Chapter 2

Cindy hung up the phone and slid open the glass balcony door.

Seeing me standing in the bedroom, panic flashed in her eyes.

But quickly, she collected herself and leaned into my arms, resting her chin on my shoulder.

"Why aren't you waiting for me in bed? Was the water cold?"

I lowered my eyes and calmly withdrew from her embrace.

"I was just thirsty, came out for some water."

Cindy's hand hung in the air, her fingers curling slightly.

She poured me a glass of warm water and casually placed a gift box on the nightstand.

Her fingertips brushed aside my damp bangs, tucking them to the side.

"Terry, I'm sorry for what you've been going through lately."

"Price just got back from Europe, and I had her bring you a Richard Mille. You've been wanting one for ages, haven't you?"

I glanced down at the exquisite ribbon on the box but didn't reach for it.

"Thanks, but I don't feel like looking at watches right now."

I rolled over into bed, turning my back to her.

Cindy's hand hung suspended in mid-air, her brow furrowing.

But she didn't press further, assuming I was just upset about her sudden insistence on using a condom.

"I have an important business dinner tomorrow night, so I won't be having dinner with you."

She tucked the covers around me and walked into the bathroom. The sound of running water filled the room.

A month ago, she came home late from a business function.

Her trench coat had a faint milky scent on it.

I'd casually asked about it.

She'd said matter-of-factly that a business partner had brought family, and she'd picked up the smell from their child.

Now, looking back, it wasn't a business partner's child at all.

It was clearly her own newborn son she'd been holding.

At one in the morning, Cindy was sleeping soundly beside me.

Listening to her even breathing, I opened my eyes in the darkness.

In three years of marriage, I'd suffered so much to accommodate her and try for a baby.

I drank so many body-conditioning medicines I threw up. Blood draws for tests left my arms covered in bruises and hard lumps.

Every time she used work as an excuse to postpone our plans, it felt like she was slowly destroying my dignity.

Her phone, charging on the nightstand, lit up.

I turned my head. It was a WhatsApp message from an unsaved number.

[Cindy, the baby was fussy tonight, crying for mommy. After you try the dishes for the One-Month Celebration tomorrow, can you come see us early?]

I quietly watched the screen go dark.

I opened my laptop and logged into my personal email account, which I hadn't checked in ages.

An email from Bulgari headquarters in Italy sat quietly in my inbox.

Three months ago, they'd sent me an offer for the position of Global Chief Creative Director.

I'd declined it then, wanting to focus on trying for a baby and taking care of the family.

Now I opened the reply window, my fingers moving across the keyboard.

[I accept the offer.]