his touch

4

Henry’s favorite color was red.

With that thought in mind, Anna pulled a red evening gown from her wardrobe and laid it carefully on the bed. Beside it, she placed a matching teardrop-red pendant. A soft smile touched her lips.

As she dressed, she hummed happily to whatever song drifted into her mind. Once she had slipped into the gown, she sat before the mirror and applied a light touch of makeup.

“Just a hint of red,” she murmured to her reflection.

Then she paused.

One thing was missing.

She reached up and released her hair, letting it fall freely to her shoulders.

“Perfect,” she whispered, taking up her bag.

Henry had already sent her the address, and when she saw it, her heart had stirred at once. It was the very place where she had first met him nearly a year and a half ago.

After one last glance at herself, she smiled and left the house.

She arrived at Deluxe Suites, a place known for its intimate atmosphere and favored mostly by couples.

Henry was already there, waiting for her.

Her smile widened as she took the seat beside him.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve had time like this together,” she said softly.

But Henry barely seemed to hear her. His attention was fixed on his wristwatch, as though he were waiting for something—or someone.

He did not smile at her. He did not even greet her properly.

Anna forced a small smile and touched his hand.

“Oh, you’re here,” he said at last.

Anna nodded, though confusion stirred inside her. He had seemed distracted lately, but things between them had felt calmer than usual. What could possibly be weighing on his mind now?

Then a woman’s voice cut through the air behind them.

“Henry!”

At once, his face lit up.

Out of curiosity, Anna turned toward the sound and saw a silhouette approaching. As the woman came closer, Anna saw that she was dressed in a pale blue gown.

Henry rose immediately and pulled her into a hug.

Anna sat frozen, watching.

When she had arrived, he had not even welcomed her. Yet this woman had barely spoken his name before he was already embracing her.

“Hey, Henry, who’s she?” the woman asked, glancing at Anna.

Henry smiled.

“She’s my secretary,” he said.

The words struck Anna harder than she expected.

Not my girlfriend.

Not Anna.

Just my secretary.

She bit down on her lower lip, despair creeping quietly into her chest. Was that all she truly was to him? Was being his girlfriend only a title with no meaning behind it?

“Anna, meet Sofia Clement,” Henry said. “She’s my childhood friend.”

Sofia smiled at her, but the warmth did not reach her eyes.

“You still come to this place,” Sofia said as she sat down beside Henry.

Her tone carried familiarity—something deeper than simple friendship.

“It’s been two years since our fallout, and you still come here.”

Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, she rested her head on Henry’s shoulder.

Anna’s breath caught.

Henry did not move away. He did not object. He simply let her remain there.

Anna stared at him in stunned silence.

She had been with him for a year and two months, and he had never once allowed her to rest her head on his shoulder. He had always said he wanted to be careful, that he did not want to lose control, that some things should wait until marriage.

Yet here he was, allowing another woman to do with ease what he had always denied her.

“Why is our table so empty?” Sofia asked after a while.

She rose, placed an order herself, and returned to her seat beside Henry.

A short time later, a waiter arrived with the dishes she had chosen.

Anna stared at the food the moment it was set down.

Seafood.

Henry glanced at her with a faint frown as he peeled shrimp for Sofia.

“Aren’t you eating?” he asked.

Anna looked at him, her lips parting.

“I—”

Before she could finish, Sofia pushed a plate toward her.

“Don’t be difficult, Anna,” Henry said. “Sofia ordered all this for us.”

His tone was casual, dismissive.

As if he had forgotten.

As if he did not know she was allergic to seafood.

Anna stared at him, her hand trembling as she picked up the chopsticks.

So this was the date, she thought bitterly. Not an evening for the two of them at all, but a reunion with an old flame.

Still, under Henry’s watchful gaze, she forced herself to take a bite.

He smiled, satisfied.

Then, a moment later, he rose from his seat.

“I have some work to attend to, Anna. I’ll see you later,” he said.

He pulled a few bills from his pocket and placed them in front of her. “You can take a cab home.”

Even as the first red patches began to break across her skin, he showed no sign of concern.

“Sofia, let’s go,” he said.

And together, the two of them walked away.

Anna watched them leave, their hands brushing, their closeness easy and familiar, while her body began to betray her.

Her skin erupted into rashes.

Tears slipped from her eyes as nausea twisted through her stomach. Within moments she doubled over, vomiting violently before collapsing to the floor.

What had she done to deserve this?

He had not only left her—he had left her knowing she was unwell.

Darkness swallowed her.

When she opened her eyes again, she was in a hospital bed.

“You’re lucky you were brought in on time,” the doctor said, adjusting the drip attached to her hand.

“You need to stay away from seafood,” he added firmly. “Your reaction was severe.”

Anna swallowed weakly.

Then the doctor smiled.

“Good thing your boyfriend got you here quickly,” he said. “He must care about you very much. You’re lucky to have a man who loves you this deeply.”

With that, he walked out.

Anna lay still, her heart softening.

So Henry had come back for her after all.

Maybe he had truly forgotten about her allergy. Maybe he had not meant to hurt her. Maybe the evening had really been intended as a date before Sofia appeared unexpectedly.

Perhaps, despite everything, Henry still held her somewhere in his heart.

The thought made her smile faintly as she sank back against the pillow.

Then the door to the ward opened.

Alexander stepped inside.

There was a smile on his face, but it vanished the moment he reached her. He pulled her into a tight embrace.

“I nearly died thinking I’d lost you,” he said, his voice low and strained. “When I found you lying there, motionless on the floor…”

Anna’s smile faded at once.

Her body went still.

So it had not been Henry.

It was Alexander.

He was the one the doctor had mistaken for her boyfriend.

“Alexander…” she said weakly, struggling against his grip. “I can’t breathe.”

He released her immediately and stepped back.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice softening. “I already contacted Henry. He said he’ll be here shortly.”

He looked at her carefully, concern still etched across his face.

And Anna could only stare at him in silence.