Chapter 6

The next day was New Year's Eve.

I was up early. Truth was, I barely slept a wink all night.

Brian was still out cold beside me, breathing steady. His arm was sprawled across my pillow, claiming his territory like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I carefully slipped his arm off my pillow and got out of bed.

The cold floor made me shiver as soon as my feet touched it.

The living room still carried last night's emptiness. The New Year's flowers I'd bought, like pussy willow and holly, sat in a vase, their red almost harsh against the gloom, but they looked lifeless.

I walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

The fridge was stuffed with all the groceries we'd picked up yesterday—chicken, duck, fish, fresh veggies, his favorite shrimp dumplings, and my go-to eight-treasure rice.

Every year on this day, we'd be busy in the kitchen—he'd help out while I did the cooking. Sure, we'd bump into each other sometimes, but the whole place would be filled with the smell of food and laughter.

But this year, the kitchen was as cold as a freezer.

I grabbed a few simple ingredients and started making breakfast.

My movements were almost robotic, but my mind was razor-sharp, like some precision machine, every gear locked in place, already planning out my next move.

The porridge was bubbling away on the stove, and the steamer was heating up some frozen buns.

The smell of food slowly filled the room, but I couldn't bring myself to feel even a hint of hunger.

At 7:30, Brian shuffled out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes, still in his pajamas, hair all over the place.

He paused when he saw me in the kitchen, then flashed a smile and came over, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. "Babe, up already? Didn't we say we'd sleep in today?"

His warmth seeped through his thin pajamas, still carrying that sleepy, just-woken-up heat.

Back then, that would've felt cozy.

Now, though, that hug just made my skin crawl, like a cold snake wrapping itself around me.

I didn't move or respond, just kept stirring the porridge with my spoon and said flatly, "Couldn't sleep once I was up. Go wash up, breakfast's almost ready."

He seemed to pick up on the distance in my voice. His arms stiffened, then he slowly let go.

"Oh, okay," he said, turning toward the bathroom.

The breakfast table was quiet, with only the faint sound of utensils clinking.

He tried to make small talk, like "Nice weather today," or "I heard that guy's on the New Year's Eve show tonight," but I just brushed him off with a curt "Yeah" or "Oh."

His smile faltered, and there was a hint of frustration and confusion in his eyes.

"Emily," he finally set down his fork and looked at me. "What's up with you? You've been off since yesterday. Is it because Chloe switched seats? I told you already. Are you seriously blowing this out of proportion?"

I slowly finished the last sip of my porridge, wiped my mouth with a napkin, and looked up at him. His face was full of impatience and irritation, but there wasn't a trace of guilt or shame. He really thought I was overreacting.

"Blowing things out of proportion?" I repeated, my voice calm and flat. "Brian, we've been together for three years."

"Yeah, three years. He sounded like he'd finally found his opening, his voice getting heated. "Three years together, and you're really gonna freak out just because some coworker sat in your spot?

"Emily, you've never been this petty before. Is work stressing you out? Or did someone say something to you?"

He flipped the script, blaming everything on me being "petty" or "stressed." He was a pro at this, twisting things around like it was second nature.

I glanced at the side of his neck. That "bug bite" was fading, but if you looked closely, you could still make out the shape.

I didn't push him about it. Instead, I asked, "Are you and Chloe pretty tight?"

His eyes flickered, then he put on that helpless-but-honest look. "Just a coworker! She's only been at the company for six months, and we work together sometimes.

"She's pretty ambitious, asks me for advice, and I help out when I can. Yesterday, she really needed a ride and couldn't get one, so I let her use my car. That's all. Can you just trust me for once?"

Trust? The irony was almost laughable. Did he honestly expect me to fall for it?

"Sure," I nodded, starting to clear the dishes. "I trust you." My voice was bland enough for any stranger, flat and empty, just lip service.

He looked relieved, his face relaxing as he got up to help. "There you go. Let's have a good New Year's Eve tonight, and I'll stay up with you, alright?"