My temperature was hovering at 103.6 degrees. I lay pinned beneath the heavy duvet, stripped of the strength to even lift my head from the sweat-dampened pillows. My newlywed husband, Theodore, stood in the doorway of our bedroom. His face was a mask of cold detachment as he informed me he was about to board a thirteen-hour flight to London to bring Melody back. He told me he had waited five years for that woman, and now, finally, the opportunity had arrived—she was getting a divorce and bringing her kids back to the States. He told me to be reasonable. To act my age. Just take some Tylenol, sleep off the fever, and don’t cause trouble. Trembling, I pushed myself up on one elbow, my eyelashes fluttering uncontrollably against the burning heat in my eyes. I looked at him and said that yes, it must be terribly hard for Melody to raise three children all by herself. I told him he should go. His knuckles whitened around the handle of his carry-on. The tight knot between his brows seemed to loosen just a fraction, a fleeting flicker of something resembling guilt crossing his features. But it vanished instantly, replaced by a stern warning. As long as I behaved from now on—as long as I stopped trying to snoop through his phone and stopped calling Melody—he would graciously fulfill his marital obligations with me once every three months. Snoop through his phone? That happened exactly once, three years ago, right before our engagement. I had accidentally seen a text he sent her: I will wait five years for you. The sheer betrayal of it had made me physically ill, to the point of throwing up. For the past two years, I hadn’t so much as glanced at his screen. And as for my supposed "constant calls" to the ghost of his past? I had stopped reaching out to Melody eighteen months ago. 1 The second the bedroom door clicked shut, the blankets beneath me were abruptly thrown back. Wyatt’s damp, fever-warm lips pressed directly against the pulse point of my neck. "Cece," he murmured, his voice a low, raspy purr against my skin. "Am I not keeping you satisfied enough? Why do you even care about the scraps that guy throws you?" Panting softly, I pushed against his chest. "You’re burning up with a fever too. We need to stop for today." Wyatt wasn't having it. He caught my hand, pressing it back down, his voice sounding like it had been dragged through gravel. "Don't you want to see what 103 degrees feels like, Cece? I read online that sweating it out with a little cardio is the best cure for a cold." I pulled my hand back. His eyes dropped. He looked exactly like a kicked puppy as he slowly released me and slipped out of the bed. Right at that moment, my phone chimed on the nightstand. It was a text from Theodore. Cecilia, Melody's foreign husband was physically abusive. I'm terrified that animal is going to hurt her and the three kids again. I have to go get her this time, but I swear on my life, this is the last time. Wait for me. Staring at the glowing screen, a hollow laugh caught in my throat. The last time? How many "last times" had there been? I had lost count. I only vaguely remembered the very first time. It was raining sideways. I was shivering violently from a fever, begging him to run to the pharmacy. He was in such a panic to help me that he rushed out into the downpour without an umbrella. But halfway there, he got a call from Melody. She said her morning sickness had finally passed, and she was desperately craving a specific tiramisu. At one in the morning, my fiancé drove across every borough of the city, hunting down a pastry for the woman who sat upon a pedestal in his mind, pregnant with another man's child. He completely forgot about the woman he was supposed to marry, who was passing out from a fever in his home, waiting for her medicine. Thank God the housekeeper found me and called an ambulance. The doctor said if I had arrived a minute later, the fever would have caused permanent brain damage. Afterward, Theodore came to the hospital to apologize. He pleaded with me to understand—Melody was pregnant, her husband was awful to her, her life was a tragedy. He needed me to be empathetic. From that day on, whether it was a designer bag I had my eye on, a dinner reservation, or a vacation spot, Theodore always asked me to be empathetic. To give it up for Melody, because her life was so hard. Back then, I reasoned that ours was an arranged marriage to merge our families' assets anyway. If my husband's heart belonged to someone else, I would just focus on having a child of my own to anchor me. On our wedding night, I swallowed my pride. I even took a little something to lower my inhibitions and set the mood. I managed to draw Theodore in; his eyes darkened with desire as he pinned me to the mattress. But the universe has a cruel sense of humor. His phone, discarded on the rug, began to ring. It was the custom ringtone he had set exclusively for her. I clung to his arm, my voice thick with desperation. "Please. I took something... don't leave." He let out a soft chuckle, his breath hot against my ear. "I wouldn't leave you. Tonight is our wedding night. I'm just going to check the message." He wasn't lying about the first part. He only looked at the screen for a second. But then he pulled away from me without a shred of hesitation. "Melody's triplets are crying and refuse to sleep. If I don't get on a flight to London to sing them to sleep, her husband is going to get angry and hit her again! Cecilia, please, just pity her