Chapter 1
Gwendolyn Ashford removed her earrings and tossed them onto the vanity, glancing at the impeccably-dressed man behind her in the mirror. “What if I decide not to go?” Cedric Worthington draped an arm around her shoulder and leaned in as they both studied the reflection of the woman before them. “We agreed on this, didn’t we? Why back out now? It’s just dinner. If you’re feeling uncomfortable, I’ll bring you back home.” Just dinner. Gwendolyn felt a bitter smile tugging at her lips but couldn’t muster the energy to laugh. Cedric had casually mentioned something about swinging in their social circle last month. Initially, Gwendolyn was taken aback, but as the conversation wore on, she started to pick up on his implications—Cedric was clearly interested in the idea himself. She had no idea when he had begun his affair with that woman. By the time Gwendolyn realized what was going on, Cedric had already decided to take their escapades out in the open, dragging her along under the guise of an 'exchange of vows'—a ruse satisfy his infidelity. Gwendolyn had never held high hopes for love, having watched her mother, Maud, marry and divorce, marry again, and still end up with a cheating husband. After facing chaos in her own marriages, she’d chosen a wealthy older man, only to find herself spending her days playing cards and smoking with a group of old ladies. "You know, these days you don’t need to marry for love. Wealth is enough," she sometimes teased her mother. And so, after only five encounters with her blind date Cedric Worthington, they were engaged and married without fuss. It made logical sense. Cedric had a little money and, generally, was a decent person—doting on her mother and showing consideration for his partner. Gwendolyn had convinced herself he was much better than her biological father, until the affair shattered that illusion. It was then she realized: all men were essentially the same. “Are you ready?” Cedric fastened the earrings onto her ears. “I promised them we’d be there. Dinner’s all set.” Gwendolyn examined his sycophantic expression in the mirror, her mind hazy with the question: How had she ever been attracted to Cedric Worthington? She accepted the second earring he held out, putting it on herself, and grabbed her purse, standing up. “Let’s go then.” If they were going to put all their affairs on display, why should she hide away as the original wife? The other woman lived just across the hall—only ten feet away from Gwendolyn’s home. It took her exactly two minutes to exit her place and knock on Percival Dodd’s door. “Welcome!” The door swung open to reveal a vibrant young woman, Seraphina Bright, who was twenty-five, four years younger than Gwendolyn. Her bold attire—a midriff-baring top and a skin-tight mini skirt—was either a reflection of her personal style or a way to catch Cedric’s attention. Gwendolyn felt no particular dislike for Seraphina, perhaps because of her father’s influence; she had never believed the younger woman was to blame. In her eyes, the man who couldn’t keep it in his pants was the one at fault. “Hey, what does your sister like to eat?” Seraphina chattered away, her voice cheerful but not grating. Her meticulously applied makeup shone, and a slight smile danced on her lips. As she drew closer, Gwendolyn caught a whiff of her Chanel perfume—the same scent she had detected on Cedric’s shirt before. “Just call me Gwendolyn,” she replied, changing into her new slippers and hanging her coat on the door. “I prefer light meals.” “Great!” Seraphina took Gwendolyn’s purse and gestured towards the interior. “Come on in and take a look.” As Gwendolyn turned, she noticed someone in the kitchen and thought at first it was a chef Seraphina had hired. But as she drew nearer, she realized it was Seraphina’s husband, Alistair Pevensey. “Hey Alistair, say hello,” Seraphina called as she leaned against the doorframe. Alistair was tall and sturdy, dressed in an apron with a pot in his hands. He turned off the burner and looked over at Cedric before fixing his gaze on Gwendolyn. “Hi, I’m Alistair Pevensey.” His deep voice resonated like gravel, hinting at a robust personality.
