Chapter 3

Lauren POV

The aroma of the omelet quickly filled the air, mixed with Erica's undisguised delighted praise. "Richard, this smells amazing! You're so talented!"

She no longer called him Professor, but used his name directly.

"Eat up," Richard's voice carried a barely perceptible tenderness. "After you finish, remember to organize the data from those papers."

"Richard," Erica's tone held some dissatisfaction. "Tomorrow's the weekend. Can't you let me rest?"

"Behave." Richard's voice was full of laughter, carrying a flirtatious tone. "Your Lauren is still sleeping."

I let out a cold laugh. So he still remembered I was in the room, but this reminder sounded more like part of their flirtation.

That aroma and those laughs were like fine needles, stabbing every inch of my skin with unbearable pain. I propped myself up, wanting to get out of bed and shut that crack of light completely, isolating everything outside.

The moment I sat up, my gaze pierced through the door crack and froze on the living room.

Under the warm yellow light, Richard's hand came to rest on Erica's head, gently tousling her hair. His gaze was soft, focused, filled with that particular tenderness, the kind you give a small creature that trusts you completely.

"You cook for Lauren every day? She's one lucky woman." Erica's words came out muffled, her mouth still full. Hard to tell if it was envy or jealousy.

Lucky? I couldn't even remember the last time I'd eaten something he actually cooked himself.

"You talk too much." Richard's scolding was light, weightless.

Even as he said it, he reached out and brushed back a strand of hair that had nearly fallen into her plate. His fingertips grazed her earlobe.

But the look on his face I'd never seen it. Not even when we were most in love.

The suspicion I'd been suppressing, afraid to examine too closely, was now brutally nailed before my eyes by this crystal-clear scene, beyond any argument.

Why? How could a man who kissed me good morning every day and said "I love you" before bed so easily give his love to someone else?

A violent headache struck without warning. A voice screamed in my mind: Get out there! Throw her out! Now!

But my body felt as heavy as if trapped in a quagmire. Even my fingers were difficult to move.

I desperately gathered strength to prop myself up, finally making it to the door, my hand landing on the cold doorknob.

Just as I was about to force out words, Erica suddenly stood up from the sofa. Like an uninhibited cat, she sprang up without warning, pressed her hands on Richard's shoulders, pushed him back against the sofa cushions, then leaned down and kissed him.

My breathing stopped.

I couldn't see Richard's expression. I only saw that he didn't refuse. His hand paused in the air for a moment, then slowly, gently settled on Erica's waist.

Five seconds, ten seconds... Time stretched infinitely, each second a slow execution of my nerves. That hand on Erica's waist even tightened slightly, drawing her closer to him.

So there was no need for speculation, no need for excuses or justifications. The answer was laid bare before me.

Perhaps there was no need to rush out anymore. This home that once belonged to him and me would soon have a new mistress. And what I was about to lose wasn't just my memory.

I quietly closed the door. I slumped against it, sinking to the cold floor.

No hysteria, no sobbing. Only cold, hollow despair spreading from the deepest part of my heart, freezing my blood.

Trembling, I pulled open the deepest drawer of the nightstand, fumbled for the white pill bottle, unscrewed it, poured all the pills into my palm, and swallowed them all at once.

In the last instant before consciousness was completely swallowed by endless darkness, my extremely blurred hearing caught the nauseating sticky sounds of kissing from outside the door, and their lowered conversation:

"Mm... Richard, just now, what was that sound?"

Richard's voice was slightly hoarse, mixed with the soft rustle of fabric. "Probably just the wind."