Chapter 1

As the kiss ended, the energy inside the room reached a fever pitch.

A male colleague handed a brim-full glass of strong liquor to Vivian.

“You just bagged the top honor. You gotta drain this glass!”

Vivian’s eyes shimmered as she shrank behind Robert.

“Robert, I’m not good with alcohol.”

“Stop messing with her.”

Frowning slightly, Robert reached out, snatched the glass, and drained it in a single gulp.

He instructed the server to bring some honey lemon tea, turning to warn the group with a stern face:

“Vivian has a sensitive stomach. From now on, I’ll be drinking on her behalf.”

A sudden wave of suggestive ribbing erupted through the room.

“Oh ho! Where did our captain go and who’s this gallant knight?

“Guess Vivian really carries that kind of pull!”

A flurry of mixed emotions churned inside me. So Robert was capable of being attentive and caring.

Yet he came home yesterday with blackberries—my least favorite fruit.

Amid the cheerful laughter, a glass of liquor was thrust in front of me.

“Emily, you’re the veteran here—you can’t decline!”

Frowning, I looked toward Robert out of pure instinct.

“My hand was cut by bomb debris and got inflamed. I took cephalosporin before coming over. Can’t drink tonight.”

The colleague muttered in dissatisfaction:

“Everyone’s in high spirits—aren’t you just killing the mood?”

Ignoring him, I stared stubbornly at Robert.

I hoped he would step in and be protective of me the way he was moments ago of Vivian.

Instead, he cast a cool, indifferent glance at me.

“Can’t help you with this one. Drink up.”

With that, he silently mouthed two syllables to me:

“Gossip.”

For the avoidance of such, we had maintained maximum distance between us at the department over the years.

Unless strictly necessary, we never spoke or touched.

No one knew how fierce his craving for me was once we returned to the same roof after work.

The surrounding colleagues gave him enthusiastic thumbs-up.

“Well said, captain. No special treatment, save for Vivian, am I right?”

Without another word, I picked up the glass.

The stinging liquid hit my throat, choking me until my eyes welled up with tears, and I fled the celebration.

Standing at the bus stop, I habitually pulled out my phone.

In the pinned chat box, the conversation between Robert and me was left hanging since yesterday.

“Tomorrow’s mission is dangerous. Stay safe.”

He hadn’t replied.

Above it, a dense wall of messages sent entirely from my end.

“Will you be home for dinner? I made your favorite dishes.

“It’s getting cold. I put a scarf on the coat rack for you.”

And the last message had sent me was:

“Take extra care of our new rookie Vivian.”

The corner of my mouth twitched. Just then I noticed Robert had posted a rare update on his Instagram.

It was a photo of Vivian’s silhouette against the sunset, captioned:

“Fresh blood. A bright future ahead.”

The comment section was filled with teasing from colleagues, with some asking when they could expect wedding invitations.

He had not published a post in ages.

When we first got official, I had wanted a public announcement.

Robert had refused without a second thought, claiming avoiding office gossip would be good for us both.

For five years, his public persona had been squeaky clean, without a trace of me.

Holding my phone, expressionless, I gave the post a like.

It turned out that utter disappointment would rob one of all their tears.

Back home, I expertly bandaged my wound and turned on the computer.

On the desktop sat the marriage registration form I had filled out long ago.

Hovering the pointer over the icon, I hesitated to take one last look.

In the end, I dragged my fingers across the trackpad to drop it into the trash.