Chapter 2
They had exchanged polite greetings before, considering they lived right across from each other. Gwendolyn Ashford had once borrowed the bathroom from Alistair Pevensey when there was water service disruption at her place. At the time, she had assumed Seraphina Bright was living in Alistair's apartment, but it turned out to be him alone. She rushed through using the bathroom and left quickly, and Alistair had kindly handed her the property manager's number. Later, when they ran into each other in the elevator, they exchanged nothing more than a brief nod, not even a casual greeting. “There’s only one dish left. You guys have a seat,” Alistair announced as he finished his small talk and turned on the stove again. He seemed to truly enjoy cooking. The dining table was set with four beautifully plated dishes, each one a work of art in its own right. “I was going to order in,” Seraphina started pouring red wine from the decanter into glasses. “But I thought that wouldn’t be appropriate for entertaining, so our dear Alistair here decided to whip something up. He’s really good at it.” “You must have trained at a restaurant,” Cedric Worthington remarked, pointing to the intricately carved carrots on his plate. “That technique is chef-level.” “Cut it out,” Seraphina laughed, clearly delighted by the banter. It was easy to imagine that they were as carefree when they were alone together. Gwendolyn Ashford shifted her gaze around the room. When she had come over hurriedly last time, she hadn’t had the chance to inspect the place. Alistair's taste was quite clear—minimalist gray decor, no complex artwork or adornments on the walls, and the sofa was a single color, exuding a sense of traditionalism that reflected his personality. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Alistair said as he set down the last dish, stripped off his apron, and joined them at the table. Seraphina raised her glass. “Let’s make a toast!” Gwendolyn stared into her tall wine glass, swirling the crimson liquid before taking a sip. Seraphina was quite the storyteller, regaling everyone with comical tales from her European adventures. Gwendolyn listened attentively while occasionally glancing at Alistair, who silently savored his meal, seemingly oblivious to Seraphina's chatter. He was focused on his food, and when Cedric accidentally knocked one of the carrot garnishes askew, Alistair instinctively reached out to straighten it. Here was his wife, laughing and enjoying herself with another man, while her husband was only concerned about the vegetables on his plate. Gwendolyn let out an unintentional chuckle. For a moment, everyone turned to her, and Seraphina chimed in with a smile, “You found that amusing too. Hahaha, I was laughing so hard I almost cried back then!” Feeling noncommittal, Gwendolyn merely smiled back. She felt a tinge of fatigue, no longer inclined to partake in this grown-up charade of niceties. But dinner was hardly the end of the evening's activities. After they finished dining, Alistair went into the kitchen to clean up, leaving Seraphina to choose a movie with Cedric and Gwendolyn on the couch. Gwendolyn sank into an armchair by herself, watching as the two of them leaned close together, sharing a phone screen. Seraphina teasingly nudged Cedric's arm while he couldn't stop grinning. Gwendolyn had never seen this side of Cedric before—he was in his forties yet laughed like a carefree youth. It was no wonder older men leaned towards younger women; indeed, youthful company could evoke the vibrant spirit of their own youth. Gwendolyn excused herself to the bathroom. When she returned, however, Cedric and Seraphina had vanished, leaving Alistair on the sofa, intently focused on the movie. Gwendolyn didn’t ask where they had gone, slipping back into her chair and staring at the screen. She had a pretty good idea of where they were. But when she heard the sounds, it felt like a whip had cracked against her spine, leaving her unsteady and dazed, her head buzzing. Seraphina's voice squeaked in a playful manner—one that seemed deliberate and provocatively loud—completely ignoring the presence of her husband and the wife of her fling. “Are you going out?” Alistair asked, glancing away from the screen, concerned that she might be upset. He approached her and knelt, studying her face intently. Gwendolyn slowly looked up at him, asking, “Where did you learn to carve those vegetables?” Alistair blinked. “...”
