"Joanna?"

Henley's voice pulled Joanna back to the present.

"I feel like having fish," she said. "Make fish stew tonight."

Taking off his coat, Henley moved close to Joanna's side and nuzzled his face into the curve of her neck like a clingy, insecure little animal.

"Joanna, I missed you so much. You're my everything—my only love in this world!" he proclaimed.

"You'll always love me too, right? You'll never leave me, will you?" Henley asked questions like this often, as if he was never tired of hearing the answer.

If Joanna didn't respond immediately, he'd sulk like a child, his eyes reddening as he accused her, "Joanna, am I annoying you? Do you not love me anymore? If you don't, just kill me now. Without you, I can't go on."

In the past, Joanna would laugh, half exasperated, and swear, "I'll love you forever. I'll never leave you."

This time, she stayed silent, tapping her fingers lightly on the armrest to change the subject. "I'm a little hungry."

Henley's expression darkened at her lack of reassurance. He was about to speak when his gaze shifted to her bare left hand.

"Where's your ring? Where's our wedding ring?" he demanded, grabbing her hand, his voice trembling with panic.

That ring was special. Henley had made it himself, spending two months crafting it from scratch.

He wasn't a jeweler—he knew nothing about designing or working with metals. His hands had been cut and bruised countless times during the process, and he'd almost lost a finger to a saw.

Despite it all, he had been determined to make her a one-of-a-kind ring.

Joanna had cherished it, never taking it off.

Now, she calmly pulled her hand back. "The ring broke. I sent it for repairs."

Before Henley could press further, his phone rang.

A quick glance at the caller ID made Joanna's gaze dim.

It was Addison Shorrock—one of Henley's students, the same woman who had been sending Joanna those photos.

Henley tensed, ending the call without answering.

The phone rang again—and again. Five or six times in a row, as if the caller wouldn’t stop until he picked up.

"You should answer it," Joanna suggested. "It seems urgent. Maybe it's something important."

Relieved by her words, Henley finally picked up.

"I told you before—handle the research on your own. Stop running to me for every little thing," he said coldly. "If you keep this up, I won't approve your project!"

The usual distant professionalism.

Who would've guessed that a man who seemed incapable of betrayal was secretly having an affair with his student?

Henley intentionally lowered the volume on his phone and stepped out onto the balcony.

Joanna couldn't hear the conversation but simply stared at the faint indentation on her finger where her ring used to be.

When Henley returned, there was a faint trace of joy in his expression, though he tried to hide it. "Joanna, it's getting late. I'll head to the market now and buy fish for you."

"Okay," Joanna answered.

Before leaving, he kissed her on the forehead. "Wait for me. I'll be back soon."

As the door clicked shut behind Henley, Joanna picked up her phone.

Addison had sent a new video.

In it, two undressed bodies were entangled, moving together. The obscene sounds of water squelching and heavy breathing filled the background.

The video ended with a message: [I just asked Henley if he wants me again. Guess what his answer will be?]

Henley never came back that night. Instead, Joanna received a message from him.

Henley: [The prosecutors contacted me for an urgent autopsy. I won't be home tonight.]

Henley was a renowned name in his field. Whenever a tricky case arose, people sought his expertise first. Assisting law enforcement was nothing out of the ordinary.

Not long after, there was a knock at the door.

It was a food delivery—a halibut fish stew.

Joanna immediately recognized the restaurant. It was one of their favorites, a place where they often dined together.

The delivery guy, a young man with a bright, cheerful smile, explained, "Your husband asked me to apologize on his behalf. Since he couldn't come home to cook for you, he specially ordered this fish stew for you. He said he'd make it up to you next time."

He added with genuine admiration, "Wow, your husband treats you so well!"

"Does he?" Joanna didn't take the food. Instead, she signed the receipt and handed it back. "I'm not going to eat it. If you don't mind, feel free to take it home for yourself."

That night, Joanna didn't eat a single bite. She sat alone on the couch, staring into the darkness as the hours dragged on until dawn.

When she finally stirred, she found herself sprawled on the floor near the window.

The rain from the night before had left droplets on the sill, pooling into tiny streams.

One of those rivulets had trickled into her open hand, cold and damp.

It seemed she'd passed out from the pain again.

This wasn't the first time.

Late-stage pancreatic cancer brought relentless, piercing, soul-crushing pain. Sometimes, it became so unbearable that the thought of ending it all felt like the only reprieve.

Judging by her position, last night must have been one of those moments. She must have crawled toward the window, considering the jump, but ultimately collapsed before she could act.

With shaky limbs, Joanna propped herself up, realizing her sleeves were soaked and clinging to her skin in an uncomfortably clammy way.

The sensation reminded her of being gnawed by unseen insects, but she couldn't be bothered to care.

Her hands fumbled across the table until she found a bottle of pills.

Without glancing at the label, she poured a handful into her palm and swallowed them dry, tossing the bottle into the trash.

What the pills were didn't matter. How many she took didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore.

Her phone rang.

