"Hmm? Toast for breakfast again?"

Anderson called out to the kitchen, pulling out a chair to sit at the dining table. On the table were two plates of breakfast: perfectly toasted bread paired with impeccably fried sunny-side-up eggs, flanked by slightly charred bacon and mushrooms with asparagus. Beside his plate, there was only a salt shaker, as he disliked black pepper. Without waiting for his wife, he took a sip of his black coffee and began his meal with knife and fork.

After half a minute, Anderson realized his wife hadn't responded to his earlier question. Still cutting his bacon, he asked without looking up, "What are you busy with? The eggs are getting cold."

Unlike many high-rise apartments in Eildoria, the kitchen in Anderson's home was spacious, boasting a large window. Though the view was not as stunning as the master bedroom overlooking the Emerald River, it at least allowed sunlight to flood in on normal days. However, today was overcast, with no sunshine or breeze. Instead, the incessant chirping of cicadas, rising from below, filled the space that belonged solely to Emily.

She stared intently at the messages on her phone, merely reading without replying. The husband's question cut through the cicada's hum. Emily took a deep breath, closed the window with a bang, and replied, "You go ahead and eat. I'll tidy up the kitchen."

Her voice was calm and natural. Emily couldn't help but admire herself—she could win an Oscar or a Baihua Award with such acting. She slipped her phone into her apron pocket, cleaned the coffee grounds from the bowl, washed and wiped the coffee machine, then carried a glass of apple juice out of the kitchen.

Sitting opposite Anderson, she asked, "Did you say something earlier? The faucet was loud; I didn’t catch it."

Anderson, having eaten quickly, was already fiddling with his phone while drinking coffee, somewhat distracted. "What? Oh, I just said we’re having toast again today."

With only two slices of toast left on his plate, Emily squinted slightly, adjusted her black-framed glasses, and smiled. "Yes, we filmed a video yesterday and made too much. There's still a loaf left; I sliced it and froze it. You can take it out for breakfast these days, as I mentioned before, and put it in the small oven."

Before she could finish, Anderson interrupted, "Why don't you take it with you when you leave? I might meet my parents for coffee these days, so there's no need to leave breakfast for me."

He added, "I don't really like toast anyway."

Emily fell silent for a moment before replying, "Alright, I'll make sandwiches to take with me."

Anderson's eyes never left his phone. "Yes, you can eat them on the high-speed train."

Emily began eating her breakfast, her bangs slightly too long, swaying and conveniently allowing her to sneak glances at Anderson. From her angle, she couldn't see his phone screen, but she could watch his face for any telltale expressions, like a smug smile. But his face remained composed and serious, without the slightest hint of betrayal.

On any other day, Emily would casually test him with a question like, "Why are you discussing work with colleagues so early?" But today, she remained silent. She didn’t want to arouse Anderson’s suspicion with pointless probing. She had to keep playing the role of the gentle wife, unconditionally trusting her husband.

What should have been a warm breakfast time was eerily quiet. The scraping of cutlery on porcelain, the clinking of the mug on the teak table, and the tapping of fingers on the screen—all these tiny sounds were amplified in Emily’s ears until the cicadas once again filled the house with their cacophony.

"Have you packed your luggage?" her husband’s question abruptly shattered the strange silence. Emily, pushing away her mixed thoughts, looked up at him. "Yes, it's packed."

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"Remember to check your documents again."

"I know."

With his instructions given, Anderson left the table first, leaving behind the cold toast and coffee remnants with Emily. Normally, Emily would mutter about not wasting food and finish the leftovers, but today she swiftly cleared the dishes and tossed the toast into the trash.

As an excellent food blogger, making sandwiches was a breeze for Emily. She sliced the remaining milk toast evenly, washed the tomatoes, peeled the lettuce, scrambled the eggs, fried the caramelized ham, spread the homemade low-calorie mayonnaise, wrapped them in parchment paper, and cut them with a bread knife. The cross-sections were colorful and perfect.