Chapter 3
Alistair Pevensey could hardly believe the question that just came out of Gwendolyn Ashford’s mouth. He had been on his way to grab a paper towel, but upon seeing how composed Gwendolyn was, he reconsidered. Surely, she was too calm to need it. Perhaps she might instead ask how long they had been together or where he was heading next. Either way, the conversation had no business drifting into the realm of their fractured friendship. “I learned it from my mom,” Alistair replied, standing up and shrugging into his coat before extending hers toward her. Gwendolyn followed him out of the building, stepping into the elevator. As the numbers dropped from 9 to 1, she recalled that when they bought this place, Cedric Worthington insisted they go for the ninth floor, believing it signified longevity. She wondered if Alistair and his partner had shared the same belief when choosing this apartment. Once they exited the building, Gwendolyn found the air refreshing. After a few drinks, she had been feeling lightheaded and wanted nothing more than to collapse onto her bed at home. Yet she hesitated—she didn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of believing she was using her discomfort as an excuse to leave. It felt like a defeat, an admission that she cared, particularly when Cedric’s own infidelity loomed over them all. Even if, deep down, she didn’t really care about Cedric Worthington himself. As they walked through Seraphina Lane, flanked by quaint little shops, Alistair remained silent, and Gwendolyn was more than happy to enjoy the quiet. It wasn’t until they were both parched that they stepped into a convenience store for drinks. "So, what do you do for a living?" she finally asked. “I fix watches,” Alistair said, handing her a steaming bottle once he paid at the register. “And you?” “I sell books,” Gwendolyn replied, taking the drink with a nod of thanks. As she twisted the cap off, she couldn't help but notice the scar he bore above his brow—while his features weren’t classically handsome, they had a certain rugged appeal. The scar split his dark eyebrow, giving him an unexpectedly fierce look when he concentrated. “What’s wrong?” Alistair asked, rubbing his brow as though something was stuck to it. “How did you get that scar?” Gwendolyn inquired. “I got into a fight back in school. Someone hit me with a chair and I needed five stitches,” he shared. “Can’t even tell,” she replied. Suddenly, Alistair leaned in closer, giving her a pointed look. "From this angle, you can see it." Gwendolyn blinked, momentarily at a loss for words. Here she was, standing with her husband’s lover’s husband, casually talking about scars. What a dismal day it turned out to be, and yet, perhaps not quite as terrible as it seemed. “Don’t you love your wife?” she asked, taking a sip of her drink as she gazed up at the sky filled with stars. It was a bittersweet reminder; the last time she looked up at the stars with someone, it had been a colleague. “Do you love your husband?” Alistair countered, tilting his head to admire the constellation above. Gwendolyn stretched her lips into a faint smile, clinking her drink against his. “Let’s head back. I’m tired.” He escorted her to the entrance of her home, then turned to leave. But Gwendolyn had different plans; she followed him inside, slipping off her shoes in his foyer. “Are you not going home?” Alistair asked, hanging his coat up and glancing back at her. He was taller than Cedric and muscled like a tank, yet wore a shirt straining against his broad chest. Gwendolyn shrugged off her coat beside his, then bent down to put on a fresh pair of slippers. “I’ve changed my mind.” Cedric had suggested they have dinner, catch a movie, and if she felt comfortable with Finnian, she could stay over with Alistair. If not, she was to head straight home, where Cedric would definitely expect her. But Gwendolyn had decided that she wouldn’t let Cedric think he knew her that well. So, she would defy his expectations.
Chapter 4
