Chapter 2

Conan knew that I'd hurt my hand and couldn't cook. So, why hadn't I ordered for him? After all, he had informed me half an hour earlier that he was coming home. And for the past eight years that I'd been married to him, I'd always read his text messages the moment I received them. He never thought he would see me shrug nonchalantly and answer him in a perfunctory manner. "I was charging my phone. I didn't read any of your messages." Conan gripped the gift bag in his hand a little harder and pressed his lips into a thin line. Then, he placed the bag in front of me. "I recalled that your perfume was running out." I shifted my gaze from my food to his expectant face and said politely, "Give it to someone else. I'm not used to such expensive fragrances." Half an hour later, Mindy posted an Instagram story about shopping for luxury bags at the mall, and right in the bottom corner of the photo was Conan's right wrist, wearing his easily recognizable Vacheron Constantin watch. Conan watched me, his eyes traveling from my bandaged hand to the silly cartoon show I was laughing loudly at on TV. Then, he suddenly came closer, his face hinting at displeasure, wanting to take a closer look at my injury. Instinctively, I wanted to avoid his touch, but in doing so, I accidentally shoved the gift bag to the floor, where the perfume bottle smashed into pieces. Conan then chuckled coldly and said, "All this just because I made you wait in the car a little longer than usual, Ingrid Zinger? Is there a need for you to stay mad at me over such a small matter?" "I'm not mad." I was honest, but Conan just scoffed and made fun of me. "You're obviously still mad about it. Can't you act your age? You're so old, and yet, you still keep thinking nonsense all day. You're a helpless dumbass." I was three years older than Conan. And every time we argued, he would always call me a dumbass and make fun of my age. Then, he would take a step back and enjoy my unraveling as I lost my shit with him. This time, however, I didn't cry or make a huge fuss. I didn't even demand that he tell me if he ever regretted marrying me. I just replied, "Whatever floats your boat." I finished my food and threw the trash away. Then, I took my bag and headed for the front door before walking out. Conan never used to care whenever I threatened to run away from home. He never ran after me once. But this time, he followed me all the way to the elevators and demanded to know where I was going in the dead of night. I fibbed, "My mother told me to bring back some of the crops she harvested." Conan seemed to still have something to say, but the doors closed before he could say a thing. About two hours after I left, I received a text message on my phone while I was happily chatting with my friend in Clique Bar. The message was from Conan and consisted of a single question mark. Seeing that I wasn't planning to reply, my best friend, Eva Liddel, asked in disbelief, "Your husband rarely ever messages you first, Iggy. Won't he get mad if you don't reply to him?" My friends all knew that I was most afraid of making Conan mad at me. However, I didn't care about him tonight. In fact, I even hung out with my friends until it was well past midnight. When I got home, Conan was drinking a glass of water in front of the fridge. He never asked where I had been, and I didn't bother acknowledging him either. Instead, I headed straight into the bathroom to shower. I'd just laid down in bed when Conan suddenly pressed up against me. He kissed me for a few seconds before I shoved him aside. Conan couldn't stand it anymore and switched on the lights. "Ingrid Zinger, don't you dare tell me that you've forgotten you're ovulating now." Conan and I had both been trying for kids. So, every month, during my fertile window, he would always compromise and try to have sex with me. I just flipped over in bed and said, "I'm too tired today. I'm going to sleep." These were the exact same words he usually used on me many times in the past, and now, I was using them against him. Conan was stunned for a while. In the end, his face darkened as he walked out of the bedroom. I knew that he would be spending the rest of the week on the couch in the living room. In the past, as soon as he indicated that he wasn't going to be sleeping in the same bed as me, I would always get anxious and be unable to sleep for the entire night. But tonight, I slept extremely well, unexpectedly. The next morning, I was a lot more efficient at work than usual, and my general manager, Jordan West, jokingly asked what I'd like as a reward. I just looked at him seriously and said, "Remember that top divorce lawyer you introduced to us last time? Could you please connect me to her?" It was the ninth day since we slept separately, and Conan, who'd never had to wake up early, purposely got up and made me some bacon and eggs before going back to sleep in the bedroom. About 3:00 pm later that day, I saw Conan post a photo on his private Instagram stories. It was a group photo taken at his childhood friend's wedding. Conan wasn't the only one in the photo. Mindy was also standing right next to him, her hand shyly slinked around his arm, smiling bashfully at the camera.