Chapter 2

Andrew's face was sullen, the pressure in the room almost suffocating. His words came out through clenched teeth, barely restrained.

"You really need to learn how to use your brain when you talk," he said each word slowly and firmly. "My wife—past, present, and forever—will only ever be Charlotte Quinn."

Andrew's voice was resolute, every syllable ringing out like an unbreakable vow, as if he were swearing a promise that would never be broken.

If I hadn't seen him with my own eyes on that balcony next door, I might've actually believed him.

I glanced at the young man, who looked like he was about to burst into tears, and couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him.

I pulled my hand free from Andrew's painful grip, ignoring the look of surprise on his face. I walked over to Ben, picked up the documents he'd dropped, and handed them back to him, giving his shoulder a reassuring pat.

"Don't be nervous," I said softly.

Then my gaze shifted to Andrew.

"Ms. Summers is young, beautiful, and knows how to take care of people. It's really no surprise he got mixed up," I said.

The silence at the doorway was broken at the right moment by a suppressed cry of pain.

Mia stood there in a white dress, her eyes rimmed with red, looking like a frightened rabbit.

At some point, a thin silver needle had appeared, skewed and stuck into the back of Mia's hand, its tail still quivering.

"Andrew..." Mia's voice trembled, laced with tears. She spoke just loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

"Andrew, your heart palpitation's still been acting up lately, so I wanted to help with some acupuncture. Sorry, it's all my fault. I messed up again," Mia said.

I looked down.

How ironic.

A year ago, after I left the country, Andrew spent sleepless nights and kept having heart palpitations.

He went to therapists, relied on acupuncture, and took meds to fall asleep, all because he missed me.

Now that I was back, he still relied on all those things.

So, who was he really losing sleep over?

Mia's tears streamed down her face as she bit her lip hard, trying not to make a sound. She looked at Andrew with those teary, helpless eyes.

Andrew instinctively took a half-step toward her, but then forced himself to stop.

He turned back stiffly, gripping my hand so tightly that it hurt, but his gaze was magnetically drawn to Mia, unable to resist glancing her way.

Finally, he swallowed hard, grabbed a roll of gauze and a bottle of iodine from the first aid kit, and tossed them at Mia's feet.

"Take care of it yourself," Andrew said.

Then he turned around, crouched down, and gently lifted my injured hand.

"Charlotte, let me see. Does it hurt?" Andrew asked.

His touch was gentle, and his tone was soft, but his eyes weren't even on my hand.

All his attention was locked on Mia, who was fumbling with the medicine, wincing every time she tried to treat her own injury.

In his gaze, there was sympathy, irritation, and a concern for her that he couldn't hide.

I watched Andrew for a moment, and then gently pulled my hand away.

"It's fine," I said, meeting his gaze calmly. "It's just a scratch. I'm not dying."

Mia ran out, holding her injured hand.

Andrew stood there for less than ten seconds, not even pretending to check his phone, and turned to me with a cold, stony look.

"There's an emergency with the project. I need to go to the office," Andrew said.

He couldn't even be bothered to make up a better excuse.

I walked over to the window. In the yard of the villa next door, Andrew, who'd just claimed he was heading to the office, was holding Mia close, lowering his head to examine her hand.

His profile was tense, worry etched all over his face.

They weren't far away, and the wind carried their conversation over, bits and pieces drifting through the air.

Mia's voice carried a nasal, aggrieved tone that tugged at the heartstrings.

"Andrew, I can't stand sneaking around like this. Everyone thinks Charlotte is your wife." Mia's voice quivered with hurt.

Andrew let out a quiet sigh.

He said, "Just hang in there a bit longer. Charlotte and I have been together for nearly thirty years. If everything happens too fast, I'm worried she won't be able to handle it. And going public wouldn't be good for your reputation either."

He paused, and then gently caressed Mia's face, his move careful and cherishing.

"But remember, silly girl, we're the ones who are legally married. It's only a matter of time before we can stand together openly, just like we should," Andrew said softly.

Legally married. How ironic.

Ben wasn't wrong. He was too sharp.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my palm. It was Mia. No text, just a video.

I tapped it open.

Shaky footage, but I recognized the hotel suite right away. It was the place I stayed last year while recovering abroad.

And there I was, breathing steadily and sleeping sound.

The next second, the camera flipped, and there was Andrew, shirtless, flashing a mischievous grin as he pressed a finger to his lips, telling the viewer to keep quiet.

He waved Mia in from the doorway, and she stepped into view, not a stitch on her.

Andrew grabbed her, practically throwing her onto the other side of the bed, covering her mouth with his hand so I wouldn't wake.

They were right there, right beside me.

On the nights when I believed he'd crossed oceans just to soothe my aching heart, when I felt sorry for him, believing he'd gone through so much just for me, they were putting on their dirty little show right in the world I thought belonged to just the two of us.

Then, text messages popped up on my screen.

They read: [Ms. Quinn, he said he was more turned-on when he looked at your face.]

[It's so THRILLING.]