Soon after I came back to the country, someone slapped me right across the face in broad daylight, yelling that I was a mistress.

A crowd of reporters closed in, pelting me with questions about whether Chandler Armstrong, CEO of Armstrong Industries, was keeping me as his mistress.

I was stunned speechless for a moment, but then I pulled out my wedding photo with Chandler from seven years ago and held it up.

"What are you talking about? I'm his wife!"

The crowd went silent, and the woman who'd slapped me turned white as a sheet.

Only then did I finally get it: while I'd been overseas, Chandler had been openly involved with an actress, and everyone in his social circle had already decided she was the future Mrs. Armstrong.

Today, they all came expecting to confront a mistress—only to find out that I was actually his wife.

Later, Chandler tried to justify it. "Alina, you've been out of the country for years. I'm a man, and I have needs. She's just a B-list actress; it's not like she threatens your position. Why should you be upset? Just let it go," he said. "Don't make a scene."

I handed him the divorce papers. "You make me sick."

"Alina, after I'm gone... please… take care of yourself."

On the white hospital bed, my grandmother weakly reached out and stroked my face.

I sniffled, nodding through the tears that threatened to spill.

At 11:00 PM that night, the last family member I had left passed away.

I took out my phone and sent Chandler Armstrong back in the country a message. [My grandmother passed away.]

A short while later, a reply came through. [I'm sorry for your loss. She's just gone to heaven.

[Can you manage things on your own over there? If you need help, you can call Geoffrey—he's also in Damaria.

[I have some important matters to handle these next couple of days and can't be with you. I'm really sorry, Alina.]

His tone was still gentle, unchanged after seven years.

The only difference, perhaps, was that his words had grown fewer and he hardly called anymore.

I remembered the first three years I had spent abroad—Chandler couldn't go a day without calling me a dozen times.

We married at the height of our passion, but after that, we lived in separate countries. Through it all, Chandler had always been my rock.

I never questioned him; I just thought maybe he was busy. After all, he ran the huge Armstrong Industries, and there was no way he could have time to chat with me every day.

I turned off my phone and handled my grandmother's affairs alone.

As I stared up at the clear blue sky, a feeling of longing to return to the country began to take root in me.

It had been seven years.

From coming to Damaria alone to study and later taking care of my grandmother's medical needs, Chandler and I had been separated for seven years.

If he knew I was coming back, I bet he would be happy.

I unlocked my phone and stared at his cute black cat profile picture, which was a huge contrast to his usual serious self. I hesitated for a moment before closing the chat application.

I decided I wouldn't tell him just yet. It would be a surprise.

-

Two days later, I was back in the city I hadn't seen in years.

On my way to Chandler's house in a cab, I sent him a message. [Where are you right now?]

Two hours later, his black cat avatar buzzed and replied, [At home.]

I couldn't help but smile as I typed back, [Guess where I am right now?]

Chandler's reply was, [I guess... you're in Dewbrook?]

[Wrong. I'm home! Get ready for me!]

As soon as I hit send, the driver pulled up to a stop.

A beautiful villa came into view, the one Chandler and I had bought with the money we saved up together when we got married.

This house didn't belong to the Armstrongs, nor to my family, the Elledges—it belonged to the two of us.

All our sweetest memories were made here.

I raised my phone, thinking Chandler would be ecstatic.

But after a few minutes, he only replied with a question mark and then asked, [Are you serious?]

I frowned in confusion. [Of course, I'm serious. Do you think I'd joke about something like this?]

I snapped a photo of the villa and sent it to him. This time, he quickly responded and called me.

His familiar voice, deep and seductive, was like the smooth, rich flavor of red wine.

It had a captivating charm.

"Alina." His voice didn't carry the excitement I'd expected—instead, there was a touch of annoyance. "Why didn't you tell me in advance?"

"Because I wanted to surprise you. I was on a plane for over ten hours; I'm exhausted. Let's talk when we meet."

I hung up the phone and stepped inside the villa.

I was surprised to find that there wasn't a single servant in sight.

The clean living room was immaculate, but the windows were all tightly shut.

I opened the windows and then walked over to the cupboard.

Inside, the matching cups Chandler and I had bought were neatly placed in the corner.

