Chapter 2

When Fiora showed up, it was like tossing a rock into a calm lake. Our peaceful home was instantly turned upside down.

The next morning, I was still asleep when the noise from the living room woke me up.

I walked out and saw Fiora pacing around the living room in a gossamer-thin silk camisole dress.

The straps were so delicate that one tug and they'd break, and the hem just barely covered the tops of her thighs.

Meanwhile, Darian was sitting at the dining table, eating his whole wheat toast and boiled eggs with his usual precision.

"Good morning, Darian," Fiora called out in a sweet, playful voice. She wrapped her arms around herself, deliberately shivering.

"Darian, is the AC turned down too low? I'm so cold." As she spoke, she quietly sidled closer to Darian, leaning forward just enough for a hint of her delicate skin to show through her neckline.

I was about to head to the closet to grab her a coat, but Darian set down his toast.

He pushed up his glasses, giving Fiora a once-over with that X-ray stare of his.

Then he spoke up, using that clinical tone I knew all too well, the same one he used when talking to his patients. "Chills, fatigue, low energy? It's classic signs of hypothyroidism.

"Have you been experiencing hair loss, feeling unusually sleepy, trouble remembering things, or gaining weight lately?"

Darian spoke slowly, each word cutting through the air with surgical precision.

Fiora's playful look slowly froze on her face.

She stood there, mouth hanging open, unable to say a single word.

Darian ignored her awkwardness, sticking to his usual doctor routine and continuing his clinical questioning.

He added, "From what I can see, your symptoms aren't too severe yet. Tomorrow morning, before you eat anything, swing by our hospital and get a thyroid panel done in the endocrinology department.

"Catch it early, treat it early, intervene early. Hypothyroidism isn't something to take lightly. It can throw your whole metabolism out of whack. If it gets serious, you could end up with pericardial effusion or even slip into a myxedema coma."

With that, he grabbed the last half of his toast, popped it in his mouth, and stood up. "I'm off to work."

From start to finish, Darian's gaze never lingered on Fiora's little display for even a heartbeat.

Now, the living room was only me and Fiora, still standing there like she'd been hit with a freeze ray.

That silk camisole of hers looked totally out of place now.

I couldn't help but snicker.

Fiora finally snapped out of it, furious and annoyed, stomping her foot. "Lilith, how dare you laugh? Is your husband nuts or what?"

I laughed so hard that I could barely straighten up. "He's not nuts. He's a doctor."

This round, my straight-laced husband won hands down.

I glanced at Fiora, her face so frustrated that she looked like she might explode, and for the first time, I thought having a robot husband was actually pretty great.

At least, his antivirus software was top-of-the-line.

Fiora wasn't about to give up after her first setback.

She quickly switched tactics, trading in her damsel-in-distress act for a more nurturing, considerate approach.

She started jumping at every chance to do the chores, making sure the house was spotless every single day.

When it came to cooking, she really went all out.

A few days later, I was still working overtime at the office when I got a message from Fiora.

It was a photo of some fancy insulated lunch boxes.

The caption read: [Lilith, I made Darian a special lunch and brought it to the hospital. He's been working so hard with all those surgeries. He really needs to eat well. Don't worry. I saved a portion for you, too.]

She even added a playful winking emoji at the end.

As I read the message, a strange sense of unease crept over me.

It felt like someone was encroaching on my territory, the territory that belonged to his wife.

I immediately called Darian, but he didn't pick up. He was probably still in surgery.

An hour later, Darian called me back.

"Hey, I was in surgery just now," he said, his voice sounding a bit tired.

"Fiora dropped off some lunch for you at the hospital. Did you get it?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

Darian paused for a couple of seconds. "Yeah, I got it."

"Did you eat it?" I asked.

"Nope," Darian replied, blunt as ever.

"How come?" I asked.

"I was telling my coworkers about all the health risks in those lunch boxes," Darian said.

I froze. "What kind of risks?"

Darian's voice got all serious, like he was presenting at a medical conference. "She brought over bacon cheeseburgers, deep-fried shrimps, and caramel cheesecakes.

"Bacon cheeseburgers are loaded with saturated fat and cholesterol. If you eat it too often, you're basically asking for clogged arteries.

"Deep-fried shrimps soak up a ton of oil during cooking, and the shrimp heads are loaded with shrimp roe, which is crazy high in cholesterol.

"And caramel cheesecakes? That's a classic high-sugar, high-calorie dish. It'll spike your blood sugar and increase your risk of insulin resistance."

He paused for a moment, then wrapped it up. "High oil, high salt, high sugar? If you keep eating like that, you're basically asking for high cholesterol, high blood pressure, and high blood sugar.

"And in the end, you're looking at cardiovascular diseases, like coronary artery disease, heart attacks, and strokes."

I was dumbfounded.

He turned a heartfelt lunch into a full-blown medical warning.

I could hear Darian's coworkers cracking up in the background.

Darian cleared his throat and continued, "I asked Ms. Whitmore a pretty serious question right in front of everyone at work."

"So, what did you ask?" I blurted out, curiosity practically bursting out of me.

Darian's voice got noticeably colder. "I asked her, 'Ms. Whitmore, are you working so hard to give me a heart attack so you can snag my house, or are you simply hoping my wife gets to be a rich young widow?'"

My mind went completely blank.

I could imagine the looks on all those nurses' and doctors' faces. Their reactions must have been priceless.

As for Fiora, she was probably suffering a full-blown meltdown right then and there.

After I hung up, I collapsed onto my desk, laughing so hard that my whole body was shaking.

Darian's tongue was sharper than a surgeon's scalpel dipped in venom. Every word sliced straight to the bone.

When I got home that night, Fiora was sitting on the couch, her eyes red from crying. As soon as she saw me, her tears burst out all over again.

Fiora choked out, "Lilith, Darian was totally out of line. He embarrassed me in front of everyone at the hospital. I was trying to do something nice."

Seeing her all teary and upset, for the first time, I didn't feel the slightest bit of sympathy.

I asked her calmly, "Fiora, you know Darian's a heart surgeon. He's super strict about what he eats. So why did you still cook all that and bring it to him?"

Fiora's sobs suddenly stopped.

She was caught off guard by my question.

I met her gaze and said, "Darian's words sting, but he never does anything without a reason."

Fiora's face went very pale in an instant.