Chapter 3

At 2 a.m., Sean stumbled home drunk. His clothes reeked of spicy food mixed with cloying perfume. I frowned. "Sean, did you eat spicy food? The doctor said you can't—"

"Mind your own business." He pushed me away, unsteady on his feet.

I held back my anger and chased after him. "You drank too? Alcohol messes with your taste nerves."

He spun around suddenly, sneering. "Rachel, aren't you tired of this? Do you really want to boss me around forever? Can't you have a life of your own? I'm so sick of you hovering over me."

Hearing him call me annoying, I froze. My mind went completely blank.

I'd quit my Michelin reviewer job, turned down food column offers, and stayed with him through his worst two years. But to him, I was just someone with no life of her own.

He went into the bathroom. Only then did I drag my feet back to my room. He was right—I needed to find my own path.

After two years out of the food industry, my connections were almost gone. Fortunately, I'd begged for a chance to compile a food map in an old colleague's group chat.

I stayed up late researching restaurants. When I woke up the next day, it was nearly noon. Sean had been waiting at the dining table for ages.

I ignored him, grabbed yogurt and oatmeal from the fridge, and sat down on the other end to eat.

He frowned. "Why did you get up so late? I'm starving."

I stared down at my stirring yogurt. "I can't boss you for the rest of my life."

He fell silent for a moment, then stood up and went back to his room. When he came out again, he slid a magazine across the table to me.

"Gourmet Style wants to interview me. I took the chance to recommend you to the editor. Prepare well for the interview, and if you have any questions, just ask me," said Sean.

I looked up, meeting his eyes that held a patronizing glint. This job would catapult me back into the food critic scene. But I pushed the magazine back. "Thanks, but no need."

Sean's brows furrowed. "Rachel, what is your problem? Do you know how hard it is to find a good job now?"

"I know," I said.

He took a deep breath and went on. "I can give you connections to get back in the industry. But don't push me for anything else."

I smiled and turned him down again.

"Whatever." He dropped the words and slammed the door as he left.

If he'd offered help sincerely, I wouldn't have refused. But he was clearly using this opportunity to erase our two years together—and shake off his guilt. I didn't want his charity.

I went back to my room to pack my suitcase. In a few more days, I'd be moving out too.

That afternoon, Lucas came to play in my room when Sean suddenly called. "Rachel, have you lost your mind?"

Before I could speak, he lashed out. "You want to marry me that bad? To tie me down, you'd stoop to such low tricks?"

"Sean," my voice trembled. "What's going on? Explain it clearly."

"Still playing innocent? How dare you send that photo to the group chat? I told you my career comes first—can't you understand? If you push me again, get out of my house." He hung up.

Only then did I notice dozens of messages on WhatsApp. The Foster family's relative group was in an uproar.

I scrolled up—and froze when I saw the photo of Sean and me kissing.

Last year, when Sean tasted food for the first time again, he kissed me in his excitement.

I'd been holding my phone then. I'd hit the shutter by accident and taken the photo. Later, I couldn't bear to delete it, so I saved it secretly. But I had no idea how it ended up in the group chat.

"You two kissed!" Lucas giggled, covering his mouth.

I sighed and asked, "Lucas, did you go through my phone?"

He didn't answer—just kept laughing.

I patted his head, sighed, and zipped up my suitcase.