this one last time. Let me go." That night, my heart felt like it was caught in a vice, slowly crushed into dust. But now... I stared at the words last time on my screen, the corner of my mouth curling up. I locked the phone and tossed it onto the mattress. I was about to get up to wash my face when the phone buzzed again. A video file from Melody. In the video, three identical little boys were swarming Theodore, calling him "Daddy." He scooped all three of them into his arms, his laughter echoing brightly. On the sofa behind them sat his parents, his sister, and even his family’s golden retriever, tail wagging against the floorboards. A picture-perfect family. Warm, complete. A family that simply didn't include me. My smile deepened, though beneath it, I felt absolutely nothing. The numbness was total. Suddenly, the doorbell downstairs rang out, shattering the quiet. Frowning, I pulled a heavy cardigan over my shoulders and made my way down the stairs to the foyer. I pulled the door open. "Wyatt, you coming over once while you're sick is enough..." A tall shadow fell over me, blocking out the porch light. "Who is Wyatt?" 2 I looked up, stunned, straight into Theodore’s deeply suspicious face. "You didn't go to London?" He shifted his weight, suddenly looking defensive. "Melody bought an earlier ticket and got on a flight. She told me to wait for her here." He stepped into the house, his eyes boring into mine. "Who is Wyatt? I thought you were too sick to get out of bed?" I looked away, unable to meet his gaze. Wyatt was the neighbor boy, six years my junior. On my wedding night, after Theodore had abandoned me for Melody, the aphrodisiac I had taken began to course through my veins. Dizzy and burning, I stumbled down the stairs, rolled my ankle, and fell right into Wyatt's arms as he was coming up the walk. He had caught me effortlessly. The sheer, overwhelming scent of him—young, vital, undeniably masculine—had wrapped around me like an invisible net. The boy had gotten a taste of something he liked, and ever since, he had constantly found excuses to intertwine himself in my life, teasing me with his dangerous little games. Today, he had shown up at my door burning with a fever. I couldn't bear to turn him away, so I... I never expected Theodore to suddenly abort his trip and come home. I opened my mouth, ready to just confess and blow the whole thing up, when a weak voice drifted from behind me. "It's me." Wyatt was curled up on the living room sofa, looking for all the world like an abandoned stray. Panic spiked in my chest. I turned to rush over to him, but Theodore grabbed my wrist in a vice grip. "What is your relationship with him? Why is he inside our house?" I ripped my arm out of his grasp. "Can't you see he's sick?" Ignoring Theodore, I hurried over to the sofa and pressed the back of my hand to Wyatt's forehead. He was radiating heat. Anxiety overriding everything else, I turned back to Theodore. "There's a thermometer in the cabinet to your right. Grab it for me." Theodore exploded. He pointed a shaking finger at Wyatt. "Who the hell is he?! Why should I get anything for him? Cecilia, tell me right now—is he your damn affair partner?" The words caught in my throat. If we were keeping score, Theodore was the one having the affair. Three years ago, at our engagement party, he ditched me to run to Melody. I was so crushed by his "wait five years" text that I delayed signing our actual marriage certificate, pushing it until after the wedding ceremony. And then came the wedding night abandonment. After Wyatt and I spent that chaotic, feverish night together, the younger man had tangled his fingers in the ends of my hair, looking at me with wide, wounded eyes. "Cece, you aren't one of those heartless women who play with my body and then refuse to take responsibility, are you?" Cornered by guilt and a strange, reckless spite, I went with him the next morning and signed the papers. When I walked out of City Hall holding that marriage certificate, I tried calling Theodore. He didn't answer. I sent a text, only to see it bounce back. That was how I found out he had blocked my number. And so, the mess had dragged on until today. Seeing my silence, Theodore took it as a confession. His anger erupted into an inferno. "Cecilia! You cheat on me, and then you bring your boy-toy into my house?! What kind of sick joke is this?!" Instinctively, I moved to cover Wyatt’s ears to shield him from the shouting. That only enraged Theodore more. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a tiny golden retriever puppy trotting out from behind the sofa. He looked like he was about to faint. "Cecilia, I am allergic to dog hair!" I dropped my hands, shooting him a look of pure exhaustion. "I know. Can you just act like a rational adult? You're going to scare Wyatt and the puppy." Brushing past him, I retrieved the thermometer myself, gently placing it under Wyatt's arm. Theodore’s chest heaved. He followed me, mouth open to scream again, but was cut off by the sharp trill of the doorbell. Melody walked in, wheeling a massive suitcase, three little boys trailing timidly behind her. "Theo, I don't want to ruin the harmony of your marriage. If Cecilia is uncomfortable with me and the kids moving in, I can take them to a hotel." On the sofa, Wyatt opened his fever-bright eyes and weakly tugged at my sleeve. "Cece... I know I'm sick and have nowhere else to go, but if Theo minds, I can take the puppy and leave, too." 3 The moment