After Jordan Sanchez failed to come home yet again, I let out a long, deep breath of relief.

Because just moments earlier, I'd found Dominic Langford on my doorstep. My college crush. The one that got away.

He had a bad leg, and the rest of him was all sharp angles and hollow cheeks. But that face was exactly as I remembered it: sculpted, gorgeous, almost unfairly beautiful.

One look at him and I'd already made up my mind to take care of him.

I spent the entire night figuring out how to convince Jordan to let Dominic stay.

Then the next day, my husband walked through the door with his frail little junior colleague in tow and announced in that flat, cold voice of his：“Stella Fisher's health isn't great. I'm going to have her move in so I can look after her.”

I couldn't help it. I laughed.

——

“Have you lost your mind?”

The sound of my laughter made Jordan frown. He looked at me with that expression I knew so well, eyes full of barely concealed contempt, like I was being absurd.

That look. I knew it by heart.

He gave it to me every time I called to ask why he wasn't coming home.

Every time I questioned why he smelled like a stranger's perfume.

Every time I asked how his day at work had gone.

The same look, every single time.

As if I were the dumbest woman alive. Too stupid to have any part in his life. Good for nothing but laundry, cooking, and making the bed.

I hated that look.

It used to send me spiraling. I'd scream, I'd cry, I'd throw things. I'd become exactly the hysterical woman he already believed I was.

But now, all I felt was calm.

Calm enough to smile warmly, take Stella's luggage from her hands, and say：“Stella, don't be shy. Make yourself at home.”

My compliance didn't make Jordan happy. If anything, his frown deepened.

Of course it did. The old me would have torn the house apart.

He looked me up and down, studying me, trying to work out what had changed.

After a long silence, something seemed to click for him. His voice went cold.：“Irene Pruitt, playing hard to get won't work on me. Stop wasting your time.”

This time, I was the one who looked at him like he was being absurd.

I met his eyes and said, sincerely：“Jordan, I genuinely welcome Stella into this house.”

My voice was perfectly pleasant. Reasonable, even. And somehow that made it worse for him. I could see the irritation flare from somewhere deep in his chest, sudden and irrational.

Before he could lash out, my steady gaze stopped him short.

“Jordan, stop overthinking everything. I'm going to make dinner. Cool off.”

I turned and walked into the kitchen, leaving him standing there, stiff and speechless.

I didn't blame him for being thrown. After all, just three days ago, he'd said those exact same words to me.

Word for word.

He'd had a business trip coming up and asked me to pack his bags.

He went to shower afterward, tossing his phone on the bed without a second thought.

I'd just finished gathering his clothes when I glanced down and saw a message from Stella lighting up his screen.

【Hey, it's just the two of us going on this trip? I'm only an intern. Won't people at the office start talking?】

I froze.

Jordan walked out of the bathroom right at that moment.

He had a towel wrapped around his waist, water still trailing down the hard planes of his chest.

He glanced at the lit screen, then looked at me, expression dead serious.：“Stella and I are just traveling for work. That's it.”

I wanted to tell him I hadn't even been thinking anything. But he didn't give me the chance.

He got dressed right in front of me, voice flat and without a single ripple of emotion.：“Stop overthinking everything. Cool off tonight on your own.”

Then he left.

The difference was, he had it better than I did.

Because today, he had Stella hovering at his side, murmuring sweet little comforts in that soft voice of hers.

That night, all I had was myself, packing his suitcase through silent tears.

At least those days were behind me now.

I hummed a little tune as I cooked, filling the table with dish after dish.

Braised beef. Tomato-braised brisket. Sweet and sour tenderloin. Clear-simmered ribs. Stir-fried greens. And a whole pot of black chicken and ginseng soup.

The moment Stella saw the spread on the table, her eyes went red：“You knew I'm allergic to beef. If you didn't want me here, you could've just said so instead of trying to drive me out like this.”

I did know Stella was allergic to beef.

Jordan had told me himself.

He'd said not to put beef in the lunches I packed for him anymore. I asked why.

He said：“Stella's allergic.”

That was how I found out the nutritious meals I'd been lovingly preparing for him had been going into Stella's stomach all along.

I looked at Jordan.

His eyes were pitch-dark, that storm-before-the-eruption look I knew so well.

Before he could open his mouth to tear into me, I smiled at Stella：“The beef wasn't made for you.”

Then I turned to Jordan：“It wasn't made for you, either.”

With that, I walked to the guest room, helped Dominic up, and guided him to the dining table.

“Stella's in poor health, and Dominic's been unwell too. I'll take care of them both. The four of us making this work matters more than anything!”

Jordan's expression went blank for a split second. He stared at Dominic, disbelief flooding his eyes.

“Irene, what the hell is going on with him!”

I acted as though I couldn't sense his fury at all and smiled while making introductions：“This is my college classmate, Dominic Langford.”

“I didn't ask who he is! I asked why he's in our house!”

I blinked at him, all innocence：“Because he's not feeling well, obviously.”

Jordan choked on his own breath so hard he nearly suffocated.

