Chapter 5

The hurricane tore through Saltmere, and the howling wind drove the rain against the old tenement in the slums until the whole building shook violently.

Burning with a fever and barely able to think straight, Anson had only just made it to the door when a deafening crash came from behind him, and half of the old building collapsed.

He used the last of his strength to get outside. The rain soaked him through in an instant, and his wounds stung under the downpour.

He took shelter in the nearest small clinic, only to find it already packed with people escaping the storm.

Someone said in a low voice that the old doctor who ran the place had been struck on the head by falling debris during the night. He had died, and his body was still lying in the back room because no one dared go near it.

Anson pushed down the ache in his chest and lifted the edge of the curtain to look. Out of the sense of duty he had carried since medical school, he went in and gently closed the old doctor's eyes.

When he came back out, he found anti-inflammatories and fever reducers in the medicine cabinet and swallowed two pills dry. He also dug out gauze and rubbing alcohol and dressed the wounds on his foot and hands.

After that, he handed out medicine to the elderly and the children around him and treated their scrapes and fevers.

A young woman had cut her arm on broken glass.

Anson crouched down, bent his head to disinfect and bandage the wound, and spoke gently. "Keep it dry and change the dressing on time."

The young woman's ears turned red. She thanked him over and over, stealing shy glances at him.

Just then, a dark figure holding an umbrella rushed in through the door.

It was Eleanor. She was soaked through, her hair was a mess, and panic lingered in her eyes.

However, the moment she saw Anson safe and sound, smiling warmly at another woman, her worry turned to jealousy.

She strode over, looked down at him, and spoke in a cutting, arrogant tone.

"I thought you'd be in terrible shape, but I guess I worried for nothing. You've adjusted pretty fast. You even found someone to flirt with in a place like this."

Anson's hand stilled on the cotton swabs. When he looked up, his eyes held nothing but coldness.

The intimacy and contempt from last night's phone call still echoed in his ears, and he could not even be bothered to pretend anymore.

"Thanks to you, I'm doing just fine." His tone was flat, but every word stung.

"Shouldn't you be at home trying for a baby with your husband, Ms. Vandermeer? How do you have time to come looking for me?"

Eleanor gave him a half-smile, then grabbed his wrist.

"I'm here so you can do your duty as my lover, of course. Come with me."

Anson tried to pull free, but her grip left no room for refusal.

People around them had started to stare. He did not want to make a scene among the evacuees and become an even bigger laughingstock of Saltmere, so in the end, he silently got into her car.

The car pulled up in front of a nightclub.

Eleanor tossed him a black suit. "Put this on."

"No," Anson said.

"You're not my husband right now. You're just a lover." Eleanor's voice was icy. "You do whatever I tell you to do."

Anson's grip tightened on the suit, but he went into the dressing room.

Once he had changed, Eleanor took him up to a private room on the top floor.

Five women sat inside, all well-known heiresses from Saltmere's upper class.

One of them looked up and paused. "Eleanor? Isn't that your husband?"

Eleanor slid an arm around Anson's waist, her tone flippant. "You've got the wrong guy. He's just a new boy toy."

In the dim light, the women mistook Anson for Rory and immediately grew bold and suggestive.

"Oh, so this is the lover who looks just like your husband. You've been so protective of him, hiding him away and never letting us see him. Are you finally willing to show him off today?"

"You know the rules. If you bring him here, he plays with the rest of us."

Glass after glass was pushed in front of Anson. Eleanor watched the whole time, cold and without the slightest intention of stopping it, so Anson drank them down one after another.

His fever had not yet broken. The alcohol burned his throat, and his stomach churned violently, yet he gritted his teeth and held on.

When he truly could not take any more, he stood up and said quietly, "I need to use the restroom."

A little while later, on his way back, he saw Eleanor on the phone outside the private room.

The moment she saw him, she said hurriedly, "Nothing can go wrong with tomorrow's plans," and hung up.

Her eyes landed on his pale, ashen face. She swallowed hard, her expression complicated, as if she wanted to say something but was holding back.

Anson lowered his eyes and asked casually, "What's so important about tomorrow?"

Eleanor stared at him in disbelief. "You don't remember? Tomorrow is our wedding anniversary."

Anson paused. Of course he remembered.

Seven years ago, their lavish wedding had been the talk of all Saltmere, and fireworks lit up the harbor for him all night long.

Eleanor had held him and told him he was the only one for her for the rest of her life. Looking back now, it all felt absurd and bitterly ironic.

He lowered his eyes, his tone flat. "Is it? I completely forgot."

Then he looked up and forced a smile at Eleanor.

"Then you should head home early and spend it with Rory, Ms. Vandermeer. After all, he's your husband now."