Chapter 1

Three years after getting back together with Xavier, he cheated on me again.

With the same woman from three years ago.

When I ran into them at a restaurant, he lied and told me she was a client.

The next moment, he shielded her behind him, looking at me with wariness and alarm.

I knew what he feared—that I'd lose it again and hurt the woman he treasured most.

But I simply stepped forward, straightened his slightly disheveled tie, and said gently:

"Alright, I understand. Don't drink too much. Remember to use protection during sex."

After a pause, I suddenly felt my concern was unnecessary, so I corrected myself:

"Or don't do it at all. That's fine too."

I thought I'd been gentle and considerate enough.

But somehow, Xavier's face still darkened.

The restaurant was quiet, with conversations deliberately kept low.

Only the occasional soft clink of silverware against plates could be heard.

The décor was thoughtful—roses everywhere, no other flowers in sight.

Naturally, the people dining here were lovers.

Or perhaps some were like Xavier.

Everyone just tacitly played along, pretending to be affectionate.

I acted as if I hadn't seen Xavier's darkened expression at all. I gave the woman he was shielding a slight nod, then turned and left.

My friend walking beside me asked quietly, "Why aren't you angry?"

Angry?

I didn't seem to feel anything.

Maybe I had been angry before, but it hadn't helped.

I'd even paid a heavy price for it.

A price I couldn't afford to pay a second time.

I smiled calmly. "Nothing to be angry about. He was just meeting a client."

My friend looked at me in silence, her eyes filled with complex emotions.

I knew what she was thinking.

But I couldn't tell her this was the first lesson Xavier had taught me:

Learn to turn a blind eye to his affairs.

When dinner ended, Xavier was waiting at the restaurant entrance in his car.

I looked at my ride-hailing app still showing a queue, so I didn't refuse. I opened the back door and got in.

As expected, someone was sitting in the passenger seat.

She turned around and smiled at me with a mixture of restraint and smugness. "Sorry, Mrs. Harper. I get carsick."

"Xavier took pity on me and let me sit here. There's no other meaning to it—don't misunderstand."

Xavier opened the door and got into the driver's seat, explaining casually:

"It's just a seat. If you mind, I'll have Bridget switch with you."

I nodded gently, still considerate. "It's fine. I understand."

"I have motion sickness patches. Would you like one, Miss Sullivan? It might help."

Bridget said nothing.

Xavier fell silent too.

The car became quiet in an instant.

It had started raining outside at some point. It looked cold.

My friend sent me a message asking if I'd gotten a ride and whether she should come pick me up.

I looked down to reply, not noticing Xavier gripping the steering wheel tightly.

After a long while, he finally started the car before the rain got heavier.

Bridget spoke again. "Drop Mrs. Harper off first. She lives closer."

At that, Xavier and I spoke almost simultaneously:

"That works."

"No need."

I froze, then understood Xavier's intention and quickly added:

"Actually, it's so late now, and it's pouring rain. Going back and forth would be too much trouble."

"Why don't you stay over? I just messaged the housekeeper and asked her to prepare both the master bedroom and guest room..."

Before I could finish, Xavier suddenly hit the brakes hard. The tires screeched against the pavement.

My forehead slammed into the back of the passenger seat.

Before I could process the pain, I heard Xavier say coldly, "Get out!"

I realized I'd misread his intentions again, so I shut my mouth.

I quickly pulled out my folding umbrella from my bag, opened the car door, and got out.

The rain was heavy—the small umbrella couldn't shield much.

I was quickly soaked through.

Xavier drove past me, and the splash from puddles soaked my pants even more.

I looked down at them briefly. When I looked up again, even the exhaust fumes were gone.

In the end, I had no choice but to shamelessly message my friend and ask her to pick me up.

She arrived quickly.

Looking at me drenched, her eyes filled with exasperation. "You deserve this!"

I forced a smile. "Clara, thank you."

"I know you mean well, but I can't help it. I can't leave him."

It wasn't that my feelings wouldn't allow me to leave him.

It was reality that trapped me.