[CONTENTID1][/CONTENTID1][CONTENTID2]“Thank you for signing the merger, President Song. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

They walked out of the restaurant, the night air warm and refreshing at the same time. President Song turned to him, making sure her dress hiked up slightly.

“Anything for you, President Wu,” she purred flirtatiously. “Can I call you Kris?”

He didn’t say anything. She smirked, her red lips curving upwards. “And of course, you may call me Victoria.”

“Thank you. Shall I call a cab for you?”

“No need,” she took his arm and he raised an eyebrow. “My car is parked right over there. I can get home… but…”

She pushed herself against his arm more firmly, her cleavage standing out impressively. “Perhaps you’d like to join me?”

“I’d love to…”

She smiled in satisfaction but faltered away immediately.

“…but my wife is waiting at home. So I’ll be going now since you have a ride.”

Pushing himself away from the shocked woman, he headed to his own car. He got in, smirking to himself as he slid her signed contract into his briefcase.

He checked his watch and sighed.

It’s Park Dara, he reassured silently. She waited. I’m sure. It’s only 11. She’s probably waiting at home right now.

That still didn’t stop him from worrying, just a little bit.

***

“I’m home.”

He walked to the kitchen and the light. He was greeted with a cleared table, no cake or anything on sight. He raised an eyebrow and went to the fridge, his eyes rummaging through. Nothing was different. He couldn’t help but to feel disappointed.

What’s this… she didn’t prepare anything, after all.

He shrugged, trying to tell himself that he didn’t care, and poured himself a glass of water.

Well, whatever…

He walked into their shared bedroom, and saw the petite figure under the blankets. He couldn’t help but feel the surge of guilt creeping through him.

I said that I’d be home too…

He shook his head as he walked back to the kitchen, finishing his glass.

Still she should have waited…

He cursed as he realized he had squeezed his glass too firmly. He could only stare at the cut on his palm, blood slowly dripping out.

“Kris?!”

He looked up and raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were sleeping?”

She froze. “…the, uh, crash woke me up?”

“Oh… I see.”

If he didn’t believe her, he didn’t show it.

“Gosh! You’re bleeding!” she gasped.

“It’s just a scratch.”

“I’ll get the first-aid kit!” she dashed off, eyes frantic. He shook his head, and began clearing up the shattered glass, sweeping it into a dushpan.

“Ah, Kris, don’t do that!” Dara returned with the first-aid kit. “You might cut yourself again!”

“We’re not all klutzes.”

She glared at him, but her eyes suddenly widened as he went to the trash can and pulled it open.

“Ah, wait!” she yelled hysterically, but he had already pulled it open. There, lay a smashed strawberry cake, and a broken bottle of champagne.

The kitchen was overcome with silence for a few minutes.

“Why…?”

“Huh?”

“Why didn’t you wait for me?” he muttered, eyes overcast by his bangs. She felt herself trembling.

…because I was angry with you. You spent your birthday with another woman, a gorgeous, wealthy one, while I wasted my day trying to please you.

…I’ve been doin