I took the flowers and casually placed them on the table.

"What's wrong? You don't like them?"

I had to admit Arthur was being a bit overly sensitive today.

In the past, I'd always responded to his gifts with exaggerated enthusiasm.

It wasn't just about trying to please him; I genuinely cherished his thoughtfulness.

Even a simple hairpin he bought on a whim to support a college student's startup at the subway entrance would be carefully treasured by me.

But honestly, those moments were rare.

"No, they're lovely and smell fantastic," I replied with a smile.

Arthur still seemed unsure.

He repeated himself, "Charlotte, let me say it again, Aria is just my junior from school. She has this dependency on me, and after spending so many years abroad, she's still adjusting to being back. I'm just being a responsible senior, that's all."

I looked at him playfully without saying a word.

A department can have anywhere from dozens to hundreds of people.

Did he treat everyone with such care?

As if remembering something, he took my hand. "I'm sorry about losing the baby, but we have to keep moving forward."

So, he still remembered that I had just lost a child.

Because it wasn't his pain, he could self-righteously demand that I move on.

But when I tried to move on, his heart began to waver.

He was looking at another woman.

"Maybe this child just came at the wrong time," I said.

He was about to say something more, but a sudden ringing interrupted him.

"The installers are here, right?

"You can't handle it alone, don't push yourself.

"These guys are slippery; wait for me, I'll be right there."

Arthur hung up the phone and rushed out without looking back. "I need to go to Aria's place; the furniture delivery guys are there. She can't handle it alone."

"It's okay, go ahead, don't keep them waiting."

I realized that when I decided to let go, I could be understanding, too.

My voice was drowned out by the sound of his footsteps down the stairs.

To save time, he didn't even wait for the elevator.

It was ironic. As an interior designer, Arthur never once visited the site. I was left to handle the renovation of our own home all by myself.

When I asked him for a design plan, he glanced at it briefly and said I could handle everything.

So, there I was, managing the entire renovation by myself, dealing with those crafty foremen, trying to prevent them from cutting corners.

By the time the renovation was finished, I fell seriously ill.

I visibly became more haggard, but Arthur didn't even notice.

He continued scrolling through videos, not even looking up, as he said, "It's just a house; there's no need to put so much effort into it."

Even in nature, male birds help build nests with their partners, but Arthur couldn't manage that.

When it came to Aria, even for something as simple as installing a wardrobe, Arthur insisted on overseeing every detail as if it were some grand project.

I opened my phone and scrolled through Aria's Instagram.

Although the figures were intentionally blurred, I recognized Arthur instantly.

He was wearing the suit I bought at the airport in April while attending an overseas conference.

It was a four-day event that took me across three countries and four cities.

I didn't buy anything for myself; I only brought back a gift for him.

And now, here he was, wearing the suit I bought, busy helping out at Aria's place.

His sharp suit looked so out of place among the workers.

Aria captioned the photo: [It's good you're here.]

I casually liked the post and turned off my screen.

I was getting ready for bed when Arthur came home.

He hugged me from behind, and I stiffened as a sweet, cloying scent washed over me. Instinctively, I took a couple of deep breaths.

He turned me to face him and explained, "I got dusty moving furniture, so I just washed up quickly at Aria's. Don't overthink it.

"Also, Aria's the type who posts everything on Instagram. She's pretty sentimental," he added, trying to justify Aria's recent post.

I loved posting, too.

For those of us who studied languages, self-expression was second nature.

"You people just love baring your souls on social media. Don't you think it's kind of invasive?" he remarked.

After that, I never forgot Arthur's words before posting anything, and eventually, I just stopped altogether.

Arthur pulled me close, pressing my face against his chest.

I shoved him away forcefully.

He looked surprised.

"What's wrong now?

"Look, I'm exhausted, but I rushed home to be with you. I'm not asking for sympathy, but at least don't give me grief when I'm this tired."

"If it was such a hassle, why didn't you just stay there? It would've been more convenient to look after things," I retorted.

"Charlotte! That's going too far! Aria's not that kind of woman, and we're not in that kind of relationship!"

Arthur's expression turned cold, his earlier gentleness wholly gone.

The next day, Arthur left on a business trip.

I got the news from Aria.

Thanks to her urge to overshare, I spotted a road sign from the neighboring city on her Instagram.

Her photo just happened to show a corner of Arthur's car charm. It was easy to recognize.

She wrote: [My nervousness is yours, my love letters are yours, my sleepless nights are yours, the April mornings are yours.]

She added a shy emoji.

So coy, hinting but not saying outright.

I commented: [The man I don't want is yours, too.]