Chapter 2

I turned and walked away, heading straight to my mentor, Professor Davies.

The lab was empty that evening, only the innermost office still had its light on.

I knocked softly and heard his familiar voice. "Come in."

Professor Davies looked up from a screen full of code, his eyes widening when he saw me, drenched from head to toe. "Rain?"

"Professor," my voice was calmer than I expected, "did you say there’s still a faculty position open at Cambridge?"

He rose and handed me a towel. "Dry yourself first."

Only then did I realize I was trembling.

Professor Davies said, "The Cambridge faculty is very impressed with your new concept."

He paused. "But a more critical position is at ETH Zurich—they need someone to lead their newly established AI Ethics Institute."

"How soon?" I clenched my fists.

Professor Davies handed me a file. "Expedited visa processing will take two weeks."

I lowered my head, thought for a moment, and then said, "Professor, is there a way for me to get a new identity?"

Professor Davies pulled a passport and plane ticket from a hidden compartment in his bookshelf. "Use this identity: Lin Moran, Visiting Scholar at Zurich University."

"Thank you." The three words felt heavy as lead when I spoke them.

He shook his head. "When you cracked that encryption system at MIT all those years ago, I knew you'd go far."

As I pushed open the front door of our house, the rich scent of butter and garlic wafted out.

Marcus was stirring pasta with his back to me, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up to his elbows.

He turned and smiled, a smudge of tomato sauce on the tip of his nose. "Baby, you’re back. Dinner’s almost ready."

Chilled white wine sat on the dining table.

My mind, however, drifted back to that summer night.

That evening, dragging my suitcase filled with things from overseas, I heard a sound in the darkness.

His black Mercedes was subtly rocking in a secluded corner.

I don’t remember how I was drawn to it, how I saw Marcus holding that girl's face and kissing her.

"Rain!" I still remember the look on Marcus's face when he tumbled out of the car—a mix of panic and embarrassment, but not a trace of guilt.

His explanation sounded rehearsed countless times. "She looked so much like you, I couldn't help myself..."

After that, he practically lived on my doorstep, begging for forgiveness and showing me every single message on his phone. "I’ll make her quit tomorrow. I’ll never see her again in my life."

I softened, choosing to forgive him.

But three months later, at the company's annual gala, I saw her, dressed in her assistant's attire, adjusting his tie.

Marcus said, "I told her to leave, but then she apparently got hired back as an executive assistant *on her own merit*, and I couldn't exactly interfere with company policy, could I?"

Looking back now, this absurd play had signs all along.

How ridiculous. I was just the most laughable supporting character in their love story.

He plated my steak, medium-rare, drizzled with black pepper sauce, accompanied by my favorite asparagus.

The knife and fork were placed at the perfect angle, just like on every anniversary for the past five years.

I stared at his long, slender fingers as he cut the meat.

I suddenly thought of how those hands had trembled as they unbuttoned my shirt on our first night together, and how they had clutched Scarlett's waist, pressing her against an office desk, just last night.

He rose and came behind me, resting his chin on my head. "Baby, I missed you so much."

After dinner, he suddenly suggested watching a movie.

He picked *Notting Hill*.

When the scene with the gallery walk came on, he squeezed my fingers. "Remember? We walked like that in Boston."

Of course, I remembered. Back then, he'd cupped my face and said that "company meetings were less important than our honeymoon," ditching a multi-million dollar contract just to be with me.

Halfway through the movie, Marcus’s phone lit up.

He glanced at the screen, his thumb unconsciously rubbing his left wrist watch—a habit he had when he lied.

"Urgent tax reports from Finance," he said, rising. He even thoughtfully pulled the blanket higher onto my shoulders. "You go to sleep. Don't wait up for me."

"Go ahead," I pulled the blanket he’d given me tighter. "I'll just finish the ending."

The moment the front door clicked shut, I threw off the blanket and rushed into the garage.

His taillights hadn't even vanished around the corner.

I started the second car he thought I didn't know about—Scarlett’s lucky charm still hung from the rearview mirror.

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