Phoebe was tipsy and saw Cindy leaving with a guy who looked kinda familiar.

She stumbled after them. “Cindy, why are you leaving? We were supposed to date the hot guys!”

Theodore’s face darkened. He seethed to himself, ‘Phoebe still wants to date hot guys? I’ve been gone a few days, and she’s gotten bold.’ He patted the leather sofa next to him and said, “Looking for hot guys? Come here, I’ll take you.”

Phoebe looked at Theodore but backed up until she hit the wall, feeling safer.

“I’m not coming over. You’re just a heartbreaker,” she said.

Theodore laughed, frustrated. “Heartbreaker?”

“Yeah, and a scumbag one. You took my heart, and now I can’t find it.” Phoebe started crying harder. “I lost my heart, I can’t find it.” Theodore had seen many sides of Phoebe elegant, obedient, well-behaved-but never this. His heart tightened.

He walked over, squatted beside her, and sighed, wondering why he was arguing with a drunk Phoebe.

“Get up, I’ll take you home,” he said softly.

Phoebe looked at him, tears streaming. “I don’t want to go home. It’s so empty, just me alone.”

Theodore turned, looking at her helplessly. “Are you scared being home alone?”

Phoebe shook her head, then nodded. “Being home alone is so scary. The house is so big, my voice echoes.”

She started crying again, “The house is so big, I’m scared.”

Theodore was stunned, his heart aching.

“If you’re scared, why didn’t you call me?” he asked.

“You hate me. If I call, you’ll hang up on me.” Phoebe felt more aggrieved. “You insisted on marrying me. Why do you hate me now?”

Theodore held her hand, coaxing softly, “I don’t hate you. Let’s go home, okay?”

Phoebe stared at him, then climbed onto his back, tearfully saying, “okay.”

Theodore stood up with her on his back, opened the door, and walked out, crossing the noisy hall into the snowy night.

Phoebe rested her chin on his shoulder, the familiar mint scent calming her. She closed her eyes, drifting off.

Worried she’d feel worse in a car, Theodore carried her slowly to the Imperial Apartment. He casually asked, “You have a cold, why did you come out drinking?”

He paused, assuming she had dozed off, until he caught her faint voice. “I’m unhappy,” she murmured.

Theodore turned his head. “Why are you unhappy?”

Phoebe didn’t answer.

Theodore looked ahead, his expression hard to read. “Is it because we had a fight?”

Phoebe wiped her tears, her mood dropping. She choked out, “You are just so cruel.”

Theodore was speechless.

Phoebe was genuinely sad. She buried her face in his shoulder, tears falling, sobbing uncontrollably like a child.

Theodore sighed, “Blaming me for your own mistakes, huh?”

Phoebe’s sobs gradually quieted until she seemed to fall asleep.

Theodore didn’t say anything more.

The midnight streets were eerily quiet, with only a few taxis passing by. Snowflakes fluttered down, and the world seemed silent.

Theodore glanced at Phoebe on his back. She was sleeping soundly, tears still at the corners of her eyes.

“Phoebe,” he called softly.

No response.

His footsteps crunched in the snow. He stared at her for a long time, murmuring, “You seem really down. Could I interpret that as a tiny crush on me?” Phoebe’s breath brushed warmly against his neck, steady and comforting.

Theodore smiled and whispered, “Then I’ll take the liberty of assuming you have a soft spot for me too. How about this? From tomorrow onwards, we’ll each try to like the other a tad bit more every single day. Deal?” Phoebe, deep in sleep, didn’t hear a thing.

Theodore rubbed his cheek against her head, feeling content. “Since you’re not saying anything, I’ll take that as a yes.”

That night, Theodore carried Phoebe through the streets, taking two hours to get home.

By the time they arrived, they were almost like snowmen, but Theodore didn’t feel tired. He carried Phoebe to the bedroom, changed her into pajamas, and dried her hair.

After making her drink some honey water and staying by her side until she fell asleep, he took a hot shower himself, his heart filled with a sense of warmth.

Phoebe slept deeply. When she woke up the next morning, it was already daylight.

She had a terrible headache and stared blankly at the familiar ceiling, feeling dazed. Memories of last night flooded her mind. She and Cindy had hit Theodore.

She had pulled Theodore’s hair, bitten his ear, and called him a scumbag.

Fortunately, she hadn’t said anything too damaging.

Phoebe grabbed her hair in frustration and buried her face in the pillow.

‘I’m doomed!’ she thought.

Theodore was vengeful. She had hit him in front of so many people; he was definitely planning something big to get back at her.

‘What should I do? Is it too late to run away now?’ she wondered.

Phoebe suddenly sat up. Just as she was about to pack her things and run, the bedroom door opened.

Theodore, looking impeccable, appeared. His expression was gentle. “You’re awake. Come have breakfast.

Phoebe stared at him, dazed.

‘Something is off! Has Theodore been replaced?’ she thought.

Her gaze swept over Theodore’s earlobe, which had bite marks. Noticing her look, Theodore touched his earlobe.

“It was bitten by a dog,” he teased, “and quite neatly too.”

Phoebe was furious but didn’t dare speak. She slowly got out of bed, avoiding Theodore’s gaze, afraid he would suddenly remember to settle the score.

She slipped into the bathroom to brush her teeth, straining to catch any sound from beyond the door. As Theodore’s footsteps drifted away, she slumped against the sink, gripped by a sudden terror.

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