Chapter 2

Through the door, I could hear Robertson typing on his phone.

And some audio leaking out. No need to guess—he was chatting with Thiago.

I'd actually made a scene about this once before. Robertson didn't take it seriously. He thought I was making a big deal out of nothing.

"I'm with you every day. Why would I need to chat online? If it's urgent, you can call. If it's not urgent, you can tell me when I get home."

"Thiago is different. We don't see each other every day, so of course we chat!"

I rubbed my temples and walked into the bedroom.

When I came back out, Robertson had already ordered takeout and was eating.

Only one portion. Nothing for me.

I couldn't help but laugh, my voice trembling as I asked him, "Why did you only order one?"

"Huh? Did you want some?"

"I thought you were dieting to fit into your wedding dress!"

When he said this, Robertson didn't even look up at me.

If he'd just looked up, he would have seen my tears. But he didn't.

"Robertson, let's talk."

I took a deep breath. The instant I pulled out a chair to sit down, he stood up.

"No time. Thiago and I are scheduled to play games."

The takeout container left on the table for me to clean up. The pulled-out chair. The man walking away.

In that moment, I felt all the pressure in the house rushing toward me.

My chest felt like it was covered with a plastic bag. Even breathing became difficult.

In the study, they'd already connected their mics.

"Robertson, interested in the new movie? I've been looking forward to that film for so long."

"I knew you'd say that. I already bought tickets. I'll take you tomorrow."

"You're so thoughtful!"

"I just heard a coworker mention it today and immediately ordered them to surprise you."

Robertson's thoughtless replies echoed in my ears, word by word.

For Thiago, he always had time, always had heart.

For me, he only had one line: "She's a friend, you're my wife. Can they be the same?"

Robertson, if being your wife is this exhausting, I'd rather be your friend.

With a bang, I kicked open the study door.

Robertson spun around sharply, instinctively covering the microphone.

He frowned, looking at me in confusion.

"Tomorrow we're scheduled to try on wedding dresses. Did you forget?"

Sharp edges leaked through my tone.

Robertson seemed to sense my mood and looked troubled.

"I made plans with Thiago to see a movie tomorrow. I already bought the tickets."

"How about you go try on the dress yourself? I wouldn't be much help anyway. Or maybe ask Catherine to go with you?"

In one second, he'd figured out a compensation plan and an excuse.

Accompanying his wife to try on wedding dresses wasn't important. Accompanying his female classmate to the movies was.

"No." I refused flatly.

Robertson glanced at the game on his computer screen. Thiago's urging voice came through the headset. He was getting anxious.

"Dixon, can't I have my own things, my own plans?"

"Do I have to revolve around you once we're married?"

These words almost made me laugh.

When had he ever revolved around me?

No messages during work hours. After work, diving straight into games.

He hadn't participated in a single wedding preparation. We still hadn't picked out rings together...

His world was full. As for who he revolved around—who knew.

I looked at him with disappointment. "Robertson, is marriage just my responsibility?"

Exhaustion colored my words.