She carefully packed four sandwiches into a lunch bag, thinking it was wise to have some food on hand, considering she might not have time to eat later. Half an hour later, when Anderson offered to drive her to the East Station, Emily didn't refuse.

She was going on a "business trip" for three days and two nights, with her suitcase in the trunk and her backpack casually placed on the rear seat mat. As the car exited the garage, the Bluetooth connected to Anderson’s phone and automatically played songs from his playlist.

It was a melancholic love song that had recently gone viral on short video platforms. Emily didn’t know the singer’s name, but the tune was unmistakably popular.

Hearing Anderson softly singing along with the chorus in his thick accent, Emily turned her face towards the window, feeling a pang in her heart, but couldn't help rolling her eyes.

Who was it that used to scoff at such viral internet songs?

The entire playlist consisted of similar songs. Six months ago, when Emily first heard them in Anderson's car, she had genuinely asked, "When did your taste in music change?"

Anderson had laughed and said it was to understand the preferences of the younger employees at the company.

Anderson could hum along to almost every song without looking at the lyrics, occasionally asking Emily about the details of her trip. Emily answered fluently, as it was a real itinerary.

She loved cooking and baking, and whenever a foreign teacher came to the country to give lessons, she would attend. This weekend, a Japanese pastry master was holding a class in Shencheng, and Emily had signed up early. The train tickets were real, the hotel booking was real, and she had even planned which new stores to visit after the class.

Anderson nodded as he listened, reminding her to watch her belongings when traveling alone and not to be careless. He wished her a pleasant trip and promised to pick her up at the station when she returned to Eildoria.

His voice was so gentle and attentive, reminiscent of their courtship days. Emily watched the familiar streets pass by, feeling a bit dazed. It wasn't until the car stopped at the station that she snapped out of it, remembering what she had to do next.

Anderson put on the hazard lights and walked to the trunk to retrieve her suitcase. "Send me a message when you arrive, though I might be in a meeting at the time—"

"I understand," Emily said, taking her backpack and lunch bag from the back seat, smiling. "I have a class in the afternoon, so I'll probably head straight to the hotel to drop off my luggage before going. We can talk in the evening."

"Alright, take care," Anderson said, leaning in to plant a light kiss on her lips, as delicate as a dragonfly skimming the water.

"You too," Emily replied, standing on tiptoe to return the kiss quickly, like a fleeting star.

To onlookers, the couple appeared deeply affectionate, unaware of the secrets each harbored. It seemed their love was as strong as ever.

The drop-off lane couldn't be occupied for long. After their seemingly tender farewell, Anderson waved to Emily before getting back into the car. She waved back, then pulled her suitcase towards the station entrance.

The East Station was bustling on a Saturday. Emily walked a few steps, then slowed down and glanced back at the drop-off lane. The white car was still there, its window tint light enough for her to see Anderson’s head bent over his phone, the screen's glow highlighting his smile.

The next moment, Anderson's hand grasped the steering wheel, and Emily turned back, heading towards the ticket gate. As she reached the end of the line, she looked back once more, but the BMW was gone. She immediately turned away from the crowd, moving against the flow like a rogue satellite determined to deviate from its intended orbit.

Inevitable bumps and jostles ensued in the hot and irritable atmosphere. Ignoring the grumbling passengers, Emily muttered, "Excuse me," as she maneuvered through the throng.

Despite all her meticulous planning, her heart couldn't help but race. She grabbed her phone, opening the app that had been running in the background. There was a marked location with a photo, and just as she glanced at it, an incoming voice call popped up.

She quickly answered, speaking before the caller could: "Have you turned in? I’m almost there."

The man's deep voice responded, "Yes, just come straight over. I'm parked here."

He then added, "I’m in a different car today, a black Toyota with license plate ending in H03, hazard lights on... Oh, I see you."

Walking briskly, Emily panted slightly as she joked, "Isn't today’s car a bit too low-profile?"

The man got out of the Toyota and walked towards the trunk, chuckling wryly. "Sis, we're catching someone in the act. Can't be driving a Cayenne around."