Leah Sinclair slept fitfully. At five o’clock, before the sun had even risen, she got up to make breakfast.
Oatmeal and chocolate syrup were a perfect match. Her aunt used to make it all the time back at her family’s home.
CLICK. The front door opened. The spoon in Leah’s hand paused.
Kian Hawthorne walked into the living room. Hearing the noise in the kitchen, he glanced over.
"Smells good," he said mildly. "Making breakfast?"
Leah averted her gaze.
He smelled of disinfectant, and his white shirt was wrinkled. Leah couldn’t help but wonder how he and Miss Shaw had spent the previous night. The private hospital room must have been extremely quiet at night. When it was so quiet that only their breathing could be heard, what were they thinking? What grew between them in the dark of the night?
She unconsciously pictured many scenes, imagining hands slipping under a hospital gown...
Disgusting. She shook her head, trying to throw off the thoughts.
"I’m making breakfast to take to the hospital for my uncle," Leah said flatly.
Kian gave a brief nod of acknowledgment and headed for the bedroom. "I’m going to change clothes first."
Leah resumed stirring the oatmeal in the pot.
Kian walked into the master bedroom. The room was spotless. The duvet was smoothed out and the pillows were perfectly aligned, as if no one had slept there last night. He opened the wardrobe, looking for a dark gray tie, but couldn’t find it even after searching for a while. Leah organized everything in the house, so he never knew where anything was.
"Leah," he called out, standing at the bedroom door.
Leah wiped her hands and walked over. Without waiting for him to speak, she went straight to the wardrobe, pulled open the second drawer on the left, and flawlessly plucked the dark gray tie from a neatly rolled pile before handing it to him.
Kian took it and began tying it in front of the mirror.
Sometimes he found it strange. Leah seemed to be a mind reader; she always knew what he wanted without him having to ask. Perhaps precisely because of this, they spoke less and less. Anything that didn’t need to be said was simply skipped.
He remembered when she had first married into the family. She used to be quite chatty. She would tell him what groceries she had bought that day, inform him that the stray cat downstairs had a litter of kittens, and cheerfully chatter away as she shared trivial little things. But he had found her annoying and would always coldly interrupt her: "Don’t tell me this useless nonsense. I don’t want to hear it."
Now she didn’t speak anymore. She was entirely too quiet.
Leah returned to the kitchen and packed the breakfast into insulated lunch boxes. One for her uncle, one for her cousin—all packed and ready. She ladled the rest into a bowl and placed it on the dining table.
As she was changing her shoes in the entryway, Kian emerged from the bedroom, fully dressed. Leah kept her head down as she tied her shoelaces. A sentence rolled around on the tip of her tongue.
*I saw you at the hospital yesterday.*
She didn’t say it. She wondered why she should bother. It was something they both tacitly understood; bringing it up would only ruin their dignity for nothing. Since she had already decided on a divorce anyway, she might as well talk about something practical.
"The doctor said that medicine is hard to find," Leah said as she straightened up, not looking at him. "Could you put in a word with Diana Carter? I’m worried she won’t take it seriously."
"Alright," Kian replied. He sat at the dining table and picked up a pair of chopsticks.
The oatmeal was no longer piping hot; it was the perfect temperature. He took a bite. The flavor was amazing. He looked up and said, "This is even better than the stuff they sell outside."
No one answered. The living room was empty, and the front door was already closed.
Kian froze for a second. He had been talking to thin air. He frowned. Had she been too exhausted from taking care of her uncle lately? Was the monthly allowance he gave her not enough to hire a caregiver?
After finishing his breakfast, Kian left his bowl and chopsticks on the table. He got up and took two steps before backing up. He stared at the two empty bowls for a few seconds. Then, he rolled up his sleeves, carried them into the kitchen, turned on the faucet, and washed them.
By the time Leah arrived at the hospital, the sun had fully risen.
Ash Sinclair was keeping watch by the hospital bed, dark circles heavy under his eyes. Seeing her come in, he stood up and stretched his stiff shoulders. Leah told him to go home and get some sleep to handle matters at the factory while she took over caring for their uncle.
Quentin Sinclair looked a bit more spirited than yesterday. He swallowed a mouthful of oatmeal and smiled at Leah.
