Chapter 7 Is This Your Apology?

Zachary stood outside the door in his tailored suit, exhaustion and irritation written all over his face.

The moment he looked up, he met Cheryl's ice-cold gaze.

His eyes traveled downward and landed on the massive black suitcase beside her.

Zachary's pupils constricted sharply. "What do you think you're doing?"

He strode inside, shut the door behind him, and stared at the suitcase, his voice tense.

"Playing the runaway wife game again? Cheryl, I already let you have your way at the office today. How much longer are you going to keep this up?"

Cheryl looked at the man standing before her.

Looked at him acting superior and magnanimous when he was clearly guilty, and found it utterly laughable.

"Let me have my way?" Cheryl's red lips parted slightly, her voice eerily calm. "Zachary, do you not understand plain English? I already resigned. I signed the divorce papers. I'm packing my things and leaving. What's the problem?"

"What divorce! I never agreed to it!" Zachary's voice shot up.

The panic rising in his chest made him instinctively resort to aggression as a cover.

But when he saw the disappointment in her eyes, the memory of insulting her mother at the office flashed through his mind.

His Adam's apple bobbed as he softened his tone.

"I spoke too harshly at the office today. Pearl was too impulsive, Jasmine got hurt, and I lost my temper—I said things I didn't mean."

As he spoke, he took off his suit jacket. "Stop being stubborn. I know you've had a rough few days."

Then he rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt and used a tone he'd never used before—almost coaxing. "Put the suitcase away. You love my steak, don't you? I'm not going back to the office today. I'll stay home with you. I'll cook for you myself—consider it my apology. How's that?"

Hearing those words, Cheryl's fingers, gripping the suitcase handle, stiffened slightly.

Zachary cooking for her?

In five years of marriage, he could count on one hand the number of times he'd cooked.

The last time was after she'd drunk herself into a stomach hemorrhage trying to help him secure an investment. He'd come home with red-rimmed eyes and made her a pot of porridge.

She couldn't deny it—when she heard the word "apology," Cheryl's battered heart couldn't help but waver, just a little.

She wasn't made of stone.

Five years of devotion. She'd poured everything into him, made him her entire world.

And now this arrogant man was actually lowering himself, offering to cook for her as an apology.

Cheryl kept her head down, saying nothing.

Zachary watched her silence, a flicker of triumph and relief passing through his eyes.

He knew it. As long as he gave her an out, Cheryl would take it.

After all, she loved him so much. How could she really bear to leave?

"Alright, don't just stand there. Let me check what's in the fridge—"

Before Zachary could finish his sentence, the electronic lock on the front door beeped urgently.

Click.

The door swung open from the outside.

"Zachary, you didn't lock the door properly!"

Along with a sugary-sweet voice, Jasmine appeared in the doorway, dressed in an innocent, girl-next-door outfit.

In her hands were two bulging shopping bags from an upscale imported grocery store.

Jasmine acted as if she didn't see Cheryl standing in the entryway at all. She completely ignored the bizarre tension in the room.

She lifted the bags with a bright smile. "Zachary, I went to the store and got you the freshest short ribs! And I bought those imported cherries you love!"

"Come help me out here—these bags are cutting into my hands!"

Cheryl looked at the scene unfolding before her and suddenly laughed.

That tiny sliver of hope sparked by the word "apology" now seemed like a cruel joke.

Her gaze slowly shifted to Zachary, devoid of anger—only a deep, all-seeing sorrow and mockery.

"This is what you meant by cooking for me yourself?"

Cheryl glanced at Jasmine in the doorway. "Bringing your mistress here, using my kitchen, and then telling me this is your apology?"

Zachary's face stiffened instantly. "Don't twist things. Jasmine and I aren't what you think."

He gave a flat explanation, then turned to Jasmine.

"Jasmine, why are you here?" Zachary frowned slightly.

Jasmine's eyes immediately welled up with tears. Like a startled deer, she took a timid step forward.

"I'm sorry, Cheryl. Please don't be mad at Zachary."

She put on a pitiful, self-sacrificing expression and hurriedly explained, "I saw that Zachary was in a bad mood at the office because of you, so I suggested he come home and cook you dinner to apologize."

At this, Jasmine held up the bags with an ingratiating smile. "Cheryl, I know you don't like me. But Zachary really wants to make things right with you. I was worried he wouldn't cook well on his own, so I came to help. I promise, once you two have eaten, I'll leave right away. I won't intrude!"

What a picture of understanding and self-sacrifice!

Sure enough, Zachary's guilt evaporated instantly upon hearing this.

He looked at Cheryl with a stern expression, taking on the air of the head of the household. "Did you hear that? Jasmine had the best of intentions. Stop always assuming the worst of people and saying such nasty things!"

Cheryl stared coldly at this man.

This was the husband she'd loved for five years.

Bringing his mistress brazenly into their marital home and demanding the wife be grateful for it.

Zachary turned to Jasmine, his tone immediately softening, even carrying a hint of benevolent condescension. "Alright, Jasmine. Just put the bags down."

"You're a guest. There's no reason to make a guest cook. Go sit on the couch and watch some TV."

Then he turned, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and looked at Cheryl, still standing by her suitcase.

"Cheryl, come help me wash the vegetables."

Cheryl felt like her entire worldview was shattering.

Did Zachary actually think that by calling Jasmine a "guest," he was preserving Cheryl's dignity?

Cheryl slowly released her grip on the suitcase handle.

Fine. She wanted to see just how much more disgusting these two could get.

"Sure."

A cold smile curved Cheryl's lips as she unexpectedly complied.

"I'll help you."

She turned and walked straight into the kitchen.

Zachary let out a long breath of relief, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

See? Women just needed to be humored.

As long as he was willing to throw her a bone, a woman as hopelessly in love with him as Cheryl would never actually go through with a divorce.

In the kitchen, Cheryl stood expressionless at the counter, a sharp knife in her hand, expertly cutting the imported short ribs Jasmine had bought into sections.

Zachary washed vegetables beside her, occasionally glancing at Cheryl's calm profile.

The gnawing anxiety in his chest finally disappeared completely.

But in the living room, Jasmine couldn't sit still.

Listening to the harmonious sounds coming from the kitchen, she was consumed with jealousy.

She hadn't come here to play the gracious guest!