This is a great opportunity.
Kendrick had to return to the company and might not be home for the whole night.
I could take advantage of this chance to go home and pack my things.
More importantly, I was really curious about what was in that wardrobe.
Why was my hair tie in there?
The lights in the villa were off.
I tiptoed up to the second floor.
His room.
Things like this, the second time's always easier.
The lights were off, and the view from the floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the city's nightscape, with a faint blue glow in the distance.
The floor was cold, and every step felt like my feet were freezing, just like his temperament.
Why did I think his room was so warm last time?
Oh, right. Last time I was carried in, and my feet never touched the floor.
I turned on my phone's flashlight and made my way into the walk-in closet.
I found the wardrobe.
Opened it.
Surprisingly, it was easy.
It was empty.
"Is it fun? Between me and him?"
Kendrick's voice startled me so much I almost dropped my phone.
I turned around and saw him sitting in the dark gray armchair.
The huge floor-to-ceiling windows behind him framed the ink-like night sky, with a plane streaking across.
"I remember I said we were over," he raised his eyes to glance at me, "What are you still doing here?"
Before I could say anything, he continued, "When you called out like that in front of him at the old house, were you calling him or me?"
"What do you think I am? A tool for your amusement or just a little escape from your life?" His voice was laced with anger, no longer his usual calm tone. "Do you think you can just waltz in and out of here whenever you want?"
"Then I won't leave," I said honestly. "Is that okay?"
"Dream on!"
He stood up, laughing through gritted teeth.
"I don't remember what happened before, but that doesn't mean I'll tolerate it again. What do you think I am? Didn't you say it was all just a game? Didn't you say you couldn't bear to make him sad? At the very least, I'm someone who understands proper conduct. And as for Skylar—no matter how crazy I might get, I would never have any improper thoughts about you."
"Alright, then I'll leave."
"Heh," he stood up, "You really do like to act things out, don't you?"
Neither side is satisfied, so I asked him, "It's really hard to get a taxi in this area at this time. Can you drive me home?"
"Is that even possible?"
"Should I have Skylar come pick me up?"
Of course, I was just joking.
I could have easily had a driver pick me up.
But the more he got angry, the more pleased I felt.
The luxury car sped through the modern skyscrapers.
"Just turn left at the intersection ahead," I said.
He drove extremely fast, the entire time with a grim expression on his face.
"How exactly did I blackmail you?" His hand gripped the steering wheel, the muscles in his arm tightening.
"You said..."
"Forget it," he interrupted me, "I don't want to know."
I looked at his profile—sharp brow bones, a smooth, cool nose bridge.
A person who usually never shows emotion was now on the verge of losing control.
His own out-of-character behavior.
And me, right next to him.
Every breath I took seemed to silently accuse him on the edge of morality.
"Today is the last time," the car stopped, and he turned to look at me, "Get out."
I looked at the apartment building in the distance.
The windows were dark.
"I won't be entangled with you again. You can do whatever you want with Skylar, it's none of my business—"
"Kendrick," I interrupted, looking him in the eyes, "My husband isn't home."
He was easily provoked by my words, losing his patience: "So what? What are you going to do? Are you this loose with everyone?"
"No, only with you."
He was taken aback.
His expression gradually softened, the suppressed anger faded, and his face became cold, as if he was putting up a defense.
"I will never be with you in this lifetime."
I unbuckled my seatbelt. "Kendrick, the light bulb in my house is broken."
The light on the top floor of the apartment came on.
"Didn't you say it was broken?" He glared at me.
"Of course, I was just lying to you!" I smiled at him.
Our eyes met.
I asked, "Why haven't you kissed me yet?"
"How could I kiss you?" He was provoked again, "Know when to stop."
With that, he turned to leave.
"Won't you take a look at our home?"
He turned his head, and I continued, "This was the first house you bought me when we first got together."
It was the house we bought the day we received our marriage certificate.
I bought the furnishings.
"See, I went to several home decor stores to choose these tiles for the kitchen. And this double-door fridge, I bought it thinking we could stock up on all the things we love," I hopped to the kitchen door. "Do you like it?"
He looked at me intently and after a long pause, said, "Didn't I go with you to pick it out?"
No.
"Yes, you came with me," I replied.
"What did I say at the time?" He asked. "Did I say I liked it?"
No, he never came.
"Yes, you said you liked it."
He went silent.
"This white sofa was initially sent wrong by the store. I had to negotiate for a long time to get it replaced," I said with a smile. "That day, I lay on it, thinking that on rainy days, we could cuddle on the sofa and watch movies together."
I opened the bedroom door.
"When we bought this bed, the sales associate said it was the perfect softness and firmness, ideal for newlyweds—"
"You're lying."
He interrupted me. "If I really liked you, I wouldn't have let you buy all of this on your own."
Yes, I'm the liar.
I'm the one still holding onto hope.
I'm the one deceiving myself.
"This is wrong," he said.
He was right.
A marriage without any emotional foundation is wrong.
"I should go," he said, picking up his suit jacket. "Lock the door properly, and if anything happens, call... Skylar."
"Kendrick."
He stopped in his tracks.
I patted the bed. "Won't you give it a try?"
If we screw this up, then we'll just keep going.
