The Passenger Seat He Saved for His Mistress

"Edith, can you just grow up a little? Marion's heart is acting up, and you're still here bothering me!"

I doubled over from the pain, cold sweat sliding down from my temple.

But I heard it clearly.

On the other end of the line, in a gentle voice I'd never heard him use, he was soothing Marion.

"Don't be scared. I'm not leaving. I'm right here with you."

Then the call cut off.

In the end, it was Dana James, the company's legal counsel, passing through the ER.

He saw me curled up on a chair and covered my medical bills.

He saw Victor Delgado's name still lit on my phone screen, and he asked nothing. He just handed me a cup of warm water.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

"Don't mention it." His tone was flat.

"That project crisis a while back. You saved me once too."

On my way to the restroom to pull myself together, I passed the ward next door and stopped short.

Through the glass, I saw Victor sitting at the edge of Marion's bed.

He scooped up a spoonful of porridge and blew on it carefully to cool it down.

Marion caught sight of me, and a flicker of smugness crossed her eyes.

She deliberately reached toward Victor and said, all coaxing sweetness,

"Victor, my hands are too weak. Feed me."

Victor looked up and saw me too.

His first reaction wasn't embarrassment. It wasn't guilt.

It was a frown, his eyes full of offended irritation, as if my showing up had interrupted something good.

"Are you following me?"

My throat went tight, and I couldn't get out a single word of explanation.

As I turned to leave, I heard Marion murmur softly behind him,

"It really looks like your wife's angry."

Victor's voice wasn't loud, but it reached my ears clearly enough.

"Her temper flares fast and dies fast. A little coaxing and she's fine."

My steps didn't slow.

Victor, this time I won't give you the chance to coax me again.

The gift-box incident kept stirring inside the company, and it was affecting Victor's promotion to deputy marketing director.

Upper management wanted him to put the whole thing to rest quickly and provide a reasonable explanation.

So he called me into the conference room.

On the table sat a printed "Statement of Clarification."

I picked it up. In black and white, it read plainly:

"I, Edith Henson, acting out of a personal romantic dispute and on impulse, carried out a malicious act of revenge."

"I deliberately purchased women's lingerie and had it sent to the company."

"This conduct has nothing whatsoever to do with Director Delgado or his assistant Marion Fox."

"I hereby offer my sincere apology."

The fingers pinching the paper tightened bit by bit, the knuckles going white.

Victor switched to a gentle tone, the way he'd soothed me countless times before.

"Edith, I know you feel wronged."

"Just sign this statement, and we'll treat it like nothing ever happened. All right?"

"That pair of panties," I said, lifting my eyes to him.

"Did I stuff that into your car myself too, and then mail it to the company?"

He rubbed the spot between his brows, and that impatience I knew so well surfaced on his face.

"Edith, don't make this scene any uglier than it has to be. It does neither of us any good."

Marion sat right beside him, eyes red, silently letting the tears fall.

Her mouth was saying, "Victor, stop pressuring your wife. It's all my fault. I'll just resign…"

But her hand was gently pushing a pen across the table toward me.

The two of them playing off each other so perfectly. A match made in heaven.

Seeing that I still wouldn't move, Victor finally laid down his trump card.

He suddenly brought up the big-client project I'd been running for three months, his tone turning loaded with meaning.

"The later-stage budget for that project still needs me to go upstairs and fight for the resources."