Chapter 2

On the other end of the line, Harry was momentarily stunned by Minerva's response. Then, his voice lit up, brimming with excitement and relief. "Great, that's fantastic! I'll submit your name right away. Minerva, you don't need to come in for the next few days. Just stay home and get ready. You'll be leaving in half a month." Minerva paused. Half a month? That date… It was the exact day of… No. It was Rowena and Benedict's wedding. She smiled faintly and nodded. "Got it." With that, she ended the call. With both major tasks done, a surprising sense of calm settled over her. She casually flagged down a cab and headed home. Outside the gates of the Robertson residence, she entered the security code. As the door swung open, a voice from inside startled her. "Benedict, isn't it kind of bad that you left Minerva all alone at city hall just for me?" Benedict was crouched on the floor, gently massaging Rowena's ankle. His usually cool voice was now warm, almost tender. "She's always been understanding. She wouldn't get upset over something like this. That's exactly why I married her." Standing in the doorway, Minerva let out a soft, bitter laugh. Understanding? Yeah, she was definitely understanding. So understanding, in fact, that this time, she had gone ahead and married him to his true love, Rowena. Without sparing either of them a glance, she walked straight into the house. It wasn't until Benedict heard the door close that he stood up and turned around. Benedict set the ointment on the table and said evenly, "You're back. Rowena twisted her ankle, and her leg has been hurting, so I was helping her massage it. Also, since she's having trouble walking, she'll be staying with us for a few days." Minerva gave him a faint smile. "Mm, I figured. Given your relationship now, that's exactly what you should be doing. And her staying here? That makes perfect sense." The words sounded polite—perfectly so, but if listened closely, there was something underneath them. A second meaning was hidden beneath the surface. Benedict opened his mouth to speak, but Rowena was quicker. She walked over with a smile and casually hooked her arm around Minerva's. "Minerva, thank you for letting me crash here. I brought you a little something from my trip," she said, picking up a nearby shopping bag and handing it over. "But seriously, you're still so young. Why do you always dress like an old lady? Look, I picked these out just for you while I was abroad." Minerva glanced down at her outfit—a simple black and white matching set. It wasn't flashy, but it was elegant and appropriate—exactly what one would expect from the young mistress of the Robertson family. She liked color, too. She was a woman, not a shadow. But in her past life, in the name of "propriety," she discarded her youth without hesitation. Rowena, seeing Minerva look down, mistook her silence for wounded pride. Her smile deepened. "Go on, try them on. You can wear them to work tomorrow." Before Minerva could respond, Benedict interjected, "Rowena, Minerva has already resigned. From now on, she'll be at home, taking care of the household. These colors don't suit her anymore. They suit you better. You should keep them." At that, Rowena's eyes lit up. "Minerva, you really quit?" The pride and barely concealed excitement in her voice made Minerva pause. Of course, she knew why Rowena was so thrilled. In her previous life, they attended the same school, joined the same department, and entered the Foreign Affairs Ministry side by side. But at every step, Minerva had outshone her. Now that she had willingly stepped aside, how could Rowena not be delighted? Minerva didn't say a word. She simply stayed silent, letting the two of them continue with their assumptions. Rowena took her silence as confirmation. Her face lit up with delight as she tugged on Benedict's hand and said sweetly, "We've been chatting for a while. Benedict, I'm getting hungry. When are we eating?" At that, Benedict turned to Minerva without hesitation. "It's already late. You should be making dinner. Oh, and Rowena doesn't eat green onions and cilantro, so don't add any." Minerva had heard that familiar, matter-of-fact tone countless times before. But for the first time, it felt sharp and dismissive. In the past, he never had to remind her, and she would've already been in the kitchen by now. Cooking for someone only made sense when you loved them. Now that she no longer did, she had no desire to lift a finger for him. She looked up at Benedict and said calmly, "I'm not feeling well. Have the maids cook." Benedict frowned. "Minerva, you know I'm used to your cooking." Used to it. A flicker of bitterness stirred in her chest. Of course. She remembered how he used to suffer from frequent stomach issues and how particular he'd been with food. She spent countless hours learning recipes, adjusting flavors, and preparing milder meals that wouldn't upset his stomach. Over time, she cured his issues completely and spoiled him into someone so particular that even Michelin-starred chefs couldn't please him. Only her cooking ever did. She gave a faint smile. "Then maybe it's time you get used to something else? What if I'm no longer around one day?" Benedict blinked, confused. "Not around? Where would you go?"