8. Misunderstanding

Chitt!

The luxury sedan came to a slow stop in the quiet basement parking area. The engine was turned off, leaving behind a heavy silence. Dim lights reflected off the concrete walls, illuminating Liora’s limp figure in the passenger seat.

Ethan turned his head.

“When she’s calm like this, she looks beautiful,” Ethan unconsciously stared at Liora. “B-but … why does it look like she’s been crying?”

Ethan leaned closer, his hand slowly lifting before gently wiping the tears from Liora’s cheek.

“What are you thinking about right now, hm?” Ethan asked, receiving no response from Liora.

“Is it because your stomach hurts, or is there something else hurting your heart?” Ethan guessed.

Moments later, Ethan realized that Liora’s face was pale, her lips slightly parted, while her breathing was irregular.

Not long after, Liora’s body moved restlessly from time to time, as if the discomfort in her stomach was attacking again.

“Hey, are you okay?” Ethan asked when he saw Liora suddenly straighten her body and look like she was about to vomit.

Ethan began to panic. “Do we need to go to the hospital?” Ethan sat up, intending to start the car engine.

But he stopped when his suit was suddenly pulled.

“I-I don’t want to go to the hospital, take me home,” Liora pleaded. She thought the person beside her was Nadine, her best friend.

“But your condition doesn’t allow it,” Ethan murmured softly. “Your face also looks pale,” he added.

“I just need to rest, I want to sleep. Help me to my room, okay?”

Ethan didn’t respond. He hurried to get out of the car.

“There’s no way I can take you home when your condition is like this,” Ethan thought.

Click!

His hand reached out, carefully unfastening Liora’s seatbelt. When the car door opened, the night air immediately rushed in—cold and piercing.

Ethan stepped down first, then turned back and reached for Liora’s body, which was barely able to stand.

“Come on, I’ll help you walk,” Ethan said as he slightly bent down.

As Liora tried to lower her feet and stand, her knees suddenly went weak.

“Eh—”

Ethan swiftly caught Liora before she fell. Without hesitation, he slipped one arm under Liora’s knees and the other supporting her back, then lifted her carefully.

Liora’s body felt light in his arms. Too light.

“Calm down, let me just carry you,” Ethan said, briefly gazing at Liora’s face after she was in his arms.

Liora let out a soft groan, her head resting against Ethan’s chest. The faint scent of perfume mixed with the smell of alcohol made Ethan hold his breath slightly.

“Why is your body so light? Does Daren never feed you, hm?” Ethan asked quietly.

With his long strides, Ethan began walking, completely untroubled by carrying Liora.

Meanwhile, Liora began to mumble incoherently, her hands clutching Ethan’s suit as if she were afraid of being abandoned.

“Does your stomach hurt again, hm?” Ethan looked at Liora, as if trying to endure the pain in her abdomen.

“Be patient, we’ll arrive at my apartment soon.”

Not wanting to linger, Ethan walked slowly toward the elevator, his steps steady even though his chest felt strange—heavy, yet warm.

Inside the elevator, a large mirror reflected their figures. For a moment, Ethan stared at the reflection. A man carrying a fragile woman, not knowing since when the boundaries had begun to blur.

“Shitt! What have I done?” Ethan thought as he looked at himself.

“I was the one who told her to stay away from me, but here I am—fully conscious—bringing her to my secret apartment.”

Ethan slowly shook his head.

“An apartment that shouldn’t be touched by anyone. Except for trusted people who clean it. But tonight, so casually and happily, I brought her here.”

Ding!

Ethan’s thoughts were interrupted when he heard the sound of the elevator stopping. The doors opened.

Ethan stepped out toward the most luxurious apartment unit at the far end. His hand slipped into his pocket, opening the door with special access. As soon as the door closed again, silence immediately enveloped the room.

The apartment was neat, cold, and rarely inhabited. Not long after, Ethan walked toward the large sofa in the living room. Slowly, he laid Liora’s body down, making sure her head rested comfortably. Liora stirred, her face grimacing, then unconsciously pulled Ethan’s suit again.

“You traitor, I hate you!” she murmured softly.

Ethan froze.

“Who is the person Liora hates? Me or Daren?” Ethan thought.

Ethan stood there, staring at Liora’s disheveled face on the sofa. Her hair was slightly messy, her eyelashes wet—whether from lingering tears or alcohol that hadn’t completely worn off.

“Rest, I’ll get you some warm water,” Ethan said softly, then took a thin blanket and covered Liora’s body.

As he was about to step away, Liora moved again, this time more clearly.

“Don’t leave me, stay here with me, Nadine. Don’t let him come near me, let alone touch me,” her voice was weak and fragile.

Ethan let out a rough breath, then crouched beside the sofa. His hand lifted unconsciously, gently stroking Liora’s hair.

“I’m sorry for what I said this afternoon. Maybe because of my words, you became afraid of me,” he whispered regretfully.

Ethan was completely unaware that Liora’s words earlier were not meant for him at all. Instead, every sentence that escaped her lips was meant for Daren, her husband.

Elsewhere, the atmosphere was different. Daren rose from the bed. The scent of perfume mixed with sweat and his earlier lovemaking with Camelia faintly filled the air, making him feel suffocated.

“It feels like my chest is about to explode in here,” Daren muttered as he began putting his clothes back on.

His chest felt tight, as if something was pressing from within.

He buttoned his shirt with restless movements, then stepped out of the room.

Camelia was still asleep on the bed, her face peaceful, as if she bore no burdens at all.

Daren opened the balcony door and stepped outside. The night wind brushed against his face, but the discomfort didn’t fade.

He pressed his chest lightly.

“Why does this feel so uncomfortable, like something is about to happen?” he murmured.

His thoughts drifted aimlessly, then stopped on one name.

“Liora,” he murmured softly.

“Why did I suddenly think of her? Is she okay, or did something happen to her?” Daren thought, but immediately brushed aside any bad thoughts about his wife.

For some reason, the image of his wife appeared out of nowhere. Her cold voice during their phone call earlier echoed again, making Daren frown.

“Is Liora starting to suspect my relationship with Camelia?” he asked himself.

“That seems impossible. Hopefully my secret stays safe,” he hoped.

Daren gazed at the night sky, feeling that something was moving beyond his control—something he couldn’t see, couldn’t understand.

A vague premonition.

Unclear in form.

Unclear in direction.

And without Daren realizing it, while he stood restlessly on the balcony of his mistress’s apartment, Liora—his wife, whom he had always considered safe inside their home—was nowunder the protection of another man. A man he had never once suspected.