Chapter 2

Maeve's POV

Just then, the cabin door opened, and Irvin walked in.

He rolled the prayer beads in his hand and looked down at us. "You've gotten bold, Meredith. You even dared to run away from home now."

I couldn't help clicking my tongue. No wonder they called him the Mystic Master of Jarville. Even when he came after someone, he brought his string of prayer beads with him.

Irvin said in exasperation, "All I did was push you that one time. I already apologized for it. What more do you want from me?"

Unlike Huxley and me, whose marriage had been arranged to form a business alliance, Meredith and Irvin had grown up together.

The Zimmerman family was pretty unusual. They had built their fortune on the mystic arts that blended astrology and the occult. Since calling Irvin Jarville's Occult Master sounded somewhat awkward, everyone in their circle referred to him as the Mystic Master instead.

Whenever one of the city's prominent families had to make a major decision, they would almost always go to the Zimmerman family for a reading.

Our families had long agreed that Meredith would be Irvin's future bride back when they were children. So, the two had grown up together.

After all, Irvin's grandfather had once consulted a fortune teller about his future. The reading had said that Meredith was the woman he was destined to marry.

Back then, our family had been in decline. Therefore, we had been more than happy that the Zimmerman family had taken an interest in Meredith.

But Meredith and Irvin had never been particularly compatible. They had a minor argument every few days and a major one every week. They spent years together as a bickering couple who constantly got mad at each other but would make up sooner or later.

Meredith retorted with reddened eyes, "I want you to drop dead, you damn poser! The Mystic Master? More like the biggest idiot! Why are you always carrying those stupid prayer beads? Your family hasn't even made money from fortune-telling in years!"

Irvin rubbed his forehead helplessly. "You're pregnant, Meredith. Come home with me, okay?"

Meredith got even more upset. "What makes you think I'll go home with you? You pushed me because of Imogen Sterling the other day! I'll remember that for the rest of my life! Don't think you can just pretend it never happened and brush it aside!"

Once again, they started arguing. I stood to the side watching them, feeling strangely envious. After all, Huxley and I had never been like this.

Seeing that there was no way he was going to calm Meredith down anytime soon, Irvin finally turned his attention to me.

He frowned and said, "Meredith is childish, but you're different, Maeve. You're usually the levelheaded one. How could you get dragged into this with her? Hux has always treated you well. We've all seen it. You shouldn't be joining Meredith in this nonsense."

Meredith turned to me too. "Exactly, Maeve! Why did you come with me? I didn't even get a chance to ask you about this. Huxley has always treated you with respect. You two get along so well. You're the model couple in our social circle!"

I laughed bitterly and thought that we were indeed very respectful to each other.

That much was true. But that was all Huxley and I had ever had.

I used to think that was simply how he was. It wasn't until Imogen came back to the country that I realized what he was like when he truly cared for someone.

Unlike Meredith and the people she had grown up with, I had spent my childhood living overseas with my maternal grandfather. I hadn't returned to the country until I was 22 years old to marry Huxley for our family's sake.

Huxley was always so polite toward me. To be honest, he was so polite that he felt distant.

The first time I met Huxley was at the dinner where our families arranged our marriage. That night, I looked at him from three chairs away. Suddenly, my heartbeat fell out of rhythm.

Only later did I realize that was what people meant by love at first sight.

Unfortunately, it had only ever been one-sided.

Even after three years of marriage and living under the same roof, Huxley remained as polite toward me as if he were a guest in my home. He would say "good morning" in the morning and "good night" before bed, but he never once asked how my day had been.

I had secretly left a cup of hot coffee on his desk once. By the time I saw it again after work, the cup was still sitting exactly where I'd left it, untouched and long since cold.

For our anniversary, I had booked his favorite private restaurant two weeks in advance. I'd even picked out a mechanical watch as his gift, with our wedding date engraved on the dial.