Before he had imagined the picture of how he was left stranded in a train station.She interfered.

“Sister Linsy seems to be in a foul mood today,” Violet Bento said softly, her voice tinged with an odd mix of empathy and subtle guilt as she extended her bandaged hand toward Michael Helwart. “She didn’t want to deliver the documents, so I had to do it. Please don’t blame her. I really don’t think she meant to make trouble. Besides, it didn’t delay anything, right?”

The pinkish gauze wrapped around her palm peeked from her cuff like a quiet plea, and her eyes searched Michael’s face pleading, hopeful, almost childlike. The faint scent of burnt skin still lingered in the room like a ghost from the accident.

Michael didn’t respond immediately. He was seated at his desk, the muted afternoon light tracing the sharp lines of his profile. Though his expression remained stoic, the muscles at his jaw twitched faintly. He looked like a storm being quietly swallowed by its own thunder.

This wasn’t like Linsy. Not at all. For years she was the iron hand in a velvet glove, precise, timely, and fiercely territorial. Today’s carelessness was unlike her, and that alone made the whole thing reek of something deeper. But now wasn’t the time to unravel it not in front of Violet.

“I said it’s okay,” Michael muttered, fingers tightening briefly around the knot of his tie before he loosened it. The calm in his voice was studied, like a man trying to keep a boiling kettle from whistling.

Violet bit her lip and tucked her burnt hand closer to her chest, her shoulders slightly rising in apprehension. But then his voice came again, softened just enough to hint at a crack in the marble.

“Since you’re already here, sit for a while.”

A subtle glow lit up Violet’s face. Her eyes gleamed with a hope she dared not verbalize. She moved to the sofa with a grace that betrayed her eagerness, like a girl returning to a memory she’d left half-stitched years ago.

She folded her hands neatly over her lap, her posture demure but her thoughts anything but still. Maybe he hadn’t hated her for leaving without a word. Maybe the cold wall he’d built had a door, one she could find if she tried gently enough.

“Aren’t you going to have a meeting?” she asked tentatively. “Will I disturb you?”

Without looking at her, Michael picked up his phone and spoke a few clipped words to his assistant. “Postpone the meeting for thirty minutes.”

Violet’s heart leapt. The moment felt stolen from time itself. She had feared resentment, distance, a wall too high to scale. But instead here he was. Not warm, not open, but not slamming the door either. That was more than she’d dared to wish for.

She hesitated, then leaned forward slightly. “Michael, I’ve been wanting to say this for a long time. When I left without saying goodbye. I was wrong. I was scared, confused. But I’m back now, and—”

“I have work to finish,” he cut in, not unkindly, but decisively.

The words hit her like rain on a paper lantern, swift, cold, and quietly destructive.

She nodded quickly, retreating into silence. Her fingers tangled in the hem of her blouse, and she forced a tiny smile. “Then I’ll wait.”

The office air was heavy with words unspoken, like static before lightning. Violet sat still, a portrait of patience carved in unease. Every tick of the clock was a quiet mockery of her hope. Was thirty minutes long enough to rebuild what she had broken? Or too long to pretend there was still anything left?

Michael remained behind his desk, absorbed in files and flickering screens, not once glancing her way. Time passed like fog thick, slow, uncertain.

Finally, the door opened with a soft click. Simon entered, a quiet shadow of professionalism, and set down a tray.

Michael looked up. For the first time in over twenty minutes, his eyes found Violet again.

“Does your hand still hurt?”

His voice was low, almost too casual but Violet caught the undertone. Concern. Gentle, deliberate, like a breeze slipping under a locked door.

Her heart skipped. “No, it’s nothing serious. It barely stings now.”

He gave a small nod and lifted a steaming bowl from the tray. “I heard you’ve been having trouble adjusting since returning. Is it the climate or water? Something about your throat.”

Violet blinked, startled.

How did he know?

He’d been following her? Watching from afar? Did that mean he…?

He extended the bowl toward her. “It’s herbal. Good for your voice. Drink it.”

The steam curled in the air like ghostly fingers. Violet’s throat tightened not from discomfort, but emotion.

He still cared. Despite everything.

Her eyes glistened, and her smile bloomed, trembling on her lips. “Michael, You’re still so thoughtful. This means a lot. I’ll drink it all.”

She reached forward, inhaling—

And recoiled ever so slightly.

The smell hit her like a slap: pungent, bitter, clinging. It smelled of roots left to rot in damp soil, of medicine brewed in a dungeon, of memories she didn’t want.