She answered, and a young, energetic voice came through. "Professor Noe, the consent forms for your body donation are ready. When you're available, could you come by to finalize the paperwork?"

Joanna agreed.

The worst of the night's agony had passed, and the medication dulled her senses enough for her to function.

She took a taxi and arrived at the hospital shortly thereafter.

The process of donating her body to science wasn't particularly complicated—except for one critical step.

Joanna's student said hesitantly, "Professor Noe… you know that for a body donation, we need a family member's signature. There's only six days left... Professor Zeal..."

"I'll handle him," Joanna replied, slipping the consent forms into her bag.

As she stepped out of the office, she came face-to-face with Henley.

Standing beside him, looking bashfully pleased, was Addison.

The moment their eyes met, Addison shot Joanna a sly, triumphant glance.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Zeal," she greeted with a falsely sweet tone.

Then, almost as if by accident, she adjusted her collar to reveal faint marks on her neck, clear evidence of intimacy.

She mouthed silently, "Do you know how many times he had me last night?"

Henley, in an instant, stepped away from Addison. He put noticeable distance between them and schooled his expression into the distant professionalism he typically displayed, allowing warmth only when he addressed Joanna.

"Ah, Joanna, what are you doing here?" His tone was light, casual—but there was a flicker of panic beneath the surface.

Joanna's gaze flicked briefly to his subconsciously rubbing left hand.

"To find the two of you, of course," she answered.

Henley's face turned ashen as he stuttered, "Joanna... w-what are you talking about?"

Joanna looked at him, then glanced at Addison. "Why? Shouldn't the two of you give me an explanation?"

The hallway was bustling with people. Their colleagues were beginning to speculate as the three of them stood in the center of the corridor.

Curious stares unnerved Henley, and he tried to tug at Joanna's arm, only to be flung away.

"Joanna…" he called out.

Joanna ignored him, moving to stand in front of Addison. Her cold, piercing stare made Addison instinctively shrink back, her earlier bravado faltering.

Gripped by growing terror, Henley reached out to grab Joanna's hand again. Once more, she shook him off effortlessly.

For a fleeting moment, his heart stopped. His mind raced with frantic thoughts of what Joanna might say—or worse, what she might do.

Then, suddenly, Joanna chuckled. She turned and smiled faintly at him.

"Why so nervous?" she asked, her tone light, almost teasing. "I was talking about the project, of course."

She wiped the sweat from his brow gently. "What else did you think I was going to say?"

Relief washed over Henley like a tidal wave.

The research project was something he had recently arranged to boost Addison's profile, listing Joanna as a secondary advisor to increase its influence and scope. He had done all this because Addison's father had helped him in the past.

The approval of the research proposal was supposed to be announced today.

"Oh, has the proposal been approved?" Henley asked, relieved, while subtly signaling for Addison to leave.

Having never been dismissed in public, Addison looked wronged, tears brimming in her eyes.

Nonetheless, Henley felt no sympathy.

As she left, her resentment was palpable, though she could only discreetly glare at Joanna before walking away.

Joanna was taken into a lab after that. It was quiet, as the lab was nearly empty with lunchtime approaching.

She produced a stack of documents from her bag, saying, "They didn't manage to contact you, so they called me. I have all the documents printed and ready for your signature."

Henley had started the project specifically for Addison. He'd only added Joanna's name to the advisor list without intending for her to be directly involved, just to facilitate the approval. He hadn't expected the documents to be sent to her directly.

A pang of guilt settled in as he looked at the documents, gripping his pen awkwardly.

Joanna wasn't in a hurry. She settled into a nearby chair and watched Henley go through the documents, signing each one carefully—a habit of his, always serious and responsible no matter what he was doing.

The room was silent except for the sound of rustling pages and a soft breeze from the open window.

"I heard Zachary's wife is divorcing him," Joanna said casually, breaking the silence.

Henley froze mid-turn of a page. "W-What?"

"You didn't know? Apparently, he cheated—with one of his students, no less," Joanna replied, leaning back in her chair as if she were just chatting.

Henley's hand trembled around the pen, his face going pale. "Why are you suddenly interested in gossip?"

Joanna's tone remained light, but her gaze was unrelenting. "The rumor's everywhere. And I've had some time on my hands lately. I guess I've just been paying attention."

She let her words hang in the air before adding, "It's shocking, isn't it? Knowing someone for years, only to realize they're capable of something like that."

She glanced at Henley, then remarked, "Why did you stop signing?"

As if triggered, Henley quickly resumed signing the documents, but all he could think about were Joanna's words. His heart pounded violently, as though it might burst.

Why was Joanna bringing this up? Did she know something? What should he do if she did?

Then again, it seemed impossible.

Time passed in oppressive silence.

Finally, Joanna chuckled. "I'm just glad I married you. My Henley would never betray me, right?"

Henley finished the last signature almost by force.

As he put the pen down, relief washed over him—but guilt lingered. He forced himself to meet her eyes and nodded firmly.

"Of course not. I would never betray you," he said. "If I ever did... let me die a miserable death!"