Seeing that my dog "Lucky" and Yates were getting along well, I left them be.

I brought a stool directly from the dining room and planned to take the medicine box on top of the cabinet.

As I was coming down from the stool, my foot suddenly twisted.

Just when I thought I was about to hit the floor, Yates quickly hugged me.

I subconsciously did a somersault.

His body stood straight, as if he was in military training.

"Thank you, Yates. I'll take care of your wound," I said.

"It's fine," he replied.

I don't know if it's my imagination, but Yates' tone sounded very pleasant.

I quickly spoke out my thoughts.

"Are you laughing at me?"

"No," he said, looking straight at me.

I don't know why, but at this moment I felt inexplicably hot.

Lucky then rushed in between us, interrupting our eye contact.

He is indeed my good dog.

But the next second, Lucky actually started yelling at Yates.

"Lucky, what are you doing! Don't bully others," I scolded.

Yates didn't seem to care about Lucky's attitude, but asked me an irrelevant question.

"Is Lucky treating Mark the same way?"

"No, Lucky really hates him and even bit him," I replied.

He didn't say anything else.

I carefully treated his wound.

I consider the place where I live to be a bit remote, making it difficult to get a taxi.

After treating Yates' wound, I asked him, "It's hard to get a taxi here. How about I drive you back?"

Upon hearing this, Yates' expression turned cold, and his brows furrowed.

"Are you this nice to everyone?" he asked.

I felt a bit confused by his response, but I explained myself seriously.

"No, it's just that my place is a bit far away, and it might be hard to get a taxi right now. I thought you were injured because of me, so I feel responsible for you."

After I spoke, Yates visibly brightened.

He replied cheerfully, "No need to send me off. Just go to bed early."

Considering how he had frowned just moments before, as if he were hiding something, I decided not to press further.

"Okay, then be careful, and I'll treat you to a meal another day," I said.

He nodded, gave Lucky a gentle pat on the head, and left.

Once he was gone, I began to cry loudly.

Mark and I had been together for a year, and it would be a lie to say I wasn't sad.

However, my reason told me that ending the relationship was the right choice.

Mark claimed to love me, but he was also being ambiguous with his so-called good friend Rachel.

He was greedy, wanting both of us.

His behavior showed a complete lack of respect for our relationship.

His drunken comments might have revealed his true feelings toward me.

It wasn't love; it was desire.

As I cried, I packed away the gifts he had given me.

I had cried enough, and I had gathered all his things. It was time to let go.

The next day, I messaged my best friend.

I thought it would be nice to get together for dinner in the evening to unwind.

To my surprise, I received an invitation from Yates.

He asked me to have dinner with him tonight.

Given the favor he had done for me in the past, I agreed.

I made reservations at a well-reviewed restaurant.

When I saw him that evening, I couldn't help but feel something was off.

Although Yates is good-looking, his style has always been more mature.

At least every time I've seen him, he's dressed in professional black, white, and gray.

But tonight, he was dressed unusually bright and cheerful.

Almost like a colorful butterfly.

Noticing me staring at his outfit, Yates was about to say something.

At that moment, I saw the last person I wanted to see.

Mark came rushing towards our table.

"Molly, what's the meaning of this? Did you break up with me because of Yates? How could you do this to me? He's my friend! What do you see in him? His money? His looks?"

Mark's words completely erased any remaining goodwill I had for him.

"Mark, don't you know why we broke up? Didn't your dear friend Rachel tell you? You still want to pretend to be confused? What's the matter? After acting in front of your friend, now you want to act in front of me too? How can a grown man like you be so shameless?"

"And even if I did like Yates, so what? Relationships are between two people; my relationship with him is none of your business! I'm not cheating; I'm not like you..."

Mark seemed surprised that I, usually so gentle, would speak to him like this.

"I've already explained it to you, haven't I? Rachel and I are just friends; nothing is going on between us. That kiss yesterday was just because of a game. You know how it is; bar games are just a few types; you've played them before. Why are you making a fuss now?"

