It was already 9 pm when I reached the bar. I stepped inside the glass door and silently sat on the bar stool, lowering my gaze. I wasn't here to socialize with someone, but rather to see a certain editor who promised to talk only about work and nothing personal.

I pursed my lips. I remembered that when I had started getting ready after dinner tonight, my husband's gaze was exceptionally filled with depression. It seemed as if he wanted to stop me, but couldn't due to some inexplicable reasons.

I applied make-up and used a mirror to see my reflection. After that, I used a pencil eyeliner and mascara...