Chapter 2

The whole table went quiet.

Sophie was the first to react. "Is this from your husband?"

"Yeah," I replied.

I opened the paper bag.

Inside was my gray cashmere scarf. Underneath it was a box of stomach meds.

There was also a tiny sticky note tucked in beside them. The handwriting was slim and elegant. [Be home by eleven.]

There was no name signed, but I recognized the handwriting right away.

Lucas saw it too. His face stiffened for a split second, but his usual calm quickly returned.

He leaned back in his chair and suddenly let out a laugh.

"You've really thought of everything," he said.

I looked up. "What do you mean?"

He looked at the scarf, his tone tinged with exasperation. "So you simply have someone deliver a few things and write a note, and that counts as having a husband now, Claire?

"If you wanted to make me upset, you didn't have to go through all this."

The atmosphere in the room suddenly turned awkward.

Some people were sneaking glances at me. Others thought Lucas had a point.

After all, I'd never posted anything about my love life on social media all these years.

There was no wedding, no ring photos. Even the friends Lucas and I shared didn't know there was anyone else in my life.

Lucas knew the old me all too well. Back in college, I used to tell everyone about everything, like bringing him breakfast.

He probably couldn't understand why I became so quiet after getting married.

I slipped the stomach meds into my bag.

"Whether you believe it or not, that's your problem, not mine," I said.

Lucas's smile faded a little. "Claire—"

I stood up. "I've got work tomorrow, so I'm heading out."

Sophie quickly called out to me, "Leaving so soon?"

"It's already half past ten." I grabbed my coat. "Let's catch up next time."

Lucas stood up too.

"Let me drive you home," he said.

"No need," I said.

"It's pretty late, and it'll be tough to get a ride."

"Someone's picking me up."

He paused.

I didn't bother explaining and walked out.

Lucas went after me as I stepped into the elevator.

"Claire," he said.

The elevator doors were about to close, but a hand stopped them. Lucas stepped into the elevator.

Now it was only the two of us, alone in the narrow space.

He fixed his gaze on me for a moment. "How long are you going to stay mad at me?" he asked.

I pressed the button for the first floor. "I'm not mad at you," I said.

"Then what's with all this tonight? Married? A husband? You really think I'd buy that?"

I turned to look at him. "You think I need you to believe me?"

Lucas was momentarily at a loss for words.

The elevator numbers kept counting down.

After a beat, his voice softened. "Claire, I didn't handle things well back then. The company had just gotten funding, and I didn't want to settle down that soon. I know I put you through a lot."

I didn't say a word.

He continued. "These past three years, I've thought a lot. The company's finally stable. I've seen what I needed to see, done what I needed to do. And we're not in our twenties anymore."

With that, he let out a soft sigh.

It felt like he'd finally made up his mind.

He said, "Why don't we put the past behind us?

"Let's start over."

The elevator reached the first floor. The door opened with a ding.

The lobby was brightly lit.

But I stood there, not moving.

Lucas looked at me with a trace of certainty in his eyes, as if he believed that whenever he chose to come back, I'd still be there, waiting, just like I had three years ago, when he told me to wait.

I suddenly understood. All these years, he had never figured anything out.

He simply felt that the time had come, so he came back to marry me. As for whether I was willing or not, that had never been within his consideration.

I said, "Lucas."

"Yeah?" he replied.

"We're not getting back together." I looked him straight in the eye, making sure every word landed. "Because it ended three years ago."

His brows finally furrowed.

"Claire—" he began.

I cut him off. "And another thing. Next time someone asks about me, let me speak for myself. After all, you don't even know whether I'm married."

With that, I stepped out of the elevator.

This time, Lucas didn't follow me.

There was a car waiting outside the hotel.

Just as I reached the curb, my phone buzzed.

It was a message from Ethan: [All done?]

I texted back: [Yeah.]

Ethan: [Be there in five minutes.]

I looked up.

Through the hotel's floor-to-ceiling windows, I could still see Lucas standing in the lobby.

He didn't come out.

He simply frowned and watched me, probably still trying to figure out who I'd gotten to help me pull off this whole charade.

I couldn't be bothered to look at him.

The next morning, I'd barely walked into the publishing house when Mia Turner rushed in, arms loaded with files.

She said, "Claire, urgent update. The sponsor for the architecture culture project changed their lead for next week's first joint planning meeting."

I took the files from her. "Who is it?"

Mia's expression was a little complicated. "Lucas."

I flipped to the first page.

In the column for the partner representative, the name Lucas Grant stared back at me.

Further down the page, it read: [Featured Author: Ethan Parker.]

My finger froze.

Mia leaned over the desk. "What's wrong?" she asked.

I locked onto those two names for a few seconds.

Just then, my phone lit up.

Ethan texted me: [See you at your office next week.]

I leaned back in my chair.

Last night, Lucas was convinced that my husband didn't exist.

Next week, he was about to see for himself.