Chapter 2

Quentin arrived home at ten that night.

The first thing he saw was ten pounds of shrimp spread across our dining table.

Ms. Yarrow had arranged them in four large bowls filled with ice. Their pink shells gleamed under the pendant lights.

I was sitting at the end of the table in my pajamas, reading a market report on my tablet.

Quentin stopped in the doorway.

"Are we expecting a hundred guests?"

"No."

I put my tablet down.

"You're going to peel all of these for me."

He looked at me, then at the bowls of shrimp.

"Zora, there's no way you can eat ten pounds of shrimp."

"Probably not."

He glanced toward the hallway.

"Ms. Yarrow?"

"I gave her the rest of the evening off. Sit down."

Something in my voice made him stop joking.

He pulled out the chair across from me but remained standing.

"This is about dinner, isn't it?"

"Good. At least we're on the same page."

"Nora couldn't peel a shrimp. I was just helping her."

"You hate peeling shrimp. You once told me the smell stays on your hands for hours."

"I wore gloves."

"Then you won't have a problem doing it tonight."

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

He walked around the table, leaned down, and kissed my temple.

"I didn't know you were the jealous type."

"I'm not."

"You ordered ten pounds of shrimp because I peeled one for another woman."

"Jealousy means you're afraid someone might take what belongs to you. I'm not worried about Nora. I'm questioning your judgment."

His smile disappeared.

I turned in my chair to face him.

Quentin was handsome in a polished, understated way — brown hair, expensive suits, and an air of effortless confidence.

He had been thirty when we married. At the time, he was already running Cole Group's daily operations, although he was still competing with two cousins for the family's final decision on succession.

Our marriage had helped secure his position.

It had also given Voss Group a dependable business partner for several infrastructure and consumer technology projects.

Our arrangement had started as a practical one, but the affection between us had always been genuine.

We traveled well together. We respected each other's careers. We had built a comfortable home and a life that worked for both of us.

There had been plenty of small, thoughtful moments between us.

Quentin knew I often forgot to eat before important presentations, so he kept protein bars in his coat pockets.

I knew he slept badly before family trust meetings, so I never scheduled breakfast with him afterward.

When my father underwent heart surgery, Quentin stayed beside me all night.

He didn't try to fill the silence with meaningless comfort. He simply stayed.

And when his first attempt to modernize Cole Group's manufacturing division failed, I was the first person he called before facing his board.

Those memories were real.

But they weren't a reason to tolerate disrespect.

In fact, they were exactly why I was giving him a chance to understand the problem before making a final decision.

I wasn't going to pretend that small violations didn't matter just because we had once been happy.

"Do you remember why I chose you?" I asked.

"My irresistible charm?"

"Your boundaries."

He leaned against the table.

"Your parents told me you hated casual touching and unnecessary familiarity. You never crossed professional lines with your employees. You didn't surround yourself with admirers just to feel important."

I looked directly at him.

"You were someone who understood boundaries, Quentin. That's different from being innocent."

"And now one shrimp means I've crossed the line?"

"That shrimp told me you'll make exceptions for pretty young employees. Then you sat there while she insulted me in front of your whole management team — and only stepped in when she looked at you for help."

"I told her to apologize."

"After she expected you to rescue her."

He finally pulled out the chair and sat down.

For the first time that evening, he looked genuinely thoughtful instead of amused.

I continued.

"Our marriage matters to two families and thousands of employees. It matters to me too — I want it honest and respectful, no childish games, no unnecessary drama. And I expect you to keep the same boundaries with other women that you'd expect me to keep with other men."

"I do."

"Then consider this your first warning."

His eyebrows rose.

"Warning?"

"Everyone close to me gets three chances to show me who they really are. After that, I go by what their actions have already told me."

"That sounds rather threatening."

"It's supposed to be clear."

He watched me for a few seconds before reaching for the box of disposable gloves Ms. Yarrow had left beside the bowls.

"Fine. I won't peel shrimp for Nora again."

"You won't act with her in ways you wouldn't accept from me with another man. The shrimp's just a reminder."

He pulled on the gloves.

"Understood, Ms. Voss."

The way he said my title made it sound almost affectionate.

I leaned over and kissed him once.

"Then get started, Mr. Hale. Try to keep them neat."

I went upstairs around midnight.

Quentin was still sitting at the dining table, working through the bowls.

The next morning, I found four containers of peeled shrimp in the refrigerator. Quentin had already left for an emergency meeting.

I told Ms. Yarrow to take the food home for her grandchildren.

For the next month, Quentin treated me better than ever.

Flowers appeared in my office. He blocked out two evenings so we could have dinner together. He didn't mention Nora once.

Our home returned to its usual peaceful routine.

I made the mistake of thinking that meant he had finally understood.