Gwendolyn Ashford finished her shower and found it was already ten o'clock at night. Laying down in the unfamiliar bed, she was restless and could not sleep. Half an hour later, still no sign of Alistair Pevensey. Wondering what he was up to, she slipped out of bed and headed to the bathroom, assuming he was still showering. Instead, she found him sprawled out on the couch, looking almost lifeless with one long leg draped over its edge. Gwendolyn approached and nudged his shoulder. "What are you doing sleeping out here?" She couldn't comprehend why someone like Cedric Worthington existed in this world, yet so did Alistair Pevensey. Was this world fair? Alistair grasped her wrist, gently but firmly, and urged her back. "Go back to sleep." "I'm not scared—why should you be?" Gwendolyn retorted, reaching out to take his hand. His palm was large, warm, and strong. When she tried to pull him up, he didn't budge. The living room was dark, filled only with muffled laughter from Seraphina Bright's room, making Alistair seem all the more isolated. "Come on," she said, her tone calm as if she were an observer. "What’s this all about?" After saying that, she turned to walk away, but glanced back to find that, sure enough, he had followed her. This was her first time sharing a bed with a man other than Cedric, and the two kept a respectful distance from each other. As Alistair turned off the light, he asked her why she wasn't afraid. Gwendolyn found the question amusing. "Why should I be scared of you?" In fact, she felt a strange impulse; if Alistair decided to force himself upon her, she likely wouldn’t resist. She wondered if it was disappointment with Cedric or marriage itself that had robbed her of fear. At this moment, all the men in her life felt reduced to mere vessels for desire. "What if I took advantage of you while you were asleep?" he teased. "Then don’t take advantage when I’m asleep," she replied. Alistair seemed amused, his soft chuckle echoing in the darkness. Gwendolyn smiled too, thinking that at least Alistair wasn’t someone intolerable. Her biological clock was on an early schedule, and the unfamiliar environment had woken her before five. As she opened her eyes, she could see that the curtains were tightly shut, enveloping the room in darkness, but she could sense another's breathing—it was Alistair. He had turned onto his side but wasn’t too close and didn’t pull or hold her. Suddenly, she felt a pang of sympathy for him. He was innocent in this convoluted adult game they were caught up in. By the time Gwendolyn woke again, Alistair had risen. She kept her eyes closed for a moment, listening to his footsteps as he entered the room, standing at the edge of the bed to look at her. She knew she looked smart and composed—if it weren’t for Cedric, she would never have agreed to such a ridiculous exchange of vows. Curious about what he was staring at, she suddenly opened her eyes. Alistair didn’t flinch. His dark eyes, framed by thick eyebrows, only accentuated the sharp contours of his chiseled features. Upon noticing her waking, he took a small step back, his morning voice rough yet inviting. "Good morning." Gwendolyn found his voice quite appealing. She squinted and returned his greeting with a slight smile. "Morning." It was strange; she had slept surprisingly well last night, far better than in her own home, despite expecting to be restless. "I made some breakfast," Alistair said, standing tall in a deep brown suit. From where Gwendolyn lay, he exuded masculine charm, with an upright posture and a polite demeanor. More importantly, he could cook. "Gwendolyn Ashford," he called her name again. "Yeah?" she snapped back to reality. "You can call me if you need anything." He placed his business card on the table before turning to leave. Gwendolyn lay in bed a moment longer, then picked up the gray card. The design was unique and appealing, prompting her to add him on WeChat and save his number before finally getting up. Cedric had also risen by then. Seeing her come out of Alistair's room, his expression suggested he was grappling with something to ask but didn't find the words. He remained silent while she prepared for the day, eventually stepping out with her into the adjoining home. After changing into fresh clothes, Gwendolyn noticed Cedric picking out a new shirt. He casually asked, "How did you sleep last night?" "Pretty well," she replied, tossing her dirty clothes into the hamper. "You didn’t... well, you know." He observed her body for any signs, perhaps relieved or mockingly pleased that it seemed Alistair hadn't taken advantage after all. With a wry smile, he added, "So you two just shared a bed for sleep?" Gwendolyn sprayed some perfume on herself, standing up and facing him. "Cedric, not everyone is like you."
