Chapter 4

The next morning, the sound of the keypad lock beeped in the quiet apartment.

Dominic walked into the bedroom carrying the chill of late autumn.

He held a paper bag printed with the logo of that croissant shop in the west of the city.

That was the place where years ago, after I casually mentioned wanting to eat there, he braved sub-zero temperatures and snow, waiting in line for two hours, keeping the food warm against his chest so it wouldn't get cold, bringing it back to me.

Back then, his eyes held only me.

Back then, I thought I had the whole world.

Now it was also pouring rain, only he was rushing to someone else.

Turns out time really does devour people.

It not only devoured his love but also devoured the me whose eyes were full of him.

He placed the paper bag on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed.

He reached out, wanting to tuck the stray hair from my cheek behind my ear.

Just as his fingertips were about to touch my skin, a faint scent of perfume drifted into my nostrils.

It was Vivian's favorite perfume.

Last night, he had draped his suit jacket over her shoulders.

My body reacted faster than my brain, instinctively turning my head away from his touch.

His hand froze in mid-air, his fingers curling slightly before he casually withdrew it.

"I had a bad attitude yesterday." He lowered his posture, his tone carrying helpless tolerance. "But you have to understand. The Blackwell family went bankrupt. She has nothing now, and her depression relapsed. She keeps trying to kill herself."

"I can't just watch her die, can I?"

He opened the paper bag on his own and used a bamboo pick to spear a steaming croissant, bringing it to my lips.

"Be good. Eat it while it's hot. After you finish, we'll reschedule the dress fitting."

The rich buttery aroma mixed with that faint perfume smell fermented in the air.

I didn't get angry. My body even retained the muscle memory from the past.

I obediently reached out and took the bamboo pick.

A hint of relaxed amusement flashed in Dominic's eyes.

But in the next second, I turned around and quite naturally tossed the whole steaming croissant, bamboo pick and all, into the trash can beside the bed.

A soft thud.

"It's cold. Can't bite through it." I pulled out a wet wipe and carefully cleaned the fingers that had just held the bamboo pick, not even lifting my eyelids.

The smile on Dominic's face instantly froze.

He stared at the trash can, seemingly unable to believe that I, who had always been so docile, would do such a thing.

"Rain," his voice turned cold, carrying the authority of someone in power, "don't push your luck."

He threw down those words, stood up, and went into the bathroom.

I threw the wipe I'd used to clean my hands into the trash can.

From that day on, for a whole week, Dominic always had an excuse to stay out all night.

Each time he returned in the early morning, the scent of that perfume on him grew stronger.

I didn't expose him, nor did I make a fuss.

I continued to eat, sleep, and work on my designs as usual.

I just stopped initiating messages to him and stopped asking about his schedule.