"Am I making a fuss? Mark, you're quite ridiculous. Yes, I've played those games, but I didn't have a boyfriend at the time. But you? You clearly had a girlfriend, yet you're entangled with your ex's good friend, playing these ambiguous games. Did you ever consider my feelings?"

At this moment, a familiar female voice interrupted.

"Molly, didn't you say you wouldn't mind me and Mark? I swear, Mark and I really have nothing going on. What do you want me to do to make you believe us..."

As she spoke, Rachel emerged from behind Mark.

She was wearing exquisite makeup, and anyone who didn't know would think she was on a date.

"Oh? Will you do whatever I say?"

"Of course."

"Then you should cut off ties with Mark."

As soon as I finished speaking, Mark looked anxious.

"No way, Molly! Rachel and I have known each other since childhood; how can we just cut off so many years of friendship? Plus, our parents know each other..."

A hint of triumph flashed in Rachel's eyes, but her face was full of difficulty.

"Molly, it's not that I don't want to; it's that Mark doesn't want to..."

After saying that, Rachel glanced at Mark, her eyes full of affection.

The way they were acting made me want to vomit.

"Enough! Stop pretending to be deep friends in front of me; it's disgusting. I'm breaking up with you now, Mark. Isn't this a perfect excuse for you to strengthen your relationship with your good friend? Don't worry; I won't ask you to thank me; just do me a favor and don't show up in front of me again to make me sick."

"Oh, by the way, I forgot to congratulate you. I wish you both a deep friendship and to be good friends for life."

After I finished speaking, Rachel glared at me.

Mark, on the other hand, was so furious that his face turned dark.

"Fine, Molly, you'll regret this."

Regret?

Normal people wouldn't regret it.

I didn't respond.

After a while, Mark suddenly smiled and said to me.

"Molly, stop pretending. I know you still care about me; otherwise, why would you be so angry and not leave? I told you. Women are always like this..."

How did I not notice before how thick-skinned Mark is?

The restaurant I booked, and he comes to provoke me, wanting me to leave?

Since you don't want the face I gave you, don't blame me for being heartless.

I turned and complained to the staff, saying they were harassing me.

The staff unceremoniously kicked them both out.

Soon after, the dishes arrived.

I was just thinking about politely introducing Yates when he picked up his spoon.

He began to serve me dish after dish, all of them my favorites.

I wanted to say something, but his expression looked cold, as if he was unhappy.

So, I simply didn't ask.

This meal was just me repaying the favor I owed him.

As soon as I finished eating, I received a voice message from Rachel.

I had planned to block her directly, but accidentally pressed play.

"Mark, don't be sad; it's Molly who doesn't deserve you and doesn't understand your goodness."

"Hmm... It's okay; I didn't like her much anyway. Only you, only you understand me, Rachel..."

The last sound was a distinctly clear sound of them kissing.

What a bad omen!

Yates' expression grew increasingly cold.

A thought suddenly flashed through my mind.

Could it really be true?

Was it possible that Yates has feelings for Rachel...

What a chaotic situation this is...

I had been so serious in my criticisms earlier...

Feeling a bit guilty, I started drinking the fruit wine on the table.

I have always had a good alcohol tolerance, so I kept drinking one glass after another.

As long as I kept drinking, I wouldn't have to face Yates' questions.

But after a few glasses, I began to faintly sense something was off.

I was actually starting to feel a bit dizzy.

"Molly, I think you've had too much to drink," Yates said with concern.

He seemed genuinely worried, though I couldn't tell if it was just my imagination.

"No... no, my alcohol tolerance... you... you don't know, right... I can drink anyone under the table..."

For some reason, my speech was becoming uncontrolled, my tongue feeling a bit tangled.

"You've had too much. Let me take you home," he said.

"Home? Whose home? Yours? Mine? Hmm... or maybe your place would be better."