Christopher, consumed by rage, wanted to unleash his thoughts, but all that emerged was, “Say… is she my employee?” He then drove to the house; it was merely a pretext to vent his anger, the true reason unspoken.

Why would Melody call Sheldon instead of him, again? Was it solely because he’d hung up on her once? What about the hundreds of times she’d ignored his calls? Why would she turn to an outsider rather than him? It drove him mad.

On the other end of the line, Melody remained silent for a few seconds. Knowing Christopher disliked strangers in his home, she emphasized her trustworthiness. Yet, his fury persisted.

“The house has surveillance. If you’re worried, you can check it. Change the locks when you get back. It won’t happen again,” Melody replied calmly. She’d left in a hurry, forgetting her medical insurance card; otherwise, she wouldn’t have needed help.

“Is that the point?” Christopher roared, the rest of his words caught in his throat. He couldn’t utter them.

Hearing this, Melody frowned. After a few seconds, she said, “When you get back, open the windows, or hire a cleaner for a deep clean.” No matter his mysophobia, it couldn’t be this bad, especially since Sheldon had been there before.

“You,” Christopher seethed, hanging up and slamming his hand on the steering wheel. Fine. She could rely on Sheldon. If he ever cared about Melody again, he’d be a fool.

Restarting the car, Christopher drove to the restaurant where he was meeting Cynthia. His face remained dark and thunderous, his mood as heavy as a storm. His anger lingered even in the private dining room.

“What’s wrong, Christopher? Who upset you?” Cynthia asked.

“Who else? It’s…” he began coldly, then stopped. “Just some incompetent subordinates. Their work is a disaster,” he substituted.

She comforted him, “That’s only because you’re so brilliant. Your employees can’t keep up with your pace. Don’t be upset, Christopher. Leave those troubles behind now that you’re off work, okay?”

“Who said I’m upset? I’m perfectly fine,” he retorted coldly.

“Ready! Your face is so dark it looks like the bottom of a pot, and your tone is sharper than usual,” Cynthia teased, holding up a small mirror.

Christopher stared at his reflection, momentarily stunned. He did look furious, thoroughly provoked. Why was he so angry? Wasn’t it just about Melody not asking him for help?

Pressing his lips together, Christopher remained silent. When the food arrived, he had his answer: Melody had let Sheldon into the house without permission, even sharing the passcode—a perceived disrespect.

Using a fork, Cynthia placed a piece of beet in his bowl. “Cheer up! You’re with me now.”

“Sorry. My bad,” he apologized, forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace.

Cynthia believed his anger stemmed from a significant mistake by his subordinates. Still, he’d left work on time to be with her, even in a foul mood. That pleased her.