9:00 PM. My husband, his hands slick with oil, was carefully shredding the chicken he’d slow-cooked for me for four hours. His phone rang. I picked it up and put it on speaker for him. "...Professor?" A timid female voice came through the receiver. My heart seized. 1 I held the phone for my husband, Lucas, in silence. "What is it?" he answered coolly, not forgetting to tear off a few of the tenderest strips of chicken and offer them to my lips. "Is our meeting still at the same time tomorrow, in your office?" "…Yes." Perhaps finding her too long-winded, Lucas impatiently took off his gloves, grabbed the phone, and switched off the speaker. His brow furrowed. "Don't contact me after work hours again. My personal time is for my family." After hanging up, he put his arm around me and led me back to the dining room. I watched him arrange the food on the plates, unable to stop myself from asking, "Who was that?" He seemed thoroughly annoyed by the call. "A new assistant at the office. Fresh graduate, still learning the ropes." I nodded and said no more. … There were two unwritten rules at his company. One: No one was to disturb Lucas after work. Two: No one was to call Lucas "Professor." These unspoken rules had been passed down for so long that no one dared to break them. Until today. Both were broken by the same person. I lowered my gaze, staring blankly at the thin film of oil on the surface of my chicken soup. 2 In our four years of marriage, Lucas had never been anything but attentive to me. Even if I just needed a tissue, he was there in a second, always putting me first. The rule about not contacting him after hours was because he wanted to be with me. For the past two years, his company had been focused on a major urban renewal project. I was worried about distracting him, so I often insisted we work in separate rooms. He’d be in his study, and I’d be in the bedroom with a book. Usually, it wouldn’t be more than twenty minutes before he’d gently push the door open and lean against the frame, looking at me with a pitiful expression. "Kayla, I haven't seen you all day. Are you really going to make me stay in there all by myself?" Last year, on his birthday, I went to his office to surprise him. On the way, I swerved to avoid a drunk driver and ended up in a frozen river. Lucas went mad, pushing through the crowd and jumping into the water to find me. His hands were torn to shreds by the ice as he searched for over two hours in the sub-zero water. I had already been rescued and taken to the hospital, but he ended up in the ICU for three days with hypothermia and developed chronic joint pain from it. There were countless stories like this, too many to tell. Because of all this, I had never once doubted Lucas’s love for Kayla. For thousands of days and nights, he had been true to his wedding vows: to love me as he did at the beginning, to love me to the bone. Which is why even the smallest deviation now set off alarm bells. What was strange about that phone call wasn't her gender or her tone. It was the word "Professor." That was the one title Lucas despised. He never allowed anyone to call him that. Not even me. 3 When we were in graduate school, despite Lucas having the top academic record in our department, he was passed over for national awards. His spot for the doctoral program was given to someone else. Even his mentor, who had promised him a teaching position, went back on his word. He had spent all his free time running data for his department, only to end up with nothing. Lucas said none of that mattered. The hardest part, he said, was graduating after more than a decade of study and not even having enough money to bury his parents together. Back then, I gave him my spot for a university teaching position. Later, when his research paper was stolen by a senior colleague, when he was denied a promotion, when he was drinking himself sick day and night trying to land a project, I stepped in and got him a job at my uncle’s company. He fought his way to the top, to the position he holds today. I will always remember the look on his face when he talked about how much he hated the word "Professor." It was a symbol of all his humiliation, his failures, his exploitation. So, no matter how close we were, I never called him that. But the woman on the phone just now had said it so naturally. And Lucas’s response had been so casual. It was as if he didn’t care anymore… or maybe, he only made an exception for certain people. It made my fierce protectiveness of him seem like a fool’s errand, a one-sided joke. 4 Doubt began to fester, and I decided to go to his office. The most corrosive thing in a marriage is baseless suspicion, and I didn’t want to plant a seed of doubt in our happy life. I had only been there a few times, so the receptionist didn't recognize me. I called Lucas's secretary, Mark. Mark rushed