Chapter 6

In the first year of our marriage, I did share the occasional tender moment with Cillian.

We would exchange a knowing smile whenever we ordered the same dish at the same time. I felt warmth whenever he draped his suit jacket over my shoulders when we attended banquets, or when he kissed me on the forehead on some mornings…

They may appear insignificant, but to me, they signified that Cillian was starting to develop feelings for me.

That was, until we arrived at the restaurant.

Cillian did not even need to ask Beau what she wanted to eat. He effortlessly listed a series of dishes to the waiter.

Finally, he wrapped up his order with an important note, “Extra spicy, please.”

Throughout the entire process, Beau sat opposite him with her chin propped against her hand while staring at him intently.

After the waiter left, a smile played on her lips.

“I’m surprised you remember what I like to eat.”

Cillian was in the middle of cleaning his hands with a hand towel before he paused.

Then, he explained without so much as a change in his demeanor, “I’ve brought Margaret here in the past too. I remembered them because they were their signature dishes and they tasted wonderful.”

It was a lie.

He did bring me here once.

We ordered the exact same dishes.

I remembered how his gastroenteritis flared up that night because he could not stomach spicy food.

“I see,” Beau drawled out her voice with an inscrutable look in her eyes, “I remember you couldn’t stomach spicy food. You used to just watch while I ate! I’m surprised your appetite changed in just a little over a year.”

No.

At that moment, I realized Cillian had not changed at all.

His preference in food and in people had never changed.

That meal tasted like wax in my mouth.

The entire time, they chatted enthusiastically about the time they spent together while studying overseas.

I was relegated to a spectator in my own marriage. I watched blankly as they reminisced about the passion and reckless abandon of their youth.

After dinner, the driver came to take me and Cillian home.

Cillian offered to take Beau back to her place.

Beau refused and insisted she would get a taxi herself.

Cillian did not insist.

After I got into the car with him, he did not signal for the driver to depart.

Instead, he waited in the car and silently watched while Beau waited by the roadside.

It was only when a taxi pulled up in front of her that Cillian signaled for the driver to take us home. He shut his eyes, and leaned back in his seat to take a nap.

Suddenly, the quiet of the night was broken with a sharp, shrill scream.

Beau, who had just opened the car door, was dragged into an alley by a couple of drunken men.

Cillian's expression transformed in an instant. He shot out of the car.

I had never seen him so angry.

Even after his bodyguards joined him and helped subdue the group of drunken men, he would not stop.

He pinned down the leader among them and punched him repeatedly until his face was bruised and swollen. Even then, he did not stop.

When I noticed some passersby recording with their phones, I stepped in to pull Cillian away, worried that the footage might end up online.

I barely touched his arm before he abruptly flung me away without even glancing at me.

I was thrown to the floor.

When I gritted my teeth and tried to get up, I felt a sharp pain shoot through my body.

I looked down to see a dark red stain on the floor.

That was how I lost my child before I even knew I had a child at all.