Chapter 2

At six in the morning, golden sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting warm light across the marble kitchen countertops.

I had deliberately woken up two hours earlier than usual, dressed in a silk robe as I bustled around the kitchen.

The crazy plan I'd hatched at 3 AM last night had kept me awake all night, my mind filled with the image of that silhouette standing on the balcony in the moonlight. What did Stephen's final glance in my direction really mean when he left?

Today marked the first day of "Research Phase: Dr. Stephen Montgomery."

I knew Stephen came downstairs at exactly 6:30 every morning.

If I was going to test the waters, I had to do it thoroughly.

The coffee machine hummed softly as I deliberately bent down to retrieve Stephen's usual white mug from the lower cabinet—the same one he'd used for coffee last night. The silk robe moved gracefully with my movements, clinging to my curves and revealing a glimpse of my pale legs.

Footsteps echoed from the staircase.

My heart rate spiked instantly, but I forced myself to maintain a natural pose, continuing to slowly retrieve the cup.

"Good morning." Stephen's voice came from behind me, carrying that deep, husky quality of someone just woken up.

I turned around, feeling the silk fabric catch the morning light with a soft shimmer. "Good morning. I thought you'd need coffee. Another late surgery last night?"

Stephen stood in the kitchen doorway, his golden-brown hair still tousled, the white casual t-shirt making him look less serious than usual. But I could sense his body had visibly tensioned.

God, he looked absolutely captivating like this, just woken up.

"Thank you," his voice sounded strained, "I usually manage on my own."

I noticed his reaction—his gaze lingered on me for less than three seconds before immediately looking away. But in those three seconds, I saw... what exactly?

Confusion? Discomfort? Or was it simply because my robe made him feel the situation was inappropriate?

"We're married. Taking care of you is what I should do." I deliberately stepped closer, offering him the steaming cup of coffee.

When the distance closed to less than two feet, I could smell the faint scent of mint body wash on him, could see the subtle movement of his Adam's apple. This proximity made even me nervous, but I had to see this through.

Stephen took the coffee cup while deliberately avoiding any finger contact. "I need to get to the hospital."

With that, he practically fled from the kitchen.

I watched his hurried retreat, my emotions in turmoil.

What kind of reaction was that? Revulsion, or simply feeling I'd crossed a line?

I decided to try again tonight.

At eleven PM, Stephen's study was still brightly lit.

I carried a plate of sandwiches and warm milk, gently tapping on his door. "Stephen?"

"Come in." His voice carried a note of fatigue.

Pushing the door open, I found him seated at his desk, medical books and papers scattered across the surface, his wire-rimmed glasses reflecting the desk lamp's glow. This image of him absorbed in work made my heartbeat irregular again.

"You're always so focused on work, you'll exhaust yourself." I placed the tray in front of him, deliberately leaning over to organize the papers on his desk.

From this angle, I knew my neckline was slightly open.

Stephen pushed his glasses up and cleared his throat.

What did this small gesture mean? Was it habitual, or was he uncomfortable?

"I'm fine. You should get some rest." His voice was deeper than usual, still not daring to look up at me.

I deliberately moved closer, pretending interest in the medical terminology on his desk. "These medical terms are so complex. Could you teach me?"

My fingers traced over a medical journal's cover, my arm nearly brushing against his shoulder. I could feel the warmth radiating from his body, could hear his quickened breathing.

Stephen's body instantly stiffened, and he leaned back nervously. "You wouldn't find it interesting. It's very dry material."

"I'm interested in everything that interests my husband." I straightened up, giving him a meaningful look.

Stephen finally looked up at me, and in that instant, I saw some complex emotion in his eyes. But I couldn't identify what it was—distress? Restraint? Or simply the helplessness of a professional doctor facing interruption?

The next second, he put back on that rational mask. "Thank you for the late-night snack. I still have work to handle."

Avoidance again.

But I noticed that as he spoke, the veins stood out prominently on his clenched fist.

Was this anger at my interrupting his work, or simply work stress?

I still had no answers.

On the third morning, I appeared in the gym wearing tight black workout clothes.

The mirrored walls amplified the light throughout the space. I deliberately chose the most figure-flattering workout outfit and began stretching on the yoga mat. I knew these poses would be... enticing.

At 6:20, Stephen appeared punctually at the gym entrance.

The moment he saw me, his steps clearly faltered.

I watched his reaction in the mirror, but I couldn't determine what it meant.

"Wow, I didn't expect you to be working out so early." I looked up, feigning surprise.

Stephen tried to maintain his composure, walking toward the treadmill. "I usually exercise at this time."

But I noticed he deliberately chose the equipment farthest from me.

Was he avoiding me, or simply not wanting to disturb my workout?

"I don't know how to use this machine. Could you teach me?" I pointed to a strength training apparatus, deliberately looking helpless.

Stephen's gaze flicked to me in the mirror for a moment before immediately looking away. "Ask a personal trainer. They're more professional."

"But I'd prefer you to teach me." I stood up, walking toward the machine. "Just five minutes?"

In the mirror, I saw Stephen's reaction—his hands gripped the treadmill's handrails so tightly his knuckles turned white.

But this could simply be because he wasn't good at refusing people, or he genuinely found my request troublesome?

"I... I have a morning meeting to prepare for." He practically fled from the gym.

I stood before the mirror, watching Stephen's hurried figure disappear through the doorway.

My heart was pounding, but this time not from excitement—from frustration.

Three attempts, three evasions. But each evasion only made me more confused.

The prominent veins when he clenched his fists, the small gesture of adjusting his glasses, his deliberately averted gaze—what did any of this mean?

Was I reading too much into it?

Maybe he was just a polite doctor, habitually maintaining professional distance with everyone?

Maybe his nervousness was simply because my behavior made him uncomfortable, violating our agreement?

"God, Karolyn," I said to my reflection in the mirror, "you might really be overthinking this."

But another voice in my heart argued back: Then why was he so nervous every time? Why the avoidance?

The more I thought about it, the more confused I became. Was Stephen Montgomery truly unaffected by me, or was he deliberately maintaining distance?

At this thought, I bit my lip.

Since these three tests hadn't given me clear answers, it meant I needed a more direct approach.

I had to find a way to make Stephen show his true reaction, whatever that might be.

I needed to know the answer, even if it would break my heart.

Suddenly, I thought of the perfect plan—if Stephen as a doctor couldn't ignore a "patient," then I'd give him a reason he'd have to get close to me, to take care of me.

Fake an illness.

The idea both excited and terrified me. If he remained distant even when I was sick, it would prove he truly had no feelings for me. But if he showed concern...

I was going to take this gamble.