Chapter 3

The doctor prescribed pre-surgery medication and told me to rest well these days and wait for the surgery schedule.

Back home, to distract myself, I went into the long-unused baking room.

Before marriage, I had owned a dessert shop.

After marriage, Ethan Wade hoped I could focus more energy on the family, so he had me close the shop and concentrate on preparing for pregnancy.

I took out a bag of flour and began making desserts.

The humming of the machine filled the space, and that familiar milky fragrance let me relax briefly.

Two hours later, a half-finished frosted cake sat on the turntable.

I was about to mix colors when there was suddenly movement at the entrance.

Ethan Wade had returned, followed by two men in suits who looked like important business partners.

While unbuttoning his suit jacket, Ethan Wade spoke in a gentle tone: "My home is quieter, suitable for discussing business."

I hadn't had time to wash my hands yet. My apron was covered in flour, and I stood there somewhat disheveled.

Our eyes met. The expression on Ethan Wade's face instantly disappeared.

His brow furrowed slightly, his gaze sweeping over my flour-covered apron and the half-finished cake.

His words carried barbs: "How did you end up like this?"

"I didn't know you were bringing people home," I instinctively hid my flour-covered hands behind my back.

"Don't you have any awareness?" His brow furrowed tightly, his tone full of impatience. "When you see guests, your first reaction should be to make yourself scarce, not stand here being an eyesore."

The two guests awkwardly tried to smooth things over: "It's fine, it's fine. Claire is so virtuous, even making cakes."

Ethan Wade didn't respond. He couldn't even spare me a perfunctory smile. He looked at me with cold eyes: "Have the housekeeper clean this up, then go back to your room so you don't irritate me."

My heart felt like something had squeezed it hard, sending waves of dense pain.

I bit my lip and turned to get the trash can.

"Wait." He stopped me, pointing at the cake. "Take that too."

"I just made this..."

"Take it or throw it away."

He interrupted me, his tone cold. "Don't leave it here embarrassing me."

I took a deep breath, my nails digging deep into my palm, using the pain to suppress the stinging in my eyes.

I picked up the cake that hadn't been decorated yet, and in front of him, let go.

The cake fell into the trash can along with my dignity.

Seeing this, Ethan Wade's brow relaxed a bit, seemingly finally satisfied.

He turned toward his guests and put on a smile, as if the coldness just now was only my illusion:

"Sorry about that. She's bored and messes around with nothing better to do."

Then they went to the study. The door closed, cutting off the cheerful conversation inside.

I stood alone in the kitchen, looking at the ruined cake in the trash can. Tears finally couldn't be held back, falling heavily onto the floor.

I remembered that year we got married. On an afternoon just like this, he had held me and said, "Your cakes are the best in the whole world."

Now he couldn't even be bothered to look, only finding them embarrassing.

I squatted down and mechanically wiped the flour from the floor.

As I wiped, I suddenly laughed.

Laughing at my own foolishness, laughing at seven years of one-sided affection.

I scrubbed the floor three times until there wasn't a trace left.