"David’s secretary," Marina drawled, rising from his chair with deliberate grace. Her eyes raked over Lily with slow, calculated disdain—from her sensible heels to her neatly pinned-up hair. "Hmm. I don’t see what all the fuss is about."

Lily kept her expression neutral, though her fingers tightened around the coffee tray. "Can I help you with something, Ms. Laurent?"

Marina smirked, circling her like a predator. "Oh, I’m just… assessing the competition." She paused, tapping a manicured nail against David’s desk. "Tell me, how does it feel? Playing house with someone else’s man for five years?"

Lily didn’t flinch. "If you’re referring to my work, all records are up to date. Would you like me to pull the files?"

Marina’s smile faltered. She hadn’t expected such precision—such competence. The realization sharpened her voice. "Cute. But we both know you were just a placeholder."

She leaned in, her whisper venomous. "David told me everything. How lonely he was. How… convenient you were."

She smirked. "Did you really think he’d settle for a glorified coffee girl?"

Lily’s pulse roared in her ears, but her reply was steady.

"Our arrangement is over. And since this is a workplace, I suggest we keep things professional. Mr. Hadison dislikes distractions."

"Ooh, listen to you," Marina mocked, eyes flashing. "Like you know him so well."

She snatched the coffee cup from the tray, swirling the dark liquid.

"Let me guess—Ethiopian beans? Ninety-six degrees? Pathetic. You could brew this every day for a lifetime, and he’d still never—"

Footsteps echoed in the hall.

Before Lily could react, Marina tipped the scalding coffee over her own hand.

"Ahh!" she gasped, dropping the cup with a clatter just as David strode in.

Lily’s breath caught. The scene was unmistakable: Marina cradling her reddened wrist, tears glistening on her lashes, and Lily standing frozen—holding an empty tray.

Marina’s voice trembled with practiced hurt. "David… she—she poured it on me!"

David's head snapped toward Lily, his expression darkening like a thundercloud.

"Lily!" His voice cracked through the office like a whip. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Lily stood frozen, the empty tray still clutched in her hands. Her lips parted in stunned disbelief.

"I didn't—"

"Enough!" David cut her off sharply. "You think just because you've worked here for years, you can do whatever you want? That I'd tolerate you attacking someone?"

Lily's hands trembled. "David, she poured it on herself... I didn't do anything."

"She poured it on herself?" His laugh was harsh, disbelieving. "Marina treats her hands like they're made of gold. You really expect me to buy that pathetic excuse?"

"It's the truth—" Her voice wavered, thick with hurt.

"Apologize." His command left no room for argument.

"I won't apologize for something I didn't do."

David's jaw tightened. "Then you'll face the consequences."

Before Lily could react, he snatched the wine bottle from his desk and upended it over her head.

Ice-cold liquor drenched her hair, streaming down her face, and soaking into her blouse. The sharp scent of alcohol filled the air as droplets splattered onto the floor.

Across the room, Marina's lips curled in triumph—though she quickly schooled her features into false concern. "David, darling, it's not worth getting so upset..." she murmured, fanning the flames even as she pretended to soothe them.

David barely glanced at Lily again, his attention already shifting to Marina's reddened hand.

"Let's get you to the hospital," he said tightly, guiding her toward the door with a protective hand at her back.

As they swept past, Lily stood motionless, liquor still dripping from her chin. The office had gone deathly quiet—every colleague frozen in their cubicles, eyes wide with shock.

The office buzzed with whispers the rest of the morning. Lily could feel the stares burning into her back as she worked—pitying, mocking, triumphant.

She was in the restroom cleaning the last traces of wine from her collar when Jenny's unmistakable giggle echoed off the tiles.

"—wish you'd seen her face when Mr. Hadison dumped that drink on her!" Jenny crowed to her gaggle of followers. "All these years playing the perfect secretary, and look how he treats his little pet."

"We should celebrate tonight," another voice chimed in. "Finally, the gold-digger gets what she deserves."

Lily's reflection in the mirror stared back at her—hair still damp, eyes red-rimmed but dry. Something inside her snapped.

She yanked the decorative watering can from the windowsill and flung the contents in a wide arc.

A chorus of shrieks filled the air as Jenny and her cronies stumbled back, dripping.

"You crazy bitch!" Jenny screeched, mascara running down her cheeks.

"No," Lily said calmly, setting the can down with a clink. "Just returning the favor for all those times I covered your incompetence."

"Let's see—" She ticked off on her fingers. "You can't format a spreadsheet without breaking the formulas, Claire's reports are always late, and Sophie—" A cold smile. "Well, we all know who actually writes your presentations."

“So what?" Jenny still had no guilt. "Blame yourself for being so stupid!"

Lily caught Jenny's wrist mid-swing and shoved—hard. The other woman went sprawling on the wet tiles.