But she didn’t flinch. She caught herself. Lifted the bowl with both hands and smiled wider, forcing the corners of her lips to stay up.

He watched her quietly, eyes unreadable.

Violet sipped.

It tasted worse than it smelled.

But she didn’t stop. She drank because maybe this was the price of atonement. Maybe in every bitter gulp was a stitch mending the torn fabric between them.

And if he noticed the way her throat fought it, he didn’t say a word.

He simply sat across from her, watching the woman who had once vanished without a goodbye, now trying to sip her way back into his life.

Of course Violet didn’t like the taste of Chinese medicine, it was bitter, earthy, and clung stubbornly to her tongue like the aftertaste of betrayal. Even as the smell wafted up and curled in her nostrils, coaxing a grimace, she didn’t complain. Not when it was Michael Helwart who handed her the bowl. That changed everything.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she took it, the warmth of the porcelain seeping into her skin like borrowed strength. She raised it to her lips, her breath shallow, her throat already recoiling in anticipation. The liquid slid down like ground ashes and crushed roots, igniting an involuntary wince. Her brows furrowed. Her eyes shimmered faintly from the sting, but she didn’t make a sound. Even when the bitterness curled in her stomach like a serpent, she forced herself to swallow every last drop.

Across from her, Michael didn’t watch her struggle. He turned away, as if her silent endurance meant nothing to him. His expression remained inscrutable, as still and polished as marble.

“Boss Helwart, the board meeting’s about to start,” Simon reminded quietly, his tablet clutched in both hands, eyes cautious.

Michael gave the briefest nod before looking back at Linsy. His voice was clipped, distant. “I’m busy. Go back.”

The dismissal came like a door slammed without warning.

Violet pressed a tissue to her lips, wiping away the bitter stains of obligation. Her words faltered on her tongue, but she forced a faint smile. “Alright, I’ll come see you later.”

Michael was already moving, his figure cutting a cold, straight path out the door. Violet's gaze followed him, watching the broadness of his back, the crisp lines of his tailored suit, the way not a single step faltered.

He didn’t turn around.

Only once he was gone did she let the smile fully blossom small and secretive. Her fingers darted to her phone, and she typed quickly:

I made the right bet this time. He still loves me.

The message flew off to her agent like a feather in the wind, full of hopeful weight.

But outside, as Michael’s footsteps echoed against the polished marble of the corridor, Simon hesitated before speaking. “Boss Helwart? why did we add contraceptive pills to her medicine?”

Michael’s pace didn’t slow. His eyes were fixed ahead, jaw tight.

“Violet Bento was seen at the hotel last night,” he said.

Just five words, delivered in his usual steady baritone. But they felt like frost over spring soil.

Simon blinked. “You mean you think she might’ve been the woman from last night?”

Michael didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

His silence was a noose.

Simon’s breath caught as he realized the implication. Michael wasn’t willing to take any chances, not when Violet, of all people, had resurfaced like a ghost slipping through the cracks of carefully constructed distance. The contraceptive wasn’t medicine; it was a barricade. A cold, calculated precaution against something far messier than scandal, fatherhood.

Back in the office, time ticked past noon, but Linsy’s desk remained untouched. Her chair stood empty, the computer screen dark, untouched.

She hadn’t called in. Hadn’t left a message.

And that was unlike her.

Linsy, who was always within arm’s reach, always one step ahead of the chaos, had suddenly vanished like a sunbeam behind a cloud. She was his shadow, his rhythm, his silent confidante.

But not today.

Michael sat in his office, the walls around him far too white and far too quiet. Even the blinds were still, like held breath. His fingers hovered over a document, but the words blurred, irrelevant.

It was foolish to be irritated. And yet, a strange weight pressed on his chest.

Where was she?

She has grown unpredictable lately. Bolder. There were days she challenged him with narrowed eyes and clipped tones, dared to go silent once she would’ve pressed until he responded. Now she disappeared without notice. Took liberties with his routine. Left spaces where there used to be symmetry.

And he hated it.

He hated the way her absence disrupted him. The way his own anger gnawed at him from the inside was like rust eating through iron.

All day, his face remained impassive, but his eyes were thunderclouds. The staff moved cautiously, lips pressed thin, as though their footsteps might set off something volatile. No one wanted to be the one to trigger him.

By evening, he hadn’t smiled once. Not even the polite, tight-lipped kind.

Still, Linsy didn’t show up.