16 He's not that cold

Gemma's POV.

I wake up from a dream, pull off my eye mask, sit up quickly, and grab my phone.

It's only 9:30. p.m.

Panting, I reach out to turn on the nightlight. The warm, dim light suddenly fills the room.

I glance at the little braid on the nightlight, then pick up my phone again and text Luke: "Are you asleep?"

"Just finished dinner," Luke replies.

"Did you eat alone?"

"No. Eight pretty women approached me one by one, and we had drinks together. Satisfied?"

I silently smile, then type, "Okay, when you get back, I'm cutting off your dick, slice by slice, and turning it into sausage pieces."

I toss the phone aside, put my eye mask back on, and try to sleep.

But I can't fall asleep.

I pick up my phone again and type Dmitri's name into the search engine.

The auto-complete suggests "divorce."

I click on it and see a media post with a picture of Dmitri and his ex-wife, photoshopped with a long crack between them.

The woman's name is Sophia, petite with curly chestnut hair. Her background matches Dmitri's.

She once came to the University of California to find me.

I was in a café at the time, and she appeared suddenly.

She pulled out the chair opposite me and sat down.

I thought she was just looking for a seat and smiled politely.

Then she pulled out a stack of documents from her Hermès bag and tossed them on the table. "Gemma Dawson, Californian, 21 years old. That's you, right?"

I picked up the documents. They recorded my life in detail, down to how I won first place in a kindergarten swimming competition.

"And you are?"

She crossed one leg over the other, arms folded, "I see you're a top student at UC. Didn't they teach you any decency in college? How dare you go after my husband?"

My breath caught, and my voice stiffened, "Your husband is—"

"Dmitri," she smiled.

She glanced out the window, then looked back at me, her back still against the chair, chin slightly raised in an arrogant pose. "You didn't know he was married?"

"I'm Sophia, Dmitri's wife," she said as she stood up, slowly pouring my coffee over my hair. "Stay away from him from now on. Or you won't even know how you died."

The café was full of students that afternoon.

They curiously picked up their phones to take pictures. Before Sophia even reached the café door, the photos had already made their way to the campus forum.

Later, Dmitri found me.

He apologized, said he didn't know she would cause a scene at the school, and that he had contacted the dean to have all the photos removed from the forum and the internet.

He said my graduation wouldn't be affected.

He also said that if I didn't want to continue studying at UC, he could arrange a transfer for me.

He said a lot, but never, "I'm sorry for lying to you. I'm married. I have a wife."

In my final year at UC, I completed my studies under the judgmental stares of others.

I slept only three or four hours a night, writing my thesis while preparing for the distant NYU graduate exams.

Then I left California's sunshine, white clouds, and palm trees behind.

But the good times didn't last.

After arriving in New York, one night, after an all-nighter, I noticed my right eye was red and swollen while washing up in front of the mirror.

In just two days, the situation worsened rapidly. I could no longer see clearly as a cloudy film covered my entire pupil.

The doctor said it was a severe infection caused by both excessive fatigue and mental stress, and that there were large ulcers on my cornea.

I had to undergo a corneal transplant to regain my sight.

I stay in bed until dawn. The small nightlight is still on, but its glow has faded.

I sit up, turn off the light, call HR to extend my leave, then lie back down.

I feel like I was back in that time when I was completely alone. No one would outright ask me if I had really been the other woman, breaking up someone's marriage. But whenever I walked into the cafeteria, the library, or even the classroom, countless eyes followed me.

It took all my strength just to hold my head up high.

A phone call jolts me out of my emotional pit.

It is Mary's father, whose daughter donated her cornea to me.

"Gemma, are you free this weekend?" Mr. Ramos asks.

His voice is a bit hesitant, "I know after we met with you, we've been pursuing adoption, and we shouldn't be bothering you again. But Mary's mom, she—"

"I understand," I say.

The motherly love that had been barren for three years was watered by her tears, uncontrollably blossoming. But adopting a child to replace her late daughter, someone she could love again, isn't something that can happen overnight.

So, in her heart, wild thoughts grew like weeds, and with the autumn wind, they formed a vivid image of Mary.

"I'm free today. Shall we meet?" I suggest.

I head to the bathroom to wash up, put on makeup to cover the dark circles that appeared overnight, and step out looking fresh and bright.

Mr. Ramos is waiting at the entrance of my complex with his car.

When he sees me, he asks, "How come you're off work today?"

"I've been too tired, need to relax," I reply.

Mr. Ramos chuckles, "Yeah, sometimes you just have to slow down a bit."

Then we head to a restaurant for dinner, a place I choose.

Mrs. Ramos looks much better than last time. During the meal, it's no longer just Mr. Ramos handling the conversation. She occasionally asks a few questions, like how my job is going or if the weather's getting cold. After asking, she tightens her lips, only relaxing once I've answered. Sometimes, Mrs. Ramos's stiff fingers even place food onto my plate.

Mr. Ramos is more focused on my daily life. He asks if my salary is enough. I nod. Then he asks, "Are you dating anyone?"

He's just like my parents.

"I have a boyfriend," I smile, slowly sipping my soup. "But we've only just started, still getting to know each other."