the three boys saw Theodore, they swarmed him, chanting, "Daddy!" He shot me a guilty look, coaxing the kids toward Melody before reaching out to pat my arm in what was supposed to be a soothing manner. "Melody and the kids just got off a thirteen-hour flight. Staying in a hotel is too difficult for them right now, so I told them they could stay here. Just be empathetic, okay?" The old me would have turned on my heel, locked myself in my bedroom, and cried myself to sleep, agonizing over why he constantly demanded that I bend over backward for everyone else's comfort. But now... Without a word, I checked the thermometer Wyatt handed back to me. "Wyatt is at 104 degrees, and he has nowhere to stay. Pity him just this once. He's staying here." Theodore’s face went livid. "Cecilia! Get a grip on reality! Who did you marry three months ago?! How can you let another man stay in our house?!" Before I could find the words to respond, Melody stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on Theodore’s arm. "Theo, the kids have been flying for over half a day. They’re exhausted." Right on cue, the three boys clung to his legs, whining in unison. "Daddy, I want a bath!" "I want to wash my hair!" "I have to pee!" Theodore’s anger evaporated. He smiled down at them, scooped the smallest one up, and headed straight up the stairs without so much as a backward glance. I didn't waste any more energy on him. I gave Wyatt some ibuprofen and brought down a heavy quilt, tucking it securely around him. After sitting with him for half an hour, his fever finally broke. Looking much more lucid, he watched the puppy lick the toe of my slipper and offered an apologetic smile. "I think he's hungry." Understanding immediately, I went into the kitchen to prepare some food. Just as I turned off the stove and was heading back to the living room, I nearly collided with Theodore in the hallway. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking intensely uncomfortable. "The kids finished their baths. They smelled whatever you were cooking and said they're starving." I gave him a brief nod and tried to step around him. His face instantly darkened. He threw his arm out, blocking my path. "Cecilia, I know you're furious that I didn't discuss moving Melody and the kids in with you first. But the children are innocent. You shouldn't take it out on them, right?" I let out a long breath, turned around, took the lid off the small pot, and held it up to his face. "This is dog food. If they want some, they're welcome to it." Theodore’s jaw snapped shut. He turned sideways to let me pass, but just as I stepped into the living room, Wyatt walked toward us holding a stunning azure-blue ceramic bowl. Theodore’s eyes bulged. "Cecilia! That is my prized Qing Dynasty porcelain! It's worth millions! And you're using it to feed a dog?!" "Oh, Snowball always eats out of this bowl," Wyatt chimed in innocently, then clapped a hand over his mouth, looking at me in shock. "Cece, I just thought it was a pretty dish. I had no idea..." I reached out to pat Wyatt's arm soothingly, shooting Theodore an icy glare. "It’s a set of six. You still have five left, don't you?" "No! That porcelain is my life!" I took a deep, steadying breath and pointed a finger toward the top of the stairs, where Melody was standing, wearing my custom-made pink bunny slippers. "And she is wearing my favorite shoes!" Theodore opened his mouth to formulate an excuse, but Melody’s sweet, helpless voice drifted down the stairs. "Theo? The kids are crying. They want you to read them a bedtime story." He deflated, casting me a look heavy with manufactured guilt. "Wash the bowl and put it away. I promise you, this is the last time. Let me just get the kids to sleep, and then we will sit down and have a real talk, okay?" With that, he jogged up the stairs. I acted like I hadn't heard a word, pulling Wyatt into the kitchen to feed the dog. By the time I finished cleaning up, it was late into the night. I took a moment to mentally brace myself for the confrontation, then pushed open the door to the master bedroom. Theodore was slumped at the foot of the bed, throwing back a glass of straight scotch. I marched over and snatched the bottle from the nightstand. "It smells disgusting in here. Who gave you permission to drink in the bedroom?" He let out a boozy hiccup, his eyes swimming as he looked up at me. "Cecilia... I know you. You're not the kind of woman who would actually cheat... I’m the one who kept failing you. I'm the one who broke your heart." As he spoke, his voice grew thick with tears. I frowned, taking a step back in sheer disgust. He immediately dropped to his knees and slapped himself hard across the cheek. "It's all my fault. It's on me. Tomorrow, I will make Melody pack up and take the kids to a hotel. No matter what happens from now on, I will only look at you." He looked up, an expression of profound martyrdom on his face. Then, as if seized by inspiration, he lunged forward, wrapping his arms tightly around my legs. "Cecilia, since our engagement, I know I've barely... performed as a husband. Let me make it up to you tonight. Let's finally have our wedding night. Please?" He sounded so terribly earnest. The words I had been holding in my throat—I'm legally married to someone else—suddenly felt too cruel to say in that exact moment. But then, a voice called out from the hallway. "Wife? Are you done talking to the old man yet?"
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