Although there was no dust on them, their perfect arrangement made it clear they hadn't been used in a while.

"Chandler?" I called upstairs, but there was no response.

The huge villa felt eerily silent.

After checking the bedroom, I was sure Chandler didn't live here at all.

If that was the case, why did he say he was at home?

I dialed his number, confused. He answered, explaining in a calm voice, "I moved to the city center to be closer to the office. I knew you'd misunderstand, which was why I asked why you didn't tell me earlier.

"Wait there. I'll come pick you up."

His explanation eased my mind.

While waiting, I updated my social media, letting my friends know I was back in the country.

Soon, my phone was buzzing with notifications.

Everyone was shocked, asking when I came back.

[This afternoon.]

I replied to each one, and my close friends congratulated me, asking how long I planned to stay.

I answered, [I'm not leaving. Grandma passed away, and I don't need to stay abroad anymore. I've decided to settle back here.]

For a moment, the feed went silent.

Then, a private message popped up. [You're back?]

I checked the name—it was from someone I didn't know well.

I replied, [Yeah.]

The message came again. [Does Chandler know?]

[Of course he does.]

I found the question odd, so I asked, [Is there something wrong, Mr. Vasquez?]

Winton Vasquez, the CEO of Evergreen Ventures and also a fellow alum of both Chandler and me, replied with a loaded tone, [It's nothing. Just seems like you don't really keep up with domestic entertainment news.]

Entertainment news? That puzzled me further.

True, I didn't follow celebrity gossip, but so what?

The conversation halted as Chandler's car pulled up, and a tall figure stepped out.

The last time I saw him was half a year ago when he flew overseas to spend New Year's with me.

I walked up to him, linking my arm through his. "Did you miss me, Chandler?"

His stern features softened, and he playfully tapped my nose. "I did."

When it came time to decide where to eat, I suggested the restaurant we used to frequent in college.

Chandler drove us there in his luxury car, which caused college students on the street to turn their heads.

I overheard snippets of their conversation.

"Who is that guy? He looks familiar."

"Is that his girlfriend? She's gorgeous and so elegant…"

I smiled to myself, feeling the sweet warmth inside.

Chandler and I weren't just dating; we'd been married for seven years.

But we'd kept it low-key at the time, only inviting close family and friends to our wedding.

He had waited for me all these years, and I didn't want to disappoint him.

The rush to come back was also to catch his birthday.

After dinner, I thought Chandler would take me to our new home, but instead, he stopped in front of a hotel.

"Alina, you came back so suddenly, and I haven't had time to prepare anything at the house. Would you mind staying in a hotel for the night?" Chandler said, his voice sincere but firm.

I frowned. "There's no need to prepare anything. I brought my toiletries. I can just stay in your room."

Chandler furrowed his brow, holding my hand. "It's too messy over there. Wait for the housekeeper to tidy up, and I'll come get you once it's ready."

"Alright, then."

It was already around 8:00 PM, and I was feeling a little tired.

Since I had just gotten back, I didn't want to argue with him.

-

The next day, Chandler picked me up and took me to his apartment in the city center.

The place was clearly cleaned and felt refreshed. There were clothes in the closet that fit me perfectly.

We spent the day shopping and eating.

To make up for his absence, Chandler took time off from work and stayed with me for two whole weeks. We even went hiking at a nearby scenic spot.

I was exhausted, panting for breath, while Chandler barely broke a sweat.

He'd been so busy with work over the years, but he hadn't neglected his fitness—his shirt was stretched taut over his well-toned muscles.

The last stretch of the hike, he carried me on his back.

At the summit, we sat together, watching the sunset. As we interlaced our fingers, I noticed he wasn't wearing his wedding ring.

I casually asked about it, and Chandler explained he had put it away.

I didn't question it, instead checking my vibrating phone. The message said my custom watch was ready.

It was meant to be his birthday gift.

It would be shipped to me within three days if nothing went wrong.

-

On the day I picked up the watch, I made lunch myself and headed to Chandler's office to deliver it.

But when I arrived at the building, a stranger stopped me.

She was wearing sunglasses and slapped me across the face!

"You shameless mistress!"