Chapter III

I ignored the naked provocation in Julian’s eyes.

He always used the guise of "helping" to cross boundaries.

How many weekends had she spent with this crowd? How many times had she passed out drunk in someone else’s apartment?

Ever since news of the tension between Elena and me had spread,

Julian’s physical contact with my wife had shifted from public embraces to secretive, insidious touches.

In the past, I would have exploded.

But now, I found it merely amusing.

I didn't even bother to lift my eyelids for the two people in the front row who lacked any sense of propriety.

"Could you stop at Terminal 3? I’m waiting for a friend."

A woman in a trench coat, radiating a sharp, professional aura, was standing by the curb checking her phone.

Isabella saw my car and immediately flashed a brilliant smile, dragging her suitcase as she walked briskly toward us.

"Liam! God, is this your private ride?"

Isabella pulled open the door, slid directly into the back seat next to me, and gave me a massive hug.

"This is my first business trip to New York; you have to be a good host!"

This scene stunned Elena and Julian in the front.

They hadn't anticipated this variable at all.

Elena turned around instantly, her eyes sharp as knives.

"Liam, who is this?"

Before I could speak,

Isabella extended her hand graciously (though she couldn't quite reach the front row):

"Hi, I’m Isabella. Liam’s college classmate from Chicago, and his current project partner!"

"College classmate?"

Elena’s voice pitched an octave higher.

"Yeah! We were inseparable partners back then, right, Liam?"

Isabella naturally rested her head on my shoulder, smiling as she spoke to the front row.

I saw Elena’s face darken instantly.

Julian, too, put away his cynical, playful expression.

On the drive back, Isabella kept pulling me into conversation.

"Remember pulling all-nighters drawing blueprints in the architecture department? The coffee you brewed was practically life-saving water."

"Liam, take me to that steakhouse you always talk about tonight..."

In contrast, the front of the car was dead silent.

Usually, if we went out together,

Julian was the one who never shut up.

He would chat with Elena about art references only they understood, or whose paintings sold for high prices,

treating me as if I were transparent.

But now,

Julian tried to start a topic several times, and Elena only responded with perfunctory hums.

After dropping Isabella off at her hotel on Wall Street,

Elena immediately made Julian pull over.

Then she opened the door, climbed into the back seat, and sat right next to me.

Her face looked as though she had swallowed a fly.

"Why are you sitting back here?"

Elena sneered. "Why? Can’t I sit here? Who exactly is that woman?"

I closed my eyes and adjusted my posture.

"I’m tired. The jet lag hasn't worn off. We’ll talk at home."