Chapter 2

At the dining table, Hansel seemed uneasy about his breakfast. "Where's my pumpkin soup?"

"You mean cream of vegetable soup?"

"Cream of vegetable soup?"

"Yes, Ms. Sutton makes it often. It's the one with pumpkin, potatoes, onions, and celery, right? I don't have time to prepare all the ingredients."

"The pumpkin, potatoes, onions, and garlic need roasting and fresh puréeing; it's best slow-cooked the night before. Then, the soup must simmer over an open fire for hours."

"I don't have Ms. Sutton's patience to constantly check the fire. Besides, mine probably won't taste the same."

"Bring me some marmalade," Hansel interrupted.

"Coming right up, Mr. Johnson."

"Why does this taste different? The packaging is wrong," Hansel said, glancing at the jar.

"That jar is empty. We only have this brand left."

"Get two jars of the other from the supermarket, then."

"It's unavailable, Mr. Johnson."

Hansel was unimpressed. "Why?"

Martha smiled awkwardly. "Ms. Sutton made it herself. I don't know how—wait, Mr. Johnson! Aren't you going to finish your breakfast first?"

"No."

Martha watched in bewilderment as Hansel stormed upstairs. Why had he lost his temper?

"Hey, lazy bum, get up!"

Miranda rolled over, refusing to open her eyes. "Shut up. I want to sleep."

Winter Jefferson, Miranda's best friend, was already made up and choosing a purse.

"It's 8:00 a.m. Don't you need to rush home to make breakfast for your beloved Mr. Johnson?"

Miranda often stayed at Winter's, but always left before dawn to make Hansel's cream of vegetable soup. He was prone to gastric problems.

The thought rendered Winter speechless. Was Hansel paralyzed? Too lazy to order delivery? Why make life so difficult for Miranda? He was spoiled rotten.

Miranda remained in bed. She waved a hand at Winter. "I'm not going back. We broke up."

"Oh. How long this time?"

Miranda didn't answer.

"Fine. Go back to sleep. I left breakfast. I'm going to work and won't be back for dinner; I have a date. Close the balcony windows before you leave."

Hunger eventually woke Miranda. She ate Winter's sandwiches and watched the sun. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept in.

Bonus:

After breakfast, she changed and went to the bank to cash a $50 million check. She needed the money in hand.

Next door, she said, "I'd like to speak to your private banking account manager. I want to deposit $10 million."

She spoke to the manager himself, who offered a considerable interest rate. She negotiated a higher rate, and he agreed. She repeated this at two more banks, each time securing a better rate than the last.

She left the final bank as the owner of three black cards with $30 million in savings and $20 million in liquid cash. "This breakup was worth it," she thought. She’d become a millionaire overnight.

She entered a popular hair salon, signed up for their $2,000 membership (receiving VIP treatment), and sat before the mirror, looking at her long, brown, curly hair. For the first time, she hated her looks.

"Ma'am, your hair is beautiful! You look like a doll!"

She'd kept this style because Hansel liked it, especially the feel of it during intimacy. It required considerable grooming.

Miranda smiled. "Cut it short, straighten it, and dye it black." A doll was still a toy. She was done being played.

Feeling lighter, she bought a white T-shirt and jeans at a sale, wearing them immediately. They matched her shoes.

She found herself outside Bedford College, watching students. She fell into a daze.

"Sol! We're here!" a young man called, speeding past. "What are you all doing here?"

"Visiting Dr. Young," someone replied.

"The hospital won't allow many visitors," Solomon Hall said. "I'll take two from Bioinformatics."

Bioinformatics? Dr. Young?

Miranda snapped out of it. "Who's sick?" she asked the students.

Solomon, momentarily speechless, said, "Dr. Young."

"Dr. Christine Young?"

"Yes."

"Which hospital?"

"Westerton Hospital."

"Thank you." "Which faculty are you from? Are you one of Dr. Young's students?"

Miranda ran off without answering. Even at Winter's condo, she couldn't calm down. How ill was Christine?

She scrolled through her contacts, stopping at "Jade Fisher," but couldn't bring herself to call.

She'd once rejected Bedford College's Combined Master's and Doctorate Program to be with Hansel, becoming a housewife immediately after graduation. Christine must have been disappointed.

"Mimi? Still here? Why didn't you go back?" Winter asked, surprised.

Miranda smiled. "Trying to chase me out?"

Winter tutted. "It's a miracle you lasted this long. Last time, you didn't last half an hour after the breakup."

"There's soup. Help yourself."

Winter happily ate, sighing, "Hansel's a lucky bastard to eat this every day."

"Wash the dishes. I'm going to bed."

"Really not going back?"

The door closed quietly. Winter tutted. "She seems more sensible this time."

That night, at the lakeside mansion, Hansel made a call.

"Mr. Johnson, the bank confirmed Ms. Sutton cashed the $50 million in person at 12:05 p.m. today—"

Hansel ended the call, staring coldly out the window. "Miranda Sutton, what games are you playing?" He wouldn't change his mind.

"Cal, drinks tonight?"

Half an hour later, Hansel entered the private room. Calvin greeted him. "Hey, Hans! Everyone's here but you. What'll we have?"

Hansel walked on. Calvin looked behind him.

"What are you waiting for?"

"Where's Miranda? Still parking?"

Hansel's face darkened.