Chapter 3

"You really think I can't live without you?"

David's voice rang out behind me, filled with the anger of someone whose pride had been wounded.

I didn't look back. I pulled the door open.

Just then, a stray dog covered in mud suddenly bolted in from the hallway and lunged straight at David.

Mud splattered all over his designer suit pants.

I stopped, waiting to see him explode in rage.

David had extremely severe germophobia.

In the past, when I came home from the bar, even if I changed out of my clothes at the door, showered three times, and put on completely fresh clothes—if he thought I still had even a faint trace of alcohol smell, he'd frown and tell me to stay away from him.

Once, during the bar's anniversary celebration, I got beer splashed all over me. When I got home and just wanted a hug, he shoved me away and spent two hours washing his hands in disgust.

But now, looking at the mud on his pants, his brow only furrowed for a second.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry, David! I just picked up this puppy downstairs—it's so naughty."

Grace quickly crouched down and pulled out tissues to wipe it off.

David actually smiled.

Not only did he not get angry, he reached out and petted the filthy dog's head.

"It's fine. Grace being caring is a good thing. It's just a suit."

He even proactively held Grace's hand as she wiped, their eyes locked.

I stood in the doorway, watching this heartwarming "family of three" interaction, and suddenly felt intensely nauseated.

So he never had any damn germophobia at all.

He simply found me disgusting, detestable. He looked down on my profession and identity from the bottom of his heart.

At this moment, the live comments scrolled across my vision:

[Double standards. The germophobia was fake—not loving her is what's real.]

[Look how naturally he pets that dog. Disgusting.]

[Mia's expression is so cold. She's completely given up on him.]

"Mia, you don't mind me keeping the puppy here, do you?"

Grace hugged the dog, looking innocently at me.

"Whatever."

I pulled my suitcase toward the exit, but David grabbed my wrist.

"There's a limit to throwing tantrums. Stay for dinner."

Without allowing any argument, he dragged me back to the dining room and pressed me into a chair.

The table was covered with takeout from an upscale restaurant—all seafood, Grace's favorites.

David put on disposable gloves and skillfully began peeling shrimp.

He placed the peeled shrimp meat in Grace's bowl, his tone doting.

"Your hands are too delicate. Don't let the shells cut you."

I quietly watched his smooth movements.

Even though werewolves had exceptional healing abilities, he couldn't bear to let Grace get even a scratch from a shrimp shell.

But two years ago, when a drunk werewolf caused trouble at the bar and I accidentally got cut on my right hand during the altercation—requiring three stitches—I asked him to peel a shrimp for me that night at dinner.

He slammed his fork down, his face full of impatience.

"You're a bartender and you can't even peel a shrimp shell properly?"

"Mia, can you stop being so dramatic?"

Now, he was willingly peeling an entire plate of shrimp for another woman.

So our love really couldn't triumph over fated mates?

Years ago, when I fell in love with David, I abandoned my own fated mate to be with him.

David had also said that even if he met his fated mate later, he would reject her outright, because his heart belonged only to me.

His fated mate never appeared after that, and I thought we could continue living happily together in peaceful simplicity.

But after all these years, his fated mate Grace appeared, and he showed her all his tenderness—sides of himself I had never seen.

Grace's voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Mia, why aren't you eating?"

Grace ate her shrimp, smiling at me.

"Is the food not to your taste? I guess spending so much time in bars makes it hard to have an appetite, right?"

David didn't even look up, continuing to crack open crab.

"That's just her lifeless expression. Don't worry about her."

I put down my fork and stood up.

"Have you seen enough?" David glanced at me coldly.

"If you're done watching, clear the table."