After Saving His Lover’s Life, I Chose to Walk Away

Chapter 2

When he handed me the prenuptial agreement, he looked just as gentle as always. "Just sign it. This is nothing more than a business marriage. After five years, we'll both go our separate ways and marry whoever we want.

"But don't worry. I'll give you every bit of respect and status that comes with being Mrs. Forth."

In that single second, the ten-year secret crush I'd carried since I was a girl completely shattered.

Every last bit of my hope for marriage, every soft, dreamy fantasy I'd spun about our wedding night, shattered into nothing.

After that day, I never touched the color pink again.

I tore my gaze away from the blanket and couldn't help but sneeze.

Almost on pure instinct, Henry handed me a tissue, his voice as warm and gentle as it always was. "I'll turn the air conditioner up a little."

That was when I noticed it—the tissue box was official Disney merchandise.

Even after five years of a loveless, sexless marriage, Henry and I had shared our quiet, comfortable moments as husband and wife.

Back when we first married, I was still young, and Henry was happy to indulge me in just about anything.

The only thing he would never agree to was going to Disney with me. No matter how I pouted, begged, or sweet-talked him, he always turned me down.

He just said it would make him look unprofessional and immature to his business partners.

Turns out he was perfectly capable of breaking his own rules for the right person.

It just wasn't ever going to be me.

When we got home, Henry walked straight past me and headed for the kitchen. I stared after him, shocked, and after a second of hesitation, I called out, "What do you want to eat? I'll make it for you."

Henry shook his head, his eyes glued to a cooking tutorial on his phone. "No need. I promised Linda I'd make her broth."

I froze mid-step. My mind went blank. This was Henry Forth, the big CEO who'd never lifted a finger for chores, a total germaphobe with a strict cleanliness obsession. And here he was, ready to cook for Linda with his own two hands.

For some reason I couldn't explain, my eyes started stinging, and hot tears pricked the corners.

I remember once, when I was burning up with a terrible fever. I'd begged Henry just to pour me a glass of water. He'd frowned like I'd asked him to do something unthinkable and said, "I hate the smell of kitchen grease. Wait here, I'll call the housekeeper to bring it to you."

After that, he got so busy he completely forgot. By the time the housekeeper found me, I was so feverish, that I was this close to suffering permanent brain damage.

I watched him bustle around the kitchen, that giddy smile permanently tugging at his lips, and I couldn't stand to look another second. I turned on my heel and headed straight upstairs.

I packed my suitcase, crawled into bed, and fell into a heavy sleep only to be jolted awake in the middle of the night by someone shaking my shoulder.

*****

Henry stood by my bed, frazzled and flustered, as he woke me. "Amanda, I don't know how to do this. Come teach me."

He dragged me downstairs, and when I saw the multiple ruined pots of chicken soup he’d messed up, a faint, throbbing ache pricked at my long-numb heart.

Henry was never a patient man. Back when he’d come with me to try on wedding dresses, he’d already grown restless by the second gown and made an excuse about an urgent company matter to bolt.

Yet now, even after ruining pot after pot of chicken soup for Linda, he still refused to give up.

I’d done this a hundred times before, so I prepped the ingredients on autopilot, turned on the stove, and let the soup simmer.

Henry hovered nearby, watching the flame like it was a ticking bomb. This soft, quiet moment between us was something I hadn’t gotten to share with him in ages.

Once I’d poured the finished chicken soup into the insulated container, Henry pressed a quick kiss to my forehead. "Amanda, thank God you’re here."

The words were barely out of his mouth before he hurried out the door.

All he could think about was Linda waiting for him at the hospital. He didn’t even notice the angry burn blooming on my finger.

After I’d dressed my burn, a notification popped up: Linda had posted a new update to her WeChat Status.

It read: "My darling husband made chicken soup just for me."

Henry, who never posted anything to WeChat Status at all, actually left a comment out of nowhere, a blowing kiss emoji.

My finger hovered over the screen for several long seconds, but I never ended up hitting like.

When I exited the WeChat Status, a new text message popped up on my screen.

It read: "Where do you want to do it next time, hubby?"

It was retracted immediately, right before a voice note from Linda came through.