Hannah responded with a curt "no," knowing Charles was planning something sinister. "You could say it on the phone," she added, for clarity.

"It's hard to explain over the phone," he replied.

"Then don't," she said.

"Just give me a chance, okay? I swear, if you don't forgive me after this, I'll never bother you again." His voice was anxious, sincere, laced with a fear of her refusal.

Charles was a master of disguise. Had she not experienced his cruelty in a past life, she wouldn't have recognized the horrible man he truly was. Nevertheless, Hannah said, "Okay." She wanted to see just how far he'd go, how sick he truly was. This way, she wouldn't give him any further reason to pursue her. In truth, she was disgusted by the sound of his voice, let alone the sight of him.

"I'll pick you up tonight when you get off work," Charles said, his voice brimming with false joy.

"No," Hannah refused. "Give me the address. I'll get there myself."

"Okay," he conceded, too wary to refuse her. She'd always been the one to compromise in their past relationship. Men, predictably, are often jerks.

She hung up and returned to work. Later, her phone rang. Engrossed in a marketing program, she answered without looking. Assuming it was Charles urging her to leave work—he wouldn't want to waste a minute waiting—she continued to gaze at her computer screen while speaking. "Charles, I have some work to finish. I'm not off for a while."

A long silence followed. Something felt wrong, and she glanced at her phone. It was Oscar. Inexplicably, she felt accused of infidelity. Hannah gritted her teeth. He hadn't called since her first day back after a two or three day absence. This call was wholly unexpected.

"It's you," she said, her voice remarkably calm. She'd done nothing wrong; their marriage was one of convenience. She wasn't obligated to report her whereabouts to him.

"Let you down," Oscar replied, his voice devoid of emotion.

"What can I do for you?" Hannah asked casually, ignoring his remark.

"Nothing."

"Why are you calling then?" she wondered silently.

"Are you going to meet Charles?" he asked.

"There's something to be cleared up," she replied.

"So you chose the evening," Oscar concluded, his tone still cold.

"I'm usually at work during the day," Hannah explained.

A long silence followed. Thinking he'd hung up, Hannah lowered the phone to check. The call was still connected. "When are you coming back?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Does it matter to you whether I come back or not?" Oscar countered.

She'd simply been asking; she didn't answer, knowing it would only hurt his narcissistic sensibilities.

"That's all," he said, ending the call. Hannah stared at the phone, slightly dazed. His resignation was palpable in his voice.

She decided not to dwell on it. A playboy like Oscar was unlikely to fall for her, anyway. Besides, he was nothing like Charles. If she didn't expect anything from Oscar, she wouldn't be hurt.

Meanwhile, Oscar stood at Kensbury International Airport. Theodore, noticing his friend's annoyance, was taken aback by the sudden shift in his mood.

"Do you want Hannah to pick you up? Should I leave now?" Theodore asked, remembering Oscar's earlier intention to go their separate ways after landing.

Oscar walked away from the airport, his expression gloomy. Theodore was slightly irritated. He felt his friend had been acting strangely ever since he'd started seeing Hannah.

...

It was 8 pm. Hannah arrived at the restaurant Charles had texted her—a high-end establishment with an elegant ambiance. She was shown to a private room offering a stunning panoramic view of the city through a large French window.

She'd never had a fancy, romantic dinner with Charles, let alone a candlelit one. She'd always been the one waiting, having ordered their meals in advance, while his lateness was perpetually blamed on work. She'd always minimized the wait. Now, after two hours of his waiting, she wondered about his reaction. He was probably furious. After all, he harbored a deep-seated belief in his superiority. Nothing would change his self-righteousness. As such a noble individual, he must be livid at being kept waiting.

Of course, he had to repress his anger. Hannah found his smile forced, yet she smiled back, feigning ignorance. "I'm sorry. I was working late, so please excuse the delay," she said.

"It doesn't matter how long I wait for you," Charles said, his face instantly adopting an affectionate expression.

Hannah returned a strained smile, her demeanor unchanged.

Repressing his rage, Charles deemed her arrogant and overconfident, hating that she remained impassive in the face of his feigned affection.

He rang for the waiter, who brought their dinner. "This veal steak is imported from Florence—only ten servings a day. With our secret mushroom sauce, it's delicious. Try it," Charles said politely.

Hannah laughed. "I'm allergic to mushrooms."