When Kylian got back that evening, I had just placed the final bowl of soup on the dining table. He slipped behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder, and nuzzling gently.

"It's so nice having a wife; a hot meal waiting for you when you get home," he murmured. His presence was accompanied by a subtle scent that drifted past my nose. My body tensed for a moment, but I forced myself to stay composed, gently removing his hands from my waist.

"Go wash up and let's eat," I said softly.

As he turned away, the smile I had maintained vanished, leaving my face cold and indifferent.

We sat down to eat, but his phone never left his side. He was constantly texting and smiling, his mind clearly somewhere else.

I looked up, my voice tinged with curiosity. "Who are you chatting with? You seem so happy."

He looked up suddenly, our eyes meeting briefly. I noticed a flicker of panic before he returned to his usual demeanor. He laughed it off, saying, "Oh, just some funny stuff my colleagues are joking about in the WhatsApp group."

Playing along, I asked, "Let me see too."

In the next moment, he turned off his screen and placed his phone face down on the table, trying to appear casual.

"They're just being rowdy, nothing interesting," he said, avoiding my gaze and urging, "Let's eat before the food gets cold."

The light in my eyes quietly dimmed. The once-shy teenager I had fallen for could now lie effortlessly without flinching. At that moment, an overwhelming sense of disappointment enveloped me.

After dinner, he insisted on doing the dishes himself. I lounged on the couch, sneaking glances at Kylian while he worked in the kitchen. He kept checking his phone, a smile playing on his lips throughout. It was almost absurd how six years of relationship seemed overshadowed by the allure of something fresh.

Once he finished cleaning up, he approached me with a box of spiced honey cake like it was a precious offering. "Honey, I got your favorite spiced honey cake," he said, looking at me with the eager eyes of a child seeking approval. I've always had a sweet tooth, believing dessert could soothe the soul. But now, no amount of sweetness could dissolve the bitterness inside me.

I stared at the cake box, my mind adrift. Kylian noticed and gently asked, "Honey, what's on your mind?"

Snapped back to reality, I reached out for the cake. Just then, his phone rang on the table. Before I could see who was calling, he swiftly grabbed it, as if worried I might see the caller ID.

My hand hovered in mid-air and then fell, sending the box to the floor with a thud. The phone continued to ring persistently. In his rush to end the call, Kylian accidentally hit the answer button.

"Kylian," a soft female voice came through, sounding tearful.

I looked up at him, catching a brief flicker of panic in his eyes. He quickly lowered the phone's volume to its minimum and his expression instantly shifted to calm.

He pointed at the phone and mouthed, "It's a colleague," before hastily retreating to the balcony with the phone.

I watched his silhouette fade into the distance and chuckled to myself, opting to focus on the crushed honey cake on the floor rather than chase after him. The ruined cake seemed like a metaphor for what lay ahead.

About ten minutes later, Kylian returned after finishing his call, only to see me tossing the cake into the trash. He gave me an apologetic look.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Something urgent cropped up, and you missed out on the cake," he said.

I replied breezily, "It's no big deal; it was dirty anyway. Better to toss it."

He lingered there, hesitating, his gaze betraying his inner turmoil. Seeing this, I inquired, "What's up? Is it something pressing?"

He apologized again, "There’s a problem with a project at work. A colleague is really upset, and I need to deal with it right away."

Then he added, "I’ll bring you another cake later."

His voice carried its usual soothing tone, his demeanor calm. I bantered with him, "Do the folks at work call you by your nickname?"

He tensed slightly, his smile wavered. I waved off the comment playfully, "Just kidding, go on. Don't let me stop you from handling important stuff."

He visibly relaxed as he grabbed his coat and hurried out the door.

Once he left, I flagged down a taxi to follow his car. The driver, a friendly guy named Marcos, was more than happy to trail the car ahead. With a curious glance, he asked, "Is that your guy up there?"

I hesitated before responding, "Boyfriend."

Recognizing my mood, he nodded sagely and reassured me, "No worries, we won’t lose him."