Chapter 5

Lauren POV

Richard stayed home all weekend.

But whenever the person saved as "Dummy" sent a message, he'd reply instantly. When the phone rang, he never delayed.

"If you're busy, just go to work. I don't need company." I said with my back to him.

Each time he returned from a call, Richard would placate me. "Lauren, Erica is eager to learn. As her professor, I can't discourage a student's enthusiasm, right?"

"I'll take you to campus on Monday," he paused, "and introduce you to her properly."

I hummed in agreement.

That Monday, I went early.

After graduation, I'd never returned to our alma mater. Everything on campus had changed. Those corners that once held memories of Richard and me had long since vanished.

I had no choice but to go to his office to wait.

Before I even reached the door, muffled laughter drifted out, mixed with that familiar, coquettish voice.

"Professor, how can you call me dumb!"

It was Erica.

I stopped outside the half-open door.

Inside, Erica was leaning intimately close to Richard's side. Then, she quite naturally picked up the iced Americano from his desk and took a sip through the straw he'd used.

The next second, as if chilled, she pouted and whimpered. Richard immediately leaned in, naturally reaching out to wipe the coffee from the corner of her mouth, the gesture as intimate as if treating a lover.

"Not cold anymore, not cold anymore." For the first time, I realized a person's happiness could actually be heard in their tone.

I pushed the door open.

Erica jumped up in alarm, stumbling backward and landing on the floor in her panic. Richard didn't help her. He walked straight toward me, somewhat reproachfully. "Why did you come early?"

"I shouldn't have come? Did I interrupt you two?" My voice was ice-cold.

But Erica had already put on a bright smile and rushed over, trying affectionately to link her arm through mine. "Lauren, Lauren! I finally get to meet you!"

This was my first time meeting Erica face-to-face. She was indeed young and beautiful, full of vitality. But the scent of her perfume mixed with that night's scene, replaying over and over in my mind, made me nauseous.

I pushed her away and forced out a smile. "I've heard Richard mention you often too."

"Really?" Erica exclaimed, but her eyes gleamed as she looked at Richard. "Then what does the Professor usually say about me?"

Though she spoke to me, her gaze remained entangled with him. I was merely a prop in their flirtation.

"He says you study hard..." I paused, looking at her. "But I need to remind you that asking academic questions doesn't require cuddling up to your professor. And as a student, sharing a straw with your professor isn't appropriate. That's a basic boundary."

Erica's face went pale. She shrank behind Richard, her voice trembling. "Lauren... do you not like me?"

"Lauren!" Richard suddenly called out my full name sharply, his face darkening. "You've gone too far. She's just a student. The culture here is more open-everyone's casual. That's all."

"A student?" I laughed, pointing at the coffee. "A student would use your straw? You'd wipe a student's mouth?"

"She just wasn't careful! We didn't think that much about it!" Richard's voice rose, tinged with the irritation of being exposed. "Do you have to be so aggressive?"

"Not careful?" I grabbed the coffee and hurled it violently in their direction!

The cold, dark brown liquid splashed out from the cup, splattering everywhere.

Richard's first reaction was to turn and shield Erica in his arms, not caring that he got soaked, not caring about his expensive shirt now a mess.

Then he escorted Erica out of the office. "I'll treat you to dinner another time to make up for this. Don't hold it against your Lauren-she's sick and in a bad mood."

Richard sighed softly, crouching down to start cleaning up, his voice weary. "Lauren, the doctor said you can't get agitated."

Again. Using my patient status to frame me, turning all accusations into unreasonable outbursts.

"Richard. That night, in the living room, I saw you two kissing."

Richard's hand picking up glass shards suddenly froze.

"I saw it." I repeated.

Richard didn't look up. He continued gathering the fragments, his voice somewhat impatient. "Are you done making a scene? My conscience is clear."

My conscience is clear. What a wonderful phrase-my conscience is clear.

All the indignation, anger, and pain felt like punching cotton in the face of those four words.

Since Richard wasn't willing to part amicably and wasn't willing to speak plainly, why should I keep entangling myself?