down with two other employees to greet me. "Mrs. Thorne, why didn't you let me know you were coming? I would have come down to get you." He took the dessert box from my hands and held the elevator door for me. I laughed. "Do I need to file a report with you just to pop by the office?" "Of course not, Mrs. Thorne! You're joking." The three of them, laden with my things, escorted me past the general administrative office. The door was ajar. It was afternoon tea time, and the sound of cheerful chatter drifted out. I slowed my steps, feigning a casual interest in Lucas’s new assistant. "Has the training for the new hires started yet?" "It began last month." "How many assistants did you hire?" Mark thought for a moment. "Just one, a woman. Graduated from H University, very capable. Mr. Thorne’s plan is to train her and eventually move her into the secretarial pool." I lowered my eyes, my mind racing. This matched what Lucas had told me perfectly. Was she really the one? 5 The door behind me suddenly opened, and a group of bright, young women came out, surrounding one in the middle. "Chloe, you're so lucky! I can't believe Mr. Thorne didn't dock your pay." "I know, right? You have no idea how scared we were that day." "I was so freaked out I skipped lunch. Now I'm suddenly craving hot pot." "Hehe… me too!" The slightly younger face in the center blushed, speaking in a coy tone. "Oh, you guys, please, spare me…" Her voice died when she saw me. The women who knew me immediately flocked to my side. "Kayla! What are you doing here?" I smiled and had Mark distribute the desserts to the surrounding colleagues, then led the chattering flock to the break room. The one unfamiliar face stood by the door, hesitant to approach. I beckoned to her. "I'm Kayla Thorne. You must be the new assistant, right?" I handed her a matcha pandan roll. "How are you settling in?" She pursed her lips and took a few quiet steps closer. I kept my smile warm and inviting. Perhaps it was the relaxed atmosphere, or perhaps the dessert was to her liking, but the young woman soon opened up. "Everything's been great…" she said, her head slightly bowed. "It's just… I'm still in that student mindset, calling everyone 'Professor.' Last month… I slipped up and called Mr. Thorne that. He was furious." Her eyes welled up, her voice choked. "I really thought I was going to be fired… I've been so scared of running into him in the elevator that I've been taking the stairs to the 32nd floor every day…" 6 The atmosphere froze. The women exchanged glances, stealing peeks at my expression. I was silent for a few seconds, then stood up and bent down to meet the new assistant’s eyes. "Let me apologize on Lucas's behalf, okay?" Her eyes widened, and a tear rolled down her cheek. I could imagine Lucas’s anger. He had a reputation for being cold and distant at the office, and she had crossed a major line. How could a fresh graduate handle that? "It's not your fault if you didn't know. Lucas won't hold it against you," I said, gently stroking her hair with a smile. "I used to take the stairs all the time when I worked here. It was great for losing weight." The others chimed in. "No wonder you've gotten so thin, Chloe!" "I'm starting tomorrow!" The HR manager, whom I knew best, put an arm around her shoulder and winked. "You don't know, do you? Mr. Thorne is famous for how much he adores Kayla. With her in your corner, you have nothing to worry about." … I knew in my heart: Chloe wasn't the one who had called. If she had made that mistake, she would have been gone long ago. Besides, Lucas’s calm demeanor on the phone was nothing like the rage Chloe described. Lucas was a surprisingly good liar. A sense of foreboding washed over me. My intuition told me his relationship with the caller was not so simple… My eyes scanned the room. Several of his most trusted female executives were here. Could it be one of them? 7 "Oh!" A woman near the coffee machine accidentally knocked over a cup. Dark brown liquid streamed down the white cabinet door. "I'll go get the cleaner." Soon, a woman in a uniform entered. Her head was bowed low. She didn't look at anyone as she came in, silently mopped the floor, and then crouched down to meticulously wipe away the remaining stains. After she left, the chatter started up again. "Hey, how did you get her to come?" "I just happened to see her by the elevator and brought her over." "That's weird. Last time I asked her to wipe down a cabinet, she didn't even look up and just said it wasn't her job." "But I see her on this floor all the time. If it's not her job, what is she doing here?" I swirled the cup in my hand, my face impassive, but my heart was sinking. This woman… I knew her. I just never expected to see her here again. 