"Go ahead, report me," Lily said, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder. "My resignation's already on David's desk. I'm more interested in seeing how long before he realizes none of you can handle your own projects."

Then she turned her heels toward the hallway.

When Lily walked out of the building, the afternoon sun glared unforgivingly bright.

Lily pulled out her phone and typed with steady fingers:

"David -

The signed divorce papers are on your desk.

P.S. You'll need a new secretary."

Then she hit send.

The message arrived mid-afternoon: brief, coldly formal, unmistakably David.

"Dinner. 7 PM. Delphina's. Dress accordingly."

Lily hadn't expected the invitation.

She stared at the text for a long moment, thumbs hovering.

Delphina's?

The same five-star restaurant he had once mentioned taking her to after the successful completion of Project A.

He never did. Business had gotten in the way. Marina's return had taken priority. But now, here it was months later.

Why now?

She didn't answer the message. She just showed up at 7 sharp, dressed in a sleek black dress she'd bought two years ago on impulse, back when she still hoped he'd take her somewhere nice without a reason. She'd left the tag on until tonight.

The waiters greeted her with reverent familiarity, guiding her through the quiet restaurant to a table near the tall windows. The place was empty. Every seat, every table, every candle belonged to them.

A candlelit dinner, booked exclusively for two.

David sat waiting, impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit, tie loose, eyes unreadable.

He didn't even look at her when she arrived.

She also said nothing, taking her seat across from him. A glass of wine already waited beside her plate.

He poured himself a drink, swirling it like this was a routine thing.

"You booked a whole restaurant," she said flatly, "for a woman you don't love."

He paused, lifting the glass to his lips. "You earned this dinner. You handled Project A flawlessly. Better than my executives."

"So this is… professional gratitude?"

He finally met her gaze.

"Why? Are you expecting something else too?"

Lily laughed to herself. Did she have the right to expect anything from him?

The waiter came, stiff and silent, serving course after course as if this were any ordinary anniversary dinner. But it wasn't. The air between them hummed with things unsaid.

David talked a little about work—brief updates, short remarks. She responded with polite nods, eyes scanning the flickering candlelight like it held answers.

When dessert came—a dark chocolate ganache with spiced raspberry coulis—Lily's phone buzzed.

It was a message from Noa.

"Stocks dropping. Marina scandal is everywhere. Someone leaked the gala photos."

"He's using the dinner to delay the divorce announcement. Protecting his company. Not you."

Lily's stomach turned. The chocolate turned to ash in her mouth.

Of course.

This wasn't romance. It was damage control.

She set her spoon down. "You could've just asked me to cooperate. You didn't need this elaborate dinner."

David's expression shifted, just slightly. "I thought you'd appreciate the gesture."

"I might've, if it were genuine."

He leaned back in his chair, watching her. "So. You've heard."

"I have eyes, Mr. Hardison, and ears too."

The flicker of tension darkened his gaze. "You want to discuss this here?"

Lily folded her napkin carefully. "You can delay the public announcement. I won't go to the press. I'll play along if that helps. But the divorce goes on."

His jaw flexed.

"Why are you in such a rush now?" His voice was low, tightly controlled. "You were perfectly fine being my wife for five years. Knowing I loved someone else, you slept with me and married me. Willingly."

"I was a fool," she said quietly.

"No," he snapped, "you were desperate. Don't act like this was some noble sacrifice. You wanted something. And you got it."

Her eyes narrowed. "What exactly do you think I wanted?"

"You tell me," he said coldly. "Power? Status? Money? You knew I wasn't offering love. You still signed that contract. So don't give me this teary victim act now."

She stood, slowly, deliberately.

"I stayed because I hoped," she said. "Hoped one day you'd see me. Not as a placeholder. Not as a secretary. But as a person. A woman who gave you everything she had, even when you never asked."

His laugh was bitter. "Spare me the monologue. If this is about money, my lawyers can increase the settlement."

Lily's fingers curled into fists. The anger built like a storm breaking in her chest.

"You think everything's about money," she whispered. "That's the only language you understand, isn't it?"

David didn't flinch. "It's the only language that gets things done."

Without thinking, without warning, Lily slapped him.

The crack of palm against cheek echoed through the empty restaurant like a gunshot. The waiter dropped a fork somewhere behind the bar. A candle flickered dangerously.

David didn't move.

His head stayed turned, a red mark blooming on his cheek. His expression unreadable.

Lily's breath came in fast, ragged pulls. Her pulse throbbed in her temples.

"I'm done," she hissed, grabbing her clutch. "This time, for real."

She turned too fast. Her elbow knocked the tall glass vase beside her. It teetered, then toppled, water and orchids spilling toward the floor.

Before she could flinch, David lunged.

His arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her back just as the vase shattered inches from her feet. A shard bounced off his forearm, slicing through fabric and skin.

"Shit," he muttered.

