By noon the next day, blinding sunlight pierced through the gaps in the curtains, slicing across Mike’s face like a blade. His eyelids fluttered before he forced them open, only to be hit by a dull, pulsing pain—his temples throbbed like tiny hammers pounding inside his skull. His throat was parched as if filled with sand, and the bitter aftertaste of whiskey still clung to his mouth. The memories of last night were splintered, like a shattered mirror, fragments of light and noise he couldn’t piece together into a coherent whole.

Mike pushed himself upright, the sheet slipping from his bare torso. His gaze swept the room—and froze. Chaos surrounded him as if a storm had swept through: his jeans and shirt lay twisted together on the carpet, one leather shoe overturned, the other missing entirely. More striking still were the women’s clothes: a black silk dress draped lifelessly over a chair, lace lingerie hooked on the lampshade swaying in the breeze from the window, one high heel by the door, the other sprawled brazenly near the pillow.

His heart sank. Turning to the side, he saw Fonda curled beneath the covers, sleeping soundly, her long hair spilling over the pillow to hide half her face, her exposed shoulder glowing softly in the sunlight. She looked both vulnerable and enticing, and the sight jolted him like an electric shock. He rubbed his eyes, hoping it was an illusion.

Holding his breath, he slipped quietly out of bed, feet meeting the cold floor. He tiptoed to gather his clothes and slipped into the bathroom. He couldn’t face Fonda naked; it would strip him of composure. Everything he’d been taught since childhood told him intimacy was the outward sign of genuine feeling—not a reckless night of indulgence. He had never imagined he would sink into something so empty.

Just then the room’s landline rang, sharp and sudden. Mike snatched it up.

“I called you all night,” Lotus’ voice came through, edged with exhaustion. “Why didn’t you answer?”

“I… I was drinking at the bar. I didn’t hear it,” Mike replied, guilt prickling his skin.

“Do you remember what I told you?” Her tone was icy.

“We were just celebrating the bid win…” Mike’s words faltered.

“Mike, do you think I’m stupid?” she sneered, the sound making his spine go cold.

“I can feel there’s a woman beside you,” Lotus said flatly.

“No… there isn’t,” Mike stammered.

“I didn’t sleep all night,” Lotus continued after a pause. “Several times, I nearly called the front desk to send staff to your room—to see for myself what was going on—but each time I stopped my hand. Only now did I muster the courage to call you directly.”

Silence hung heavy for a moment before she added softly, “Mike, I love you. I don’t want to humiliate you.” Then the line went dead.

Mike stood there stunned, gripping the receiver. The room’s disarray seemed like a silent accusation. Was this a one-night mistake or fate’s cruel mockery? His temples pounded, his chest felt heavy.

“Your wife?” Fonda’s voice made him jump. He turned to find her fully dressed, watching him calmly.

“Yeah,” he nodded stiffly.

“She’s just testing you,” Fonda said lightly, a hint of mockery in her lips. “If she’d really found out, she wouldn’t just call.”

“What would she do?” Mike asked.

“Catch you in the act, of course,” Fonda laughed, patting his shoulder. “And if it ever comes to that, I’ll testify for you—prove you’re innocent.”

Her tone then shifted. “Come on, freshen up. We’re meeting Lea and Bob for lunch. You can apologize in person. Let’s not make it awkward.”

Mike sighed and nodded, retreating into the bathroom. Cold water splashed his face but couldn’t wash away the grime in his heart. In the mirror stared a pale face, swollen eyes—a stranger. Lotus’ “I love you” echoed like a blade in his ears.

Outside, Fonda had already made the call. “All set,” she said breezily. “They agreed. Let’s go.”

The restaurant was tucked into an alley near the hotel, decked with bamboo curtains and colorful lanterns radiating a tropical vibe, the air scented with lemongrass and chili. Fonda flipped through the menu casually, teasing: “Don’t be nervous, Mike. It’s an apology, not an execution.”

Soon, Lea and Bob entered. Lea wore a simple white dress, her face pale, eyes slightly swollen, radiating fragility. Bob looked weary, but managed a faint smile. As they sat, silence settled like a fog.

“Lea, Bob…” Mike began, his voice hoarse, his eyes full of guilt. “I’m sorry. Because of me, you were dragged into this. Bob, your resignation—I know it’s my fault. If there’s anything I can do…” His words faltered, fists clenched under the table.

Bob shook his head with a bitter smile. “Don’t say that. It was my choice. Going to Australia might be a fresh start.” He squeezed Lea’s hand. She kept her gaze lowered, twisting a napkin between her fingers.

Fonda raised her glass to break the tension. “Come on, a toast to new beginnings! Lea, don’t forget to send photos once you’re in Australia. Mike’s been beating himself up—nobody saw this coming.” Her cheerfulness barely concealed the tears shimmering in Lea’s eyes.

Finally, Lea spoke, her voice low but firm: “Mike, I don’t blame you. It was my choice… but I need time.” She turned to Bob. “We’ll be fine.”

The food arrived—steaming Tom Yum soup fragrant with spice, green curry chicken, mango sticky rice bright and colorful. But Mike could hardly swallow. Every bite tasted like penance.

When the meal ended, Lea and Bob rose to leave. Mike managed only, “Safe travels.” Watching their silhouettes disappear down the alley, his heart plunged into an icy abyss.

“Let’s go, buddy. Life goes on,” Fonda said, patting his shoulder.

But Mike’s gaze was hollow. The victory, the compromises, the betrayals—all blurred together. He was beginning to wonder if any of it had been worth the price.