Chapter 5

Yuliana spun around and snatched the phone right out of Charlie's hand.

"It's nothing. I was just looking up whether what those guys did counted as disorderly conduct."

Charlie wanted to push further, but seeing her closed-off expression, he swallowed his questions. They were husband and wife, after all. He believed she wouldn't lie to him.

He nodded and got up to freshen up, but Yuliana called out to him.

She reached into the cabinet and pulled out a first-aid kit. "Your hand is hurt. Let me take care of it."

Charlie blinked, then obediently sat back down on the edge of the bed. He held out his hand, revealing a jagged, bloody cut. He had planned to ignore it, thinking it wasn't deep enough for a bandage, but he hadn't expected Yuliana to notice.

As he watched her focus intently on dabbing the wound with an alcohol swab, his mind drifted back to the ceremony.

"Yuliana, about what Bella said at the wedding today—"

"Don't get it wet when you shower, or it'll get infected," she interrupted. "And try to be more careful the next time you get into a fight. After this, there won't be anyone around to patch you up anymore."

She muttered that last part so softly that Charlie couldn't quite catch it.

"What did you just say?"

Yuliana offered a faint smile. "Nothing. It's late. I'm going to get some rest."

With that, she put the kit away and climbed into bed.

By the time Charlie finished his shower and came back out, Yuliana was still awake. He climbed in beside her, wrapping his arms around her waist and reaching for the buttons of her pajamas.

Yuliana reached up and caught his hand, stopping him from going further. Her voice was flat, stripped of its usual warmth. "It's been a long day. I want to sleep early tonight."

Charlie didn't force her. He simply tucked her in and turned off the light.

…

The following morning, Yuliana was jolted awake by a commotion coming from downstairs.

She dressed and headed down, only to find Alyssa in the living room, chatting and laughing with a large group of people in the living room.

Charlie stood to the side, brows furrowed, his tone laced with his signature impatience. "What are you doing here?"

Alyssa didn't miss a beat. Lounging on the couch as if she owned the place, she arched a playful brow at him. "What, not happy to see me?"

A few of Charlie's friends walked over with a grin. "Alyssa said you're the hero who saved her last night. She was so grateful she just had to come by and thank you in person."

Charlie's scowl deepened as he took in Alyssa's languid pose on the couch. "I'm not seeing much sincere gratitude here."

Alyssa smirked, and with a magician's flair, she pulled a box of chocolates from behind her back.

"Back in college, I used to make you chocolates every Valentine's Day. After all these years, I'm sure you've missed the taste."

Charlie didn't reach for the box, but the hard lines of his face softened noticeably.

Seeing the opening, Alyssa tossed the chocolates into Yuliana's arms. "Those are Charlie's favorite almond chocolates. Please put them away for him."

At that, Charlie's brows knit together again, his voice turning cold as he said, "Alyssa, you're the one who likes almond chocolates. Don't put your tastes on me. And Yuliana is my wife, not a maid. She's under no obligation to take orders from you."

A glacial chill swept the room, freezing everything in its path. Except for Yuliana—her smile remained perfectly still on her face.

So, almond chocolate was Alyssa's favorite.

It all made sense. Whether it was a corporate gala or their own wedding anniversary, there was always almond chocolate on the table.

She wondered if, every time Charlie prepared them, he was secretly revisiting those college Valentine's Days with Alyssa.

Without a word, she handed the box to the housekeeper to put in the fridge.

Alyssa shot her a look of renewed hostility, but Yuliana ignored it, carrying her breakfast into the dining room.

Because of the open floor plan, even from the dining room, every word from the living room carried over with perfect clarity.

"Charlie, isn't this the painting I did for the art competition in college? I can't believe you kept it! You even had it framed and hung in the living room. If you like my work that much, I'll paint you some new ones.

"And the pebbles we collected at the beach! I thought you'd tossed them ages ago. I never expected to see them in a crystal display box.

"Wait… I remember throwing this guitar with the broken string in the trash years ago. Did you actually take it back?"

Every corner of the house bore traces of Alyssa.

Yuliana remembered when she first moved in. She had asked about these items, and Charlie had simply dismissed them as sentimental mementos from school.

He never offered details, and she never pried. But she had been too blind to see the raw emotion hidden in his eyes whenever he looked at them—a mix of restraint, resentment, and agonizing love, all stirred by Alyssa.