Chapter 5
For a fleeting moment, I felt like I was back in those days when Harvey and I were together.
Back in college, when we rented an apartment together, Harvey would sometimes act like this too.
In the end, I'd always end up dragging him by the ear to the kitchen, where he'd start cooking.
He used to spoil me rotten.
Just so I could get into the same university as him, he pulled all-nighters compiling study notes for me.
In college, he even gave up his chance to study abroad just because he saw me crying in secret.
That spot ended up going to my childhood friend, Lance.
Snapping out of my memories, I saw Harvey still curled up on the sofa, not moving at all.
He really wasn't feeling well.
I had already noticed on the way back—he looked unwell.
His stomach problems were hereditary. He had had them since childhood.
He had always been a picky eater and needed a gentle, nourishing diet.
I went out for a bit and picked up some ingredients.
He didn't stop me, probably because he had my phone and wasn't worried I'd run away.
I bought oats, dried cherries for the herbal soup, and a few other medicinal herbs.
The soft, creamy oat porridge paired with the dried cherry herbal soup was great for aiding digestion and nourishing the stomach.
Even after all these years, I still remembered all of this clearly.
Cooking the oats takes time, and making the dried cherry herbal soup was a hassle, too.
I was busy in the kitchen for nearly three hours.
It was already late into the night by the time both the porridge and the soup were finally ready.
Halfway through, Harvey popped into the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe with a teasing look.
"Sariah, are you deliberately trying to stay the night here?" he teased.
I suddenly remembered some things from the past and couldn't help but blush.
Flustered, I stammered, "Are you hungry? I could make something quick for you to tide you over."
"Not hungry," Harvey replied curtly, then went back to the living room.
He actually seemed to be in a better mood for a moment.
But when I finally brought out the porridge and soup, Harvey's face had turned cold again.
He remained seated on the sofa.
His pet dog was curled up right at his feet.
I cleared the table and arranged everything neatly.
Harvey got up and walked over, his pet dog following at his heels.
He came to the table, picked up the entire bowl of dried cherry soup, and without hesitation, poured it straight into the pot of oats.
I gasped, "They're meant to be eaten separately! You can't just mix them together!"
Then it hit me. He'd had these before. I used to make them for him all the time. He knew perfectly well how it should be served.
Harvey poured the two things together.
Then, with a blank face, he casually grabbed a fork and stirred them.
I watched as three hours of my hard work were instantly ruined in his hands.
Harvey picked up the pot of oats and dropped it carelessly on the floor, then beckoned to his pet dog.
"Here. Eat," he said coldly.
The dog wagged its tail and trotted over, sticking its head into the pot.
But after a quick sniff, it pulled its head back and backed away a few steps.
The dried cherry herbal soup had a strong medicinal smell. No dog would touch it.
Harvey looked at me with a cold smile that didn't reach his eyes.
He said, "See? Even the dog knows it's disgusting."
My face turned deathly pale in an instant.
How could I have been naive enough to think that, after everything, Harvey would really want me here just to cook for him?
Harvey advanced toward me, step by step.
He sneered, "Sariah, you're having a hard time lately, aren't you? Desperate enough to come begging for my help?"
I remembered the manager position that was almost mine, only to have it snatched away.
I remembered my dad in the hospital, his voice heavy with guilt and self-blame as he said, "Maybe I should just cut back on the dialysis sessions."
My hands clenched into fists, but I couldn't get a single word out.
Harvey reached out and pulled the scale model of his company's forty-five-story skyscraper toward himself.
The model was a replica of his company's headquarters, forty-five stories tall.
With his slender fingers, he tapped the very top of the model.
Then, slowly, he traced a downward arc from the rooftop to the table, mimicking something falling from above.
His voice was icy and cruel. "If you want my help, I might consider it. There's a rooftop on the 45th floor of my building. Jump from there, and I'll think about it."