The sharp scent of disinfectant cut through the haze, pulling Carolyn back to consciousness.
Her body was still weak—a dull ache in her stomach, a lingering itch on her skin, constant reminders. She glanced around the sterile room. The figure she’d half-expected, half-hoped to find waiting beside her was nowhere to be seen.
Groping weakly beside the pillow, her fingers found her phone. The screen lit up, a single WeChat notification glaring back.
Sender: Ronald.
Time: Three hours ago.
**[Urgent meeting at the office. I’ve gone ahead. If you’re awake and feel fine, go home and rest.]**
Concise. Professional. Detached.
No inquiry about how she felt. No explanation for his absence. Not even a perfunctory word of comfort.
As though her collapse yesterday had been nothing more than a minor head cold.
Carolyn ripped the IV needle from the back of her hand, ignoring the protest of her body and the nurse’s objections. She signed herself out.
A taxi dropped her off at the imposing glass-and-steel tower that housed Ronald's Group.
She didn’t know why she’d come. Perhaps she needed to see the cruelty with her own eyes—to make it undeniable.
The elevator carried her soundlessly to the top floor, to the executive conference suites. Through the heavy, frosted glass doors, she could make out blurred shapes inside.
Driven by something nameless, she pushed the door open a crack.
At the head of the long conference table sat Ronald, impeccably suited, his profile sharp and cold as he listened to a subordinate’s report. And right beside him, pressed close, was Victoria.
Victoria seemed utterly bored by the proceedings, idly scrolling through her phone. She leaned over and whispered something into Ronald’s ear. He tilted his head slightly to listen, not a trace of impatience on his face.
Then Victoria reached out and casually tapped the screen of Ronald’s open laptop.
The screen went dark. The presenter paused.
Ronald’s reaction froze the blood in Carolyn’s veins.
He didn’t get angry. He didn’t scold her. He didn’t even look annoyed.
He simply turned toward Victoria, the corner of his mouth lifting in the faintest hint of a smile. “Don’t mess around,” he said, his tone carrying a note of indulgent exasperation—as if chiding a mischievous child.
A long time ago, Carolyn had once come to his office during a meeting, missing him. She hadn’t dared to interrupt, waiting quietly in the lounge outside. When Ronald finally emerged and saw her, his brow had furrowed. He’d led her inside, his voice stern. “This is a workplace, not home. Stay in my office. Don’t wander around. It’s unprofessional.”
And now, he allowed another woman to casually tamper with his work equipment in the middle of a serious meeting.
The truth, cold and brutal, settled over her. She had been lying to herself all along.
Numbly, she turned from the conference room door. Her feet carried her, as if of their own volition, toward Ronald’s private office.
She pushed open the heavy mahogany door. The familiar, clean, masculine scent of his space washed over her—now undercut by a faint, cloying sweetness of perfume.
The office was as immaculate and efficient as ever, a testament to its owner’s discipline. But her gaze was instantly, irrevocably drawn to the expensive leather sofa in the lounge area.
It was no longer the sleek, minimalist piece she remembered. Now it lay buried under a mountain of fluffy, cutesy stuffed animals—a garish, jarring invasion in the room’s severe aesthetic.
Carolyn walked over in a daze. Her fingers trembled as she reached out, brushing against a rabbit plushie dressed in a frilly princess gown.
Just then, the office door opened. Ronald’s assistant walked in, arms laden with files. Seeing Carolyn and the toy in her hand, a flicker of acute discomfort crossed the assistant’s face.
“Mrs Ronald… those were Miss Victoria’s request. She said the office was too cold and impersonal, uncomfortable to sit in. She insisted on putting them there.”
*Miss Victoria’s request.*
So, the one who could make him break his own rules, cross his own boundaries, was Victoria.
A violent, twisting pain seized her chest—so sharp she nearly doubled over.
“What are you doing here?”
A low voice cut through the silence from the doorway.
Ronald stood there, the meeting evidently over. His eyes went immediately to the plushie in her hand.
He strode over, almost hurriedly, and plucked the toy from her grasp.
Then, with a care that felt like a physical blow, he placed it back on the sofa, even adjusting its position so it leaned more comfortably against the others.
Only then did he turn to Carolyn, his expression settling back into its usual cool composure. “Why are you here? I told you to go home and rest.”
A hysterical laugh bubbled in Carolyn’s throat.
Her husband—snatching a toy from her hands as if guarding someone else’s world.