After paying the bill, Mr. Ramos drives me home. He pulls a fancy, branded shopping bag from the trunk.

"It's from Mary's mom. Take it."

I shake my head, "It's too much. I still haven't returned the scarf you lent me last time."

Mr. Ramos smiles and places the bag's handles in my hand. "Then wait until you have the whole set before you return it."

He leans in and whispers, "Otherwise, Mary's mom will be upset."

I smile, take the bag, and knock on Mrs. Ramos's car window.

"Thank you."

Mrs. Ramos awkwardly hums, "Mm," and rolls the window back up.

Mr. Ramos pats my shoulder, "Get home early. We'll see you again soon."

The car's headlights flash as it disappears down the road.

I look into the bag and see not just a winter coat but also a pair of gloves.

I take a deep breath, put on the gloves, and exhale a puff of white breath into the increasingly cold air before heading toward home.

But just as the breath fades away, I see Luke.

Lu...ke.

My boss Luke.

My neighbor Luke.

My boyfriend Luke, who should still be on a business trip.

As I look at him, he's looking at me too, standing there like a statue, motionless.

I want to rush up and hug him, but my steps falter.

Did he come back early to surprise me, or has he already found out about my past?

I muster up my courage and walk over.

"Why are you back early?"

"Did you quit?"

We both speak at the same time.

"Do you want me to quit?" I ask, my mouth wide open in shock as the cold wind rushes into my stomach. Does he hate me because he knows I was once the other woman, so much that he doesn't even want to see me at work?

Luke seems startled. "So why didn't you go to work today?"

By this point, his expression is calm again, that unique kind of calm he has, like nothing fazes him.

I chuckle.

"So, you heard I took the day off and rushed back for me?" I step closer, tilting my head up at him. "You thought I was really upset, worried I'd run away, so you hurriedly caught an early flight to check if I'm still here?"

My smile widens. "You really like me that much?"

Luke stays silent for a few seconds. "I could book a flight and leave right now."

"Don't you dare!" I grab his arm.

Luke sighs softly and takes the bag from my hand to carry it for me. I cling to him like a sloth, my body half-hanging onto his, and we walk home, swaying and nearly stumbling into the flower bushes several times.

As I squeeze past him while walking, I ask, "So, were there really eight beautiful women?"

"Don't worry, ever since I met you, I don't dare approach any other woman in this world."

I feel so happy I want to jump, but then I frown slightly. "Is that a compliment or an insult?"

Luke reaches out to press the elevator button and glances at me lightly, "You decide."

I'm speechless.

We return to Luke's place and sit on the couch to watch TV together. He's flipping through channels with the remote, his fingers long and well-defined. Under his sweater, I can see the outline of his chest muscles rising and falling. Unable to resist, I snuggle up to him, wrapping my arms around his neck and hanging onto him.

Luke strokes me gently, like petting a cat, his hand resting at the spot where my chin meets my neck, softly caressing me.

"Did you miss me while you were on your trip?" I ask.

"Not really," he gives one of his usual ambiguous replies.

"If one day you couldn't reach me at all, would you be worried?" I ask.

"When that day comes, you'll find out," Luke replies as always.

On the TV, an old, long-running drama is playing, with the typical "you love me, but I don't love you" theme.

I continue with my questions, "If you could have any superpower, what would it be?"

"Flying," Luke answers without looking away from the screen.

"Would you rather eat the same food every day or different weird foods at each meal?"

"The same food."

"If animals could talk, which one would you want to chat with the most?"

"Dogs."

"If your girlfriend used to be the other woman, would you still want her?"

The air goes silent for a few seconds. Luke turns his head to look at me, the blue light from the TV illuminating half of his face, the other half cast in shadow.

I gaze into his eyes, seeing my reflection in them.

These days, I've been so tired. To be exact, ever since Dmitri showed up in New York, it's felt like I've been walking on a tightrope, always on the verge of falling into a deep abyss.

I don't know when Dmitri will expose my secret or if I'll have to go through what I experienced in California all over again. So, I decide to tell Luke the truth myself.

I lay out my dark and messy secret in front of him, awaiting his judgment.

In the awkward silence, only the background noise from the TV fills the space.

"Why did you become the other woman? Was it for money?" Luke finally asks.

"No."

Now it's his turn to ask the questions, and mine to answer.

"For love?"

"Yes."

"Did you know he was married?"

"No."

"So, he lied to you?"

"Yes."

Luke nods, "I see."

His tone is as casual as when I walk into his office at work, say "I've left the report on your desk for you to review," and he responds with, "I see."

I blink, watching as he turns back to the TV.

"You... don't mind?" My voice trembles slightly.

"The past is something I can't help you with... but from today on, my shoulder is yours." Luke reaches out, pulls my head to his chest, and gently strokes my hair.

I listen to his heartbeat, breathing in the fresh lavender scent of his sweater, and suddenly my vision blurs a little.

Luke's fingers, as if magical, follow the strands of my hair, silently comforting me.

And so, with Luke's touch and the sound of his heartbeat, I gradually fall asleep.

Luke, this big ice block, doesn't seem as cold as I had thought.

That's my last thought before drifting off to sleep.