After feeding him, Leah checked the time. It was almost nine o’clock. She walked to the pantry and called Diana Carter. Diana was Kian’s chief secretary. She had worked for him for five years and handled everything flawlessly.
The phone rang three times before it connected.
"Secretary Carter, this is Leah Sinclair." She paused. "Mr. Hawthorne told me to contact you regarding my uncle’s medication—"
"Miss Sinclair," Diana interrupted. Her tone was strictly business. "Mr. Hawthorne hasn’t mentioned this matter to me."
Leah tightened her grip on her phone.
Miss Sinclair. Not Mrs. Hawthorne.
In their two years of marriage, Diana had never once addressed her as "Mrs. Hawthorne." Not to her face, and not behind her back. It was as if her position as Mrs. Hawthorne had never been legitimate.
"He told me yesterday to coordinate directly with you."
"I understand. I’ll go ask Mr. Hawthorne," Diana said, and promptly hung up.
Leah stood by the pantry window, watching the people coming and going downstairs. The early spring sunlight streamed in, stinging her eyes until they watered.
A few minutes later, her phone rang. Diana’s voice came through the receiver. "Miss Sinclair, Mr. Hawthorne has given his instructions. Please contact Director Chandler of the group’s International Affairs Department."
Just as Leah was about to say thank you, a WhatsApp notification chimed. It was a message from Diana: "Miss Sinclair, Director Chandler’s contact information is as follows."
Swallowing the bitterness in her heart, Leah dialed Director Chandler’s number.
The voice on the other end was equally polite, distant, and strictly business. "Miss Sinclair, right? I’ve been informed of the situation. I’ve already assigned this to the affairs office over in Country A. Please contact Manager Miller. I’ll send you his contact information."
"Understood. Thank you, Director Chandler."
"You’re welcome."
The call ended, and Director Chandler sent over a name and a string of numbers. Leah stared at those cold numbers, suddenly finding it laughable. She was like a ball being kicked around. No one caught her, and no one took her seriously. Everyone knew that she, as Mrs. Hawthorne, was unwanted by her husband’s family.
Footsteps sounded outside the pantry, accompanied by hushed laughter. Two young nurses walked in carrying mugs. Not noticing the person standing in the corner, they gossiped in low voices.
"Hey, did you know? That Old Man Sinclair on the sixth floor is Mr. Hawthorne’s wife’s uncle."
"Really? Then why is he staying in a six-bed ward? The Hawthorne family is so rich—they should at least get him a private room."
"Ugh, you don’t know the half of it. Mr. Hawthorne doesn’t even like his wife. The old madam forced him into the marriage. His true love is Miss Shaw in the VIP ward upstairs. Mr. Hawthorne even stayed overnight to keep her company."
"Does his wife know?"
"What does it matter if she knows or not? That’s just how rich people are. They keep one at home to make the elders happy, and keep their true love on the side."
"I’m honestly kind of shipping them."
"Who?"
"Mr. Hawthorne and his true love, of course! You think I’d ship a sham marriage?"
Leah turned her back to them and stared out the window. The sunlight was glaring. She could hear her own breathing—very light, very slow.
One of the nurses finished filling her mug and turned to leave. Only then did she spot the figure standing by the window. All the color drained from her face. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. The other nurse tugged at her sleeve, and the two of them hurried out in a panic.
"Could that be...?"
"Oh no, we’re dead! We’re so dead!"
Their hurried footsteps faded into the distance. Leah stood there for a while.
Suddenly, her phone rang again. It was Kian calling. Leah assumed he was going to talk about the medication. To her surprise, he said, "Accompany me to a cocktail party tonight. Dress up."
The tiny sliver of hope in her heart was instantly extinguished. Looking down, Leah said, "I don’t want to go."
Silence fell over the other end of the line. After a few seconds, Kian’s voice turned cold, laced with a hint of impatience. "Leah, you are Mrs. Hawthorne. The party is full of the Hawthorne family’s business partners. If you don’t go, how will that look? How can you be Mrs. Hawthorne when you’re so introverted?"
He paused, his tone shifting into a command. "I’ll have the driver pick you up this evening. Remember to go back to the old mansion to pick up some jewelry."
He didn’t say goodbye before hanging up.
Leah stood frozen for several seconds. She wondered if she should go back.
She didn’t want to return to the old mansion.