"Irish, you’ll still be here on the 25th, right? We’ve got a big catering order, and we need your help."

I hesitated for a moment. The date was too close, but I knew this might be my last job at the restaurant before leaving it for good.

"Alright, Uncle. I’ll do it," I finally replied.

For days, I didn’t go home. After finishing my shifts at the restaurant, I spent my time at the library, gathering materials for my studies in London. There was so much to prepare that I almost forgot about the house.

But one morning, Bobby unexpectedly showed up at the restaurant. His face was filled with anger.

"Have you forgotten that you’re married? You have responsibilities to take care of me!" he snapped.

I looked at him coldly. "Isn’t Grace there? I thought the two of you would be fine without me."

"Irish! Grace isn’t a maid. She’s recovering and can’t do household chores. She needs plenty of rest to prevent her liver from relapsing. You should understand that, instead of running away like this!"

"I’m busy, Bobby."

"Busy? You’re becoming disrespectful! Is this how you repay everything I’ve done for you?"

"Bobby, you’re not the only one with priorities. I have mine too. I won’t always cater to your demands, especially when they involve Grace!"

"Ah… so you’re jealous of her?"

I scoffed. "Not at all."

"Your attitude says otherwise."

"And what then? Will you leave her when the truth comes out?"

"Come on, Irish. We’re married. Grace is just a colleague—nothing more."

I smirked sarcastically. "Oh, really?"

"Fine. To ease your anger, I’ll take you to the party tomorrow. I’ll introduce you to my friends. You want to be recognized as my wife, don’t you?"

"I don’t have time."

Bobby growled in frustration. "Ck! I’ve tried. But if this is how you want to act, then do whatever you want!"

He stormed off, leaving me in a whirlwind of emotions.

The next day, fate seemed to mock me. It turned out the party I was catering for was the same party Bobby and Grace were attending. They stood side by side, wearing matching outfits, looking every bit like a couple.

"Miss, could you please pour some soup into my bowl?" a woman’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I grabbed the bowl and poured the soup. But with my shaky hands and unstable emotions, the soup spilled onto her hand.

"Oh my God! Can you even do your job? My hand is burning!" she yelled.