Lily stared at him, stunned. "You're bleeding..."

"I've had worse." He looked down, checking her legs, her hands. "You okay?"

She nodded, still breathless.

He let her go a second later, stepping back like the moment never happened.

The waiter appeared with towels. David dismissed him with a glance.

Blood soaked through the cuff of his white shirt, dripping along his wrist.

Lily grabbed a napkin and reached for him. "Let me..."

"I said I'm fine."

"David..."

He caught her wrist, firm but not harsh. His eyes locked onto hers.

"You don't get to slap me and then play the caring wife," he said.

"You don't get to accuse me of gold-digging and then throw yourself in front of a flying vase."

They stood like that—motionless, bound by years of silence and buried truths. Then David's grip loosened.

Lily never expected David to risk his life for her.

Now, seated in the hospital room, watching the doctor clean and dress the gash across his shoulder, her stomach twisted into a tight knot. Guilt, confusion, and something softer—something terrifyingly close to affection—churned together inside her chest.

The antiseptic smell hung thick in the room. The monitor beeped steadily, and David sat still, only flinching slightly when the cotton swab touched raw skin. Lily stood a little away, her arms wrapped around her midsection, her teeth worrying her lower lip. She hadn't said much since they arrived. Neither had he.

The doctor finished the dressing, then glanced toward Lily. "He'll be fine, but he needs rest and careful attention. You're his wife, aren't you?"

Lily opened her mouth but didn't know what to say.

"She is," David said flatly before she could respond. "Make sure she knows how to take care of the wound."

The doctor nodded and began explaining the medication schedule and dressing changes. Lily listened carefully, her hands trembling just a little as she took the instructions. Once they were alone again, the silence stretched.

Lily turned to him. "Why did you do that?"

David raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You got hurt. For me."

He let out a humorless chuckle. "Don't flatter yourself."

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not, I'm trying to understand. You didn't have to..."

"You were in the way," he muttered, looking away. "It was a reflex."

Lily stared at him. "That's a poor excuse for someone who just threw himself in front of a falling vase."

His eyes met hers again, colder now. "It doesn't matter why I did it. You're safe. That's all."

His words sounded noble, but something inside her cracked. She wasn't stupid. She'd seen the panic in his eyes when she stumbled, the way he hadn't hesitated even for a second. That wasn't just reflex. It couldn't be.

But before she could press further, the door flung open.

"David!"

A shrill, high-pitched voice echoed in the room.

Marina walked in like a storm wrapped in silk and perfume, her heels tapping loudly against the floor, her eyes taking in the scene like a snake spotting prey. Her gaze flicked between David on the hospital bed and Lily standing near him.

"Well, isn't this cozy," she sneered.

Lily instinctively stepped back.

"Marina," David said warningly, his voice low.

"You got injured and instead of calling me"—she emphasized the word like poison on her tongue—"you're here playing house with her?"

"I didn't call anyone," David said flatly. "She was there."

Marina ignored him. She was only getting started. "Of course she was. This bitch is always around when something goes wrong! You're nothing but a shameless homewrecker, you know that? You think pretending to be caring will bring him back to you?"

Lily stayed silent. The insult stung more than it should have.

"She's here because she's my secretary," David said sharply. "And I don't need to explain myself to you."

Marina's eyes widened, then narrowed. "So she still matters that much? You'd rather protect her than me?"

"I'd protect anyone in danger. A stranger. A cat. Even a dog," David said, his tone ice-cold. "Don't confuse basic decency with affection."

Lily's throat closed up.

Of course.

That was all she was.

A cat. A dog. Just another soul on the street he happened to save because he had a 'moral duty.'

Just moments ago, she had almost believed—almost hoped—he might still care. But hearing him lump her with stray animals...

"Got it," she whispered. Her hands shook slightly, but she forced them still. "Thanks for clearing that up."

She turned toward the door.

But before she could leave, Marina grabbed her arm. "Wait."

Lily looked back, frowning.

"I ordered some nutritious meals for David. Organic, specially curated by his dietician. I... I don't know the roads around this hospital. Can you pick them up for me? I would, but I don't want to get lost."

Lily stared at her.

Seriously?

"You think I'm your errand girl now?"

"Just do it," Marina shrugged with a fake smile. "You're already here. You took responsibility for his injury, right? Fetching some food isn't too much to ask."

Lily glanced at David.

He didn't meet her eyes. He leaned back against the pillow, closing his eyes as if none of this involved him at all.

That was enough.

She exhaled slowly and nodded. "Fine."

If this was what it took to erase the guilt, she'd do it.

Marina gave her a note with the address. "Don't take too long. David hates cold food."

Lily didn't respond. She walked out of the room, feeling her legs tremble slightly under her weight.

She didn't know why her chest hurt so much.

Maybe she really was just a street dog in David's eyes.

But this street dog was finally learning.

Not to love.

But to let go.