Marriage Named Hatred Chapter 18
After they walked out of the building, a fine, dense drizzle began to fall outside.
Theodore took an umbrella from his bag, opened it, and held it above her head.
“Were you okay?” Theodore asked cautiously.
Annelise nodded. “Yeah, I was fine.”
Theodore did not ask again.
Holding the umbrella, he accompanied her as they walked slowly, occasionally talking about inconsequential things—the rehearsal had gone well today, the director had rarely praised anyone, and the cafeteria soup had not tasted very good.
She listened and responded now and then, and the tension at the corners of her mouth gradually eased.
When they passed a café, Theodore stopped.
“Did you want a cup of hot chocolate? I heard sweet things could make you feel a little better.”
Annelise glanced at him and suddenly laughed. “How did you know I liked hot chocolate?”
Theodore laughed too. “Because every time you saw a hot-chocolate ad on the street, you looked at it a couple of seconds longer.”
She froze for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.”
The café was small, with warm yellow lighting, and someone in the corner was reading.
They found a seat by the window. Theodore went to the counter to order and came back with two cups of hot chocolate and a small plate of cookies.
She cradled the cup, steam curling up in a soft haze.
“That man,” Theodore said very softly, as if he did not want to disturb something, “was he someone you knew before?”
“That man,” Theodore said very softly, as if he did not want to disturb something, “was he someone you knew before?”
She was silent for a while, then nodded.
“He hurt you.”
It was not a question, and she nodded again.
Theodore did not ask again.
He lifted his own cup, took a sip, and then said, “This place had the best hot chocolate I had ever had in Paris. The owner was Viennese, and the recipe had been passed down from her grandmother.”
Watching him awkwardly change the subject, she suddenly felt like laughing.
That was just how Theodore was.
He never pressed for answers, never pried; he simply stayed with her, talked about inconsequential things, and let her relax little by little.
“Thank you.”
Theodore looked up and smiled. “For what? I did not make the hot chocolate.”
She finally could not hold back her laughter, took a sip of coffee, and looked out the window.
The rain was still falling outside, and people on the street hurried past under their umbrellas.
The rain was still falling outside, and people on the street hurried past under their umbrellas.
It was warm inside the café, and the sweetness of the hot chocolate slowly melted on her tongue.
All at once, she felt as if it did not hurt quite so much anymore.
Bastian had not left Paris.
Annelise saw him every day on her way to and from work, standing at the café downstairs from the orchestra building, but each time she merely shifted her gaze away.
Sometimes she walked out the side door; sometimes she left ten minutes early.
She never accepted any kindness from Bastian.
***
After Talia was driven out of the Ryland residence, she slunk back to her hometown in disgrace.
But every day, as she scrolled on her phone and saw news about the Ryland family, the fire in her chest only burned hotter.
She found out that Annelise was in Paris, and then found out that Bastian had chased after her.
He had actually chased after her.
He had actually chased after her.
That man who had been icy toward her, who had not even spared her a glance, had actually pursued a woman he had abandoned long ago—all the way to Paris.
She hated it so much her teeth ached; she bought a plane ticket and flew to Paris too.
She found a small hotel near the concert hall and settled in, following Annelise every day.
She saw her at rehearsal, saw her after work, saw her eating with that man who played the piano, and saw Bastian standing across the street every day, keeping watch like an idiot.
Bastian had never kept watch over her like that, and the jealousy and hatred in her heart flared into a blaze.
She was going to ruin Annelise—ruin her completely.