Chapter 4

Initially, our home hadn't featured a keypad lock. Five years ago, Tristan and I lived in a rundown apartment that cost just 300 dollars a month to save money for research.

One night, after working late at the research lab, I returned home to find someone had forcibly broken into our apartment. Fortunately, Tristan had arrived in time to call the police, preventing a potential disaster.

After that incident, he had absolutely refused to let me work late at the lab anymore.

In our tiny one-bedroom apartment covered with mold stains, he had held me close and promised that someday he would provide me with a big house protected by the safest keypad lock. Yet now, as our circumstances had improved, the anti-theft lock we had chosen together was being used to keep me out.

Just as I was about to leave, the door opened from the inside. A woman stood in the doorway with lingerie barely hanging on her shoulders, a sheer wrap doing little to hide the red marks on her skin.

She mumbled, "Can't a person get any sleep around here? It's still so early!"

Then, she added, "Oh, it's just you, Mrs. Barnes. Is there something you need? Professor Barnes exhausted himself last night and is still lying in bed. If it's urgent, you can tell me, and I'll pass the message along."

Yasmin spoke while proudly displaying her pregnant belly. She even pulled her shawl down a few inches to reveal intimate marks on her skin, completely embodying the role of the lady of the house.

In the past, this would have driven me insane with anger. However, I simply ignored her provocations and walked straight into the house.

"I'm just here to get my things, then I'll leave," I replied, pushing Victoria's stroller past her into the house.

When I reached what had been my bedroom, I discovered that not a single item of mine remained in sight. The bedside tables and walls were now covered with photos of Tristan and Yasmin.

The pictures documented them watching the Northern Lights in Glaceheim, chasing dolphins in the ocean, and kissing on a mountaintop before sunrise. Tristan had done all the romantic things couples do with her—things he had never done with me.

Instead of feeling hurt, I felt pathetic. During our five years together, I had made the same birthday wish five times. "I hope Tristan can spend more time with me this year."

Tristan had always smiled and promised that he would definitely make time to be with me more the following year. Yet, he broke that promise year after year, and I finally understood the truth.

It wasn't that he didn't have time—he was just busy spending it with his female student.