When we finally met again for dinner, conversation flowed effortlessly, as if we had known each other forever.
By the time I checked my phone, I had five missed calls. When I called back, Andrew’s furious voice lashed out:
“Where are you? What the hell were you doing just now?”
“Having dinner. Why? Do you need something?”
Andrew fell silent, stunned, unprepared.
Of course—before, I had set a special ringtone just for him, never silenced my phone, and always answered on the first ring.
Seeing he had nothing to say, I hung up.
Still chatting happily with Daniel Clark, I let him walk me home. Just as we reached the door, Andrew stormed out of his car and punched Daniel.
“Damn you, trying to steal my woman? Rachel Moore is my wife!”
I rushed to help Daniel, dodging Andrew’s rage. “Calm down, we’re just friends.”
“Friends? Don’t play me for a fool. I’m a man—I know that look!”
Another punch swung, missing Daniel and slamming into my temple. My glasses shattered, darkness closing in.
Even as I crumpled to the ground in pain, Andrew didn’t stop—until Chloe White stumbled out of the car, clothes disheveled, crying:
“Andrew, stop! You’ll kill someone!”
Like a lion soothed, Andrew instantly calmed down.