Chapter 2

Aside from Edward's business partners, there was someone else important here.

It was Leopold Shaw, the man Edward relied on the most. He could make or break Edward's ambitions in Portian City.

Leopold and I first met at my hot dog stall.

That old man had a thing for hot dogs.

The first time he got into an argument with his family and ran away from home, I ran into him and thought he was just a hobo. Out of kindness, I gave him a hot dog.

After that, Leopold showed up every single day, rain or shine, always looking for a free hot dog.

For more than half a year, he kept coming back for an extra-large hot dog, always asking me to throw in more sauce.

The day Edward showed up, I was busy making hot dogs.

Steam billowed up from the pot, enveloping Edward's handsome brows and eyes.

He looked like a character from some comic books.

He came to Leopold with a project, brimming with youthful confidence and a bit of cocky arrogance, totally convinced his idea would blow everyone away.

Then he got the cold shoulder.

But Edward was nothing if not patient. He kept coming back, again and again. From the scorching heat of summer all the way to the bitter cold of winter.

I couldn't help myself. I set a hot dog in front of Leopold.

"The sauces are on the side. Add as you like," I told him.

Edward slid right into the seat across from Leopold.

Edward was sharp. He stuck to talking about hot dogs with Leopold and nothing else.

They went from chatting about the bread all the way to sausages.

From the sauces I used, they somehow ended up talking about brand deals.

If night hadn't fallen and stars hadn't started showing, I honestly think Edward could've had me launching my business by tomorrow.

From then on, Edward started coming by with Leopold on a regular basis, mooching off my hot dogs together.

After a while, Leopold didn't come around much anymore. He said the younger folks at home had finally straightened out, and now he had to teach them hands-on.

Meanwhile, Edward started showing up even more frequently.

He came from dropping by two or three times a month to coming over every single day.

The last time, I made two hot dogs and sat down across from him.

"These are the last two hot dogs I make in my life. Enjoy," I said.

Edward's eyes went wide in shock as I pulled out my acceptance letter from Southbridge University.

I said, "I got in. I'm going to college.

"I won't be running this stall anymore."

Edward didn't say a word. He quietly focused on his hot dog, head down.

So, without ever needing to spell it out, we found ourselves having a four-year-long relationship together.

From sharing hot dogs at the stall to walking into the college campus, our journey stretched on.

We first crossed paths in the world of adults, but our romance truly began in the youthful innocence of campus life.

After graduation, I settled into the homebody life, writing web novels and finally living the way I'd always dreamed, making money without ever leaving my place.

Edward had asked me more than once about this. "Most people go to grad school just to get a good job.

"But you're writing novels. Doesn't matter if you have a master's or not, right?"

I replied earnestly, "I'm not doing grad school for a job. I just genuinely love literature."

Edward called me naive, saying it was immature to spend four years chasing after literature. But at the same time, he transformed a room at home into the ultimate cozy writing nook for me.

Even though my stories were packed with scumbag guys, I never imagined Edward would be one of those guys.

I thought about a wife-chasing story I'd just written not long ago.

One of the hottest comments in the comment section read: [The heroine meets one brat, but the author meets ten.]

I couldn't help but smirk. And damn, I really did run into one myself.

Lucky for me, I only had to deal with one.

"Grace, say something," Edward demanded, his voice strained with suppressed anger.

How ridiculous. He was the one blowing up, when I was the one who should be pissed.

Just like the day I called him out on Chloe. He was stunned for a second, but then rage took over any guilt he might've felt.

He went ballistic, accusing me of betraying his trust and going through his personal things.

He acted as if he were the one getting cheated on. And suddenly, I was the one who stayed out all night, hooking up with some random guy in bed.

"So what do you want me to do?" I looked up at him.

I continued, "Am I supposed to be dead inside, hand you the divorce agreement, leave without taking a thing, and just wait for you to realize Chloe is nothing special?

"Maybe one night, when you're wasted and your stomach's killing you, you'll remember the hangover soup I used to cook for you?"

"I don't drink," he said calmly.

"Of course, you don't drink, so I never had to get up in the middle of the night to make you a hangover soup," I replied.

I managed a weak smile, tears blurring my vision.

I muttered, "It's pathetic. Why the hell don't you ever drink?

"I can't even blame your cheating on alcohol!"

I screamed, ripping the tie off Edward's chest. It was the exact same shade as Chloe's dress. They'd matched it on purpose.

I said, "Edward, I'm not some doormat heroine from my own wife-chasing novels. I won't suffer in silence, and I sure as hell won't pick up the dirty diapers you and Chloe left behind.

"All I want is to see you completely ruined, to make sure her parents and everyone in their whole village knows that this ungrateful piece of trash slept with her sponsor's husband!"

That was when it finally hit him.

He grabbed my shoulders, his grip tight and desperate.

"What did you do?" he demanded, his voice sharp with panic.

Staring into his anxious eyes, I laughed like a madwoman.

I said, "What did I do? I want her dead!"