8 Her name was Ivy. Lucas had hired her to clean our home. He said she was a neighbor who had helped him when he was a child. Her family was poor, and she had developed a chronic illness after giving birth that prevented her from doing heavy labor. He thought giving her some light work at our house would help her make ends meet. I readily agreed. Someone had to do the work; why not do a favor for a friend? There was nothing special about Ivy. She was plain, small, and dressed simply, her hair always pulled back in a low ponytail. She was like a blank wall, unremarkable, easy to overlook. She didn't call me "Mrs. Thorne" like everyone else. Instead, she uniquely called me "Miss Kayla." What was strange was Lucas's attitude toward her. He was usually home after she had already left. On the rare occasions they crossed paths, Lucas would act as if he didn't see her, his expression cold. Ivy would keep her head down, silent, exposing a smooth, white, and fragile-looking nape. Once, as she was crouching to wipe the floor, I caught a glimpse of several faint, brownish scars beneath the half-open collar of her shirt. 9 That night, lying in Lucas’s arms, I broached the subject carefully. "Are you and Ivy not on good terms?" He was silent for a moment, then answered with a question. "Why do you ask? Was she rude to you?" I laughed at his overreaction. "Why so defensive? Isn't she your neighbor? Why does she look like she's afraid to even look up at you?" His expression was flat, his fingers toying with a strand of my hair. "We haven't been in touch for a long time. Besides, seeing her just reminds me of the past. It's… unpleasant." I tilted my head to look at him. "But you said she helped you when you were a kid." "Back then," he said with a hint of a smile that didn't reach his eyes, "she was only a few years older than me. How much could she really help? It was all just trivial, depressing stuff." I knew he had suffered a lot as a child, often going days without a proper meal. He had been so small in junior high that he was shorter than a fifth-grader. My heart ached for him. "If it makes you uncomfortable, we can find her another job." "Hah," he scoffed. "What else can she do besides sweep floors?" He snuggled closer, his voice muffled against my neck. "Kayla, why do you keep bringing her up? I missed you so much…" I smiled and soothed him. Later, I noticed that Ivy would often clean the master bedroom without permission. Lucas was very territorial, and he always took care of the master bedroom himself. I mentioned it to her twice, and she quietly agreed to stop. But every time I returned from a business trip, I would find subtle changes—the creases in the sheets, the angle of the rug, even the arrangement of things in the walk-in closet. At the same time, the housekeeper privately told me she thought Ivy was pregnant. I was planning to arrange for her to take maternity leave. Before I could bring it up, Lucas fired her. When I asked why, his face was a cold, emotionless mask. "Why keep someone who doesn't know her place?" "I sent her somewhere else." So, he had sent her to work at his company. 10 Because of my surprise visit, Lucas left work an hour early, saying he wanted to take me to a new fusion restaurant in the suburbs. I leaned against the car window, watching the shadowy trees recede in a blur. I could feel his intense gaze on my back. I changed my expression and turned to look at him. He took my hand and kissed it gently. "How was your visit to the office today?" "It was nice. The people in the admin office are as friendly as ever." He grinned. "That depends on who they're talking to. Who would dare to neglect the boss's wife?" "The new assistant is still young. Don't be so hard on her all the time." He sighed in mock exasperation. "Alright, alright. I'm just paying a bunch of divas. You're so gentle. If you come by more often, you'll just make me look like an even bigger tyrant." I lowered my head and smiled, then paused before speaking again. "I… saw Ivy today." Lucas glanced in the rearview mirror, his expression unchanged as he grunted in acknowledgment. "Did she contact you?" I turned to look at him. "A while ago," he said, his tone flat as he steered with one hand. "Said she got scammed out of her money and couldn't make ends meet." The car turned a corner. He added, "I remembered you telling me to be more lenient with her, so I had Mark find her an easy job." I felt a twinge of concern. "Does she still… affect your mood?" He didn't answer. He stopped at a red light and turned to look at me quietly. The soft glow of dusk streamed through the windshield, bathing his handsome face in a mixture of light and shadow. He lowered his head and gently stroked the simple band on my ring finger. Then he looked up, his gaze full of a profound devotion, as if in all of time and space, he could only see me. Then he said, "As long as you're here, it doesn't hurt."
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