And Dominic, of course, chose that exact moment to stir the pot.

He lowered his head, eyes reddening：“I know you don't want me here. But I really missed Irene's cooking. Just let me finish this one meal, and I'll leave. Please?”

His thin shoulders shook violently. I couldn't see his face, only a single tear sliding from the corner of his eye, landing on his faded jeans and blooming into a dark stain.

My heart ached instantly.

I shot Jordan a glare：“Dominic scares easily. Stop intimidating him!”

Then I took Dominic's hand and softened my voice：“Stay as long as you need. Nobody's kicking you out.”

“Irene! Pruitt!” Jordan ground the words through clenched teeth, glaring at me. “Do you even see me as your husband anymore?!”

The second those words left his mouth, Stella began sobbing quietly beside him.

“Please don't fight with her because of me. This is all my fault. I'll go right now.”

She stood, dabbing her tears, and headed for the door.

Jordan rushed after her and brought her back, his voice low and firm：“Stella, relax. As long as I'm here, no one's making you leave.”

He had barely sat back down when his gaze met Dominic's.

Jordan went rigid.

It hit him all at once: by insisting Stella stay, he'd forfeited every right to throw Dominic out.

His lips pressed into a hard line, and he cut a look at me.

Something almost wounded flickered behind his eyes.

I read his meaning instantly.

He wanted me to coax him. Soothe him. Make it better.

The last time I'd done that was a year ago.

His business had caught a wave and exploded overnight, and he'd become busier than ever.

I'd wanted him to have something to smile about outside of work.

So I'd ordered a cake and flowers on his day off, brought them to the office myself, hoping to surprise him.

His first reaction when he saw me was annoyance.

“Irene, if you've got that much free time, go on a trip. Don't come to the office and waste my day.”

So this time, I pretended not to understand and ladled a bowl of black chicken soup for Dominic instead.

“Dominic, you're way too thin. Eat up.”

I set the braised beef, the tomato beef stew, and the sweet-and-sour tenderloin right in front of him.

He liked all of it.

Jordan's jaw was clenched so tight the muscles twitched, his eyes practically burning.

Then he shot to his feet, slammed his chopsticks on the table, and stormed out.

Stella glanced at me, then at Dominic, who sat with his gaze lowered the entire time, and followed Jordan out.

My mood only improved.

The nuisances were finally gone.

Dominic watched the smile on my face. His lashes trembled, and then his hand slipped, spilling the soup from his bowl all over himself.

I startled and rushed to unbutton his shirt to check.

“Dominic, are you burned?!”

He kept his head down, perfectly still, perfectly obedient.

The moment my fingertips grazed his pale skin, he flinched hard and pulled away from me.

Only when I noticed the red tips of his ears did I realize I'd crossed a line.

“Sorry.” I cleared my throat, a little embarrassed.

“It's fine……” His voice was so soft it made something in my chest go hollow.

I'll admit my intentions just now weren't exactly innocent.

The Dominic I used to know had been the moon, beautiful and impossibly far away.

Born into old money, top of every class, blessed with a face that belonged on a magazine cover and six-foot-two of height to match. He turned heads no matter where he went.

But the universe has a sense of balance.

It gave him wealth and beauty, and saddled him with the worst personality imaginable.

Arrogant, condescending, untouchable. The rest of us were beneath his notice, unworthy of so much as a glance.

And yet last night, that same man had stood under the streetlight on a bad leg, trembling, eyes downcast, asking me to take him in.

He said he'd been the Langford family's fake heir all along. They'd broken his leg and thrown him out with nowhere to go.

The distant moon had suddenly dropped into my hands.

I couldn't think of a single reason to say no.

I even started regretting the fact that I was married.

Until Jordan brought Stella home.

In that instant, all I felt was relief.

I forgot every wound Jordan had ever given me and genuinely marveled at us. Husband and wife, truly in sync.

That sense of marvel lasted all the way into the evening.

Jordan, who never once came home on a night he was angry, came home early.

His face was still dark, and Stella still trailed behind him.

But for the first time in our marriage, he walked into the kitchen and started washing the dishes piled in the sink.

I watched him in an apron, hands covered in suds, and didn't know what to say.

There was a dishwasher in the kitchen. Jordan didn't know that, and had never used it.

When he finished, he didn't take the apron off. He sat down across from me, face stony, and said nothing.

I looked at him and offered a stiff：“Thanks.”

His expression darkened further.

He stretched one long leg out, blocking my path.

I looked at him, then at the suds still clinging to his hands, and inspiration struck. Against every honest bone in my body, I said：“The dishes are spotless. No other husband washes them that well.”

Jordan's expression eased just a fraction. He let out a cold huff and left.

That night, he went a step further and actually came into the bedroom.

We'd been sleeping in separate rooms for six months.

When it first started, Jordan's excuse was：“Work's been crazy. I don't want to keep you up.”

Later, when I went to pick him up drunk, I overheard him telling his buddies：“Irene's a bore in bed. Got sick of her. Now just looking at her makes me nauseous.”

By now, I was used to sleeping alone.