mother the moment she hears the will being uttered. Because of that, her mother dies of anger before she can tell Nina the whole truth." I'm left feeling dumbstruck. That night, I dig up the jewelry box that Nina has thrown away. Then, I'm able to track down the richest man's villa.

When I found out my wife was hiding the divorce papers from me, I set up a car crash and pretended I had lost my memories. Naively, I thought this could save our seven-year marriage. But when Josephine Gillard found out I had lost my memories, I saw something called relief flicker in her eyes. Calmly, she told me, "We're siblings. Nothing more, nothing less. Even if we aren't related by blood." Before I could say a word, a nurse pushed open the door with a knowing smile. "Your husband and child are here, Dr. Gillard. Oh, I can't believe you're still so in love even after years of marriage." I was struck dumb. Only after Josephine left did I finally find the courage to speak. With a trembling voice, I asked the nurse, "How long has she been married?" The nurse looked envious. "Five years, and she just came back from maternity leave." While I was risking everything to save our marriage, she had already built another family behind my back.

I was a sketch artist acting for the police. On a secret mission, I was discovered by a murderer. My eyes were gouged out, and my body was dismembered, unceremoniously dumped in a garbage bin. On the brink of death, I called my boyfriend, a criminal investigator. However, he hung up on me because he was busy accompanying his first love to a prenatal checkup. A few days later, he received a painting that was a vital clue to finding the murderer, but he thought I was playing tricks on him. In his anger, he tore that portrait to shreds. After he found out the truth, he spent the whole night searching through the garbage to piece it back together.

Among the world's female models, Julian Vance once again ranked first as the photographer they most wanted to spend a night with. And yet he had never taken a single photograph of me. When reporters asked about it, he could never hide the fondness in his eyes. "My wife is for my eyes only. No one else gets that privilege." On my birthday, I happily changed into a lace nightdress and, for the first time, asked him to record me with his camera. Several minutes passed. The shutter never sounded. Behind the camera, Julian's expression had gone stiff. "Forget it," he said. My joy collapsed into confusion. "What's wrong?" "It's just..." He laughed dryly. "Photography is work. I don't want to mix you up with work." Then he put the camera back, turned around, and went into the bathroom. The door to the darkroom where he developed his photos was half open, red light spilling through the crack. I walked inside and saw an album on the worktable titled Vivian Blair's Private Diary. I opened it. Inside were photos in every degree of intimacy and every kind of pose.

After Dominic Hatch loses his memories, he refuses to believe that I'm his wife. "If you really are my wife, why is it that there aren't any photos of us together?" I explain to him that he doesn't like taking photos. That's why we didn't even have a wedding portrait of us. But soon, Dominic digs out nine thick and heavy photo albums from a hidden compartment in his safe. The main characters in those albums are him and another unfamiliar woman. There are countless photos documenting their journey—from they were still children to when they had completely grown up. The pure and innocence on their faces slowly give way to the sappy love and affection they have for each other. In fact, Dominic and the woman even had a wedding portrait of their own. At the back of the photo, a passionate "I love you" is scrawled there. I feel the blood in my veins turning to ice. With a trembling hand, I dig out my marriage certificate. Dominic merely glances at it before scoffing at me. "The edge of the seal is crooked! Clearly, this copy is forged!" My mind buzzes loudly at that moment. At the same time, the system's warning blares loudly in my mind. "This marks the end of the marriage registration mission. You have failed the mission. Commencing eradication protocol. Countdown: 48 hours remaining."