Chapter 5

After that day, Jeremy never showed up to harass me again. I had no idea what kind of "heart-to-heart" conversation Quentin had with him, but whatever it was, it worked like a charm. It was a relief to have that not-so-small problem taken care of. I definitely didn't want to go to work feeling like I was starring in some cringey romance show, getting ambushed at the entrance every day.

Quentin was a university professor, but with the kind of money he had to give me that ten-million house, I was pretty sure he had something else going on. There was no way a professor could afford a place like that, even if he sold the whole university.

That day, I happened to have the day off and was lounging at home, while he had to head to campus to teach. Just as he was about to leave, he realized he'd forgotten a USB drive with some important lecture materials at home.

On the phone, he started acting all sweet and playful, asking me to bring the USB to him. Honestly, I thought he was making a mountain out of a molehill. I wasn't some pampered princess. Running an errand like this was no trouble at all, and I was happy to help.

So I found the blue USB drive he mentioned in his study, grabbed a cab, and headed straight for the prestigious university where he taught.

I thought it'd be a simple delivery—done in no time. But Quentin's campus was a total labyrinth! I wandered around in circles, even my GPS was getting confused, until I finally flagged down a helpful student and stumbled upon his office building.

Just my luck—right as I was about to take the elevator, I saw it was out of order, with a "Temporarily Out of Service" sign hanging on the doors.

I stood at the stairwell, debating for a good thirty seconds whether to suck it up and climb or call him and ask him to come down and get it himself.

I shot him a quick WhatsApp message, but he didn't reply. He was probably teaching a class.

In the end, I took a deep breath and, determined to show what a considerate "amnesiac wife" I could be, started trudging up the stairs myself.

Thinking about it, it was like the universe set me up for this. Otherwise, how could I have just happened to overhear Quentin talking with a woman at the seventh-floor stairwell?

I'd barely dragged myself up to the seventh floor, out of breath and ready to collapse, when I caught voices coming from the break room nearby. The woman sounded shaky, on the verge of tears, clearly upset. The man's voice was low and soothing. I knew instantly it was Quentin.

Quentin had his back to me, so I got a clear look at the girl. She was young, probably just in her early twenties, with long hair falling over her shoulders and eyes red from crying, clutching Quentin's arm in a burst of emotion.

"Professor Oliver! Why can't you accept me? I adore you! I worked my ass off to get into grad school here just for you, and I could even stay on for my Ph.D. and teach. I did all this because of you!" Her voice was sharp, full of pain.

I instinctively shrank back behind the wall, just peeking out with one eye, trying not to be seen.

The hallway was dim, with the faint scent of disinfectant and old paper hanging in the air.

Her sobs rang out in the quiet corridor, each word stabbing at my ears like needles.

I could feel my heart pounding out of control, my palms slick with sweat as I gripped the tiny USB drive so hard that my knuckles turned white.

Quentin's voice was cool and a little detached. "Eloise, first off, relationships between professors and students are strictly forbidden and completely inappropriate. Second, I have no feelings for you that cross any professional boundaries. And most importantly, I'm already married."

"Married? No way! You're lying!" Eloise Fisher cried, her voice rising to a near-hysterical pitch. "She's not your wife. She's your childhood friend! Margaret is like a little sister to you! You've brought her to dinners with other professors before, and all your friends know she's just your friend! Why are you making up this lie to trick me?"

Childhood friend? Like a little sister? My mind was buzzing like something had just blown up inside my head.

That was the second time I'd heard someone call me Quentin's "childhood friend."

The first was Jeremy, and then it was Eloise.

I felt my legs going weak, scared they'd catch me, so I didn't even dare to breathe. I quietly backed up a few steps and ducked into the shadows at the stairwell corner.

What the hell was going on? Why did everyone keep saying I was just his childhood friend? Was there some secret between us that I didn't know about? However, our marriage certificate was real, and even our parents were in on it!

The more I thought about it, the more my mind spun, and panic crept in.

After waiting what felt like ages, I finally figured they were gone. I slowly shuffled out from my hiding spot and headed to Quentin's office, knocking softly on the door.

"Come in," he called.

I pushed the door open. Quentin was behind his desk, reading some documents. As soon as he saw me, he jumped up and hurried over, concern etched on his face. "Why are you all sweaty? And your face is so pale." He grabbed a tissue and carefully dabbed the sweat from my forehead.

His fingers were cool as they brushed across my forehead, but I instinctively shrank back a little.

"No-nothing," I muttered, avoiding his eyes as I handed him the USB drive. "The elevator was out, so I had to take the stairs up."

He took the drive, his frown deepening, his tone carrying a hint of reproach. "If this ever happens again, just call me. I'll come down and get it. What if you wore yourself out climbing all those stairs?"

"Alright," I replied softly, but it felt like there was a heavy stone pressing down on my heart.