Chapter 5
Cedric Worthington knew he had misspoken and quickly wrapped an arm around Gwendolyn Ashford’s shoulders to apologize. Gwendolyn brushed him off, muttering that she was going to be late for work, and pushed past him as they stepped out the door. Just as they made it outside, they ran into Seraphina Bright, who looked like she had just rolled out of bed, sporting some revealing pajamas and holding a bag of trash. Cedric’s expression darkened as he approached her. “You just going to throw the trash out like that?” “Yep,” Seraphina replied, rubbing her eyes. “I’m hungry.” “I’ll go buy you something…” Cedric started to say, but then he remembered Gwendolyn was still there. He quickly turned to her. “Do you want to wait for me…” Alistair Pevensey had made a Dodd sandwich, but there was only one. Gwendolyn had no intention of stealing Seraphina's, so she hadn’t eaten. But looking back, it was likely Alistair had intended it for her, and here was Seraphina, oblivious, putting on a show right in front of her. Perhaps Seraphina expected Gwendolyn to be furious, to get jealous and give Cedric the cold shoulder, or at the very least, pull him away from Seraphina with an attitude. Surely, Gwendolyn wouldn’t take it well. But she was mistaken. Gwendolyn, after this little reminder, simply walked back inside her house without changing her shoes, grabbed the Dodd sandwich from the table, and returned saying, “Sorry, I forgot to take this.” Seraphina was stunned by Gwendolyn’s reaction. She stood there speechless until Gwendolyn hit the elevator button to leave. Then she turned to Cedric and smiled. “Your wife... doesn’t seem to care about you at all.” Cedric’s expression darkened further. He checked his watch and said, “I’m running late. I have to go.” He didn’t respond to Seraphina’s comment because he, too, felt what she had said was true. Gwendolyn was as emotionally frigid as a stone; she rarely showed any emotional ups and downs. Even when Cedric revealed his infidelity, she simply nodded and said, “I understand.” She wasn’t like Seraphina, who would whine and throw tantrums. Gwendolyn had always lived in her own world—working a 9-to-5 job, feeding stray cats in their neighborhood after work, and spending time in the children’s section of the supermarket reading storybooks. Cedric never fully understood her. When he called to hurry her home, she would take her time. He used to believe she was simply busy working, only to find out later she was at the community pond feeding the goldfish. He initially thought marrying someone like Gwendolyn was ideal—smart and steady. But when he met Seraphina and experienced her dependence, he discovered how much he craved that particular spice in his monotonous life. Gwendolyn was too mature for her own good. She had crafted her world into a serene sanctuary, akin to a beautiful painting, yet he was starkly absent from that image. After finishing the Dodd sandwich, Gwendolyn texted Alistair: “It was delicious, thank you.” Alistair replied: “You’re welcome.” Gwendolyn wasn’t one for much chit-chat. She closed her phone after reading his message and got back to work. She had previously been employed at a state-owned enterprise, where the work dynamics were complicated and communication was often indirect. Everyone was climbing over one another to get ahead. One morning, feeling particularly drained, she sent her resignation email and the next day went to apply at her favorite local bookstore, The Scholar's Nook. The Scholar's Nook was small, with about 2,100 square feet spread over two floors. The owner had been managing it alone quite well, because no matter how many customers walked in, they wouldn’t be lining up out the door. However, when the owner became pregnant and had to care for her newborn, she couldn’t handle it all alone and needed to hire staff. Gwendolyn, who was a regular customer, was the fifth person to apply, and the owner hired her without hesitation. On one hand, Gwendolyn was beautiful and had a gentle nature; on the other, she loved books and could recommend great reads based on different people's tastes. When the store was quiet, she would sit in a chair reading, a tranquil picture. As soon as the clock hit 5:30 PM, Gwendolyn packed her things and headed to the supermarket to buy the biggest apple she could find before taking a taxi to the nursing home. Even though her mother, Lady Maud, had divorced her father long ago, Grandma Ethel and Old Harold had always doted on her. Every summer and winter break, they would call to see if they could take Gwendolyn for a few days, and her mother always agreed, preoccupied as she was with her love life and uninterested in taking care of Gwendolyn. Gwendolyn had mostly happy memories of her childhood; the love from Grandma Ethel filled the gaps left by her mother. Unfortunately, that love didn’t last long. During her first year of high school, Grandma Ethel passed away from a heart attack. Shortly after, Old Harold developed Alzheimer’s disease. In need of help, he would often forget to call Gwendolyn when he went out grocery shopping, and she had become his emergency contact. She should have gone to a better school, but out of obligation towards Old Harold, she chose the local university instead. Every Sunday at six, a caregiver would bring Gaius Thornfield out, walking him down the long hallway to the nursing home’s lawn. Gwendolyn would sit on a bench with an apple in hand, just like every other time. She would always ask him, “Do you remember who I am?” Gaius would scrutinize her for a while and then furrow his brow, asking, “Who are you?” “I’m the new caregiver,” she would say, handing him the apple. Every visit, she made up a new identity, never revealing that she was his granddaughter. She had never called him Old Harold. But every time he stuffed the apple into his pocket, saying it was for his granddaughter, Gwendolyn’s heart ached just a little.
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