His cheekbones are more prominent than before, and there are deep shadows under his eyes, as if he hadn't had a good night's sleep in a long time. But his posture is still the same—upright, cold, and hard, like a tree rooted in the wind.

He walked up to me and stopped.

"Hello, I am the person in charge of this delegation." His tone was as polite as a stranger’s. "Julian."

I opened my mouth, but my throat felt like someone was gripping it.

"You..."

"Tour Guide Clara?" He tilted his head slightly, his eyes as calm as stagnant water. "Not welcoming me?"

I took a deep breath, suppressed all my shock and emotions, and pulled out a standard professional smile: "Welcome, Mr. Julian, please come this way, the car is waiting outside."

Along the way, I sat in the front passenger seat, and he sat in the back.

There was not a single private conversation the whole time.

He asked about the itinerary professionally, and I answered professionally.

It seemed as if we were really just a tour guide and a client, as if we had never been married, as if we had never swapped bodies in that heavy rain, as if he had never secretly placed a plane ticket and a ring by my bedside while I was asleep.

When we arrived at the hotel, I helped him check in and handed him his room card.

"Mr. Julian, here is your room card."

He didn't take it, but lowered his head to look at me, and his eyes finally changed.

"Tour Guide Clara."

"Yes?"

"You've lost weight."

My fingers tightened abruptly, and the room card creaked in my grip.

"Mr. Julian, if there is nothing else, I will first..."

"There is something." He interrupted me, took a folder out of his briefcase, and handed it to me. "This is the detailed itinerary for this delegation. Please see if there are any problems."

I took it and opened it.

The first page was the itinerary, a dense comparison of French and Chinese.

The second page was the list of delegation members; I glanced at it without looking closely.

The third page...

The third page was not the itinerary, but a photo.

A photo of us on our wedding day; I was wearing a white veil and laughing with my eyes curved, and he was wearing a black suit with ears bright red.

My fingers began to tremble.

I flipped to the next page, and it was that note I had written—"When I have figured out how to live my own life, if you are still willing then, I will come back."

Below it was an extra line, in his handwriting:

"I have waited forty-five days, and I cannot wait any longer."

The hallway was very quiet, with only the occasional sound of a luggage cart wheeling by.

I lowered my head, staring at those words for a long time, long enough for the writing in front of me to start blurring.

"Clara." He stopped calling me Tour Guide Clara, his voice dropping, dropping until only I could hear it. "Forty-five days. Have you figured out how to live your own life?"

I looked up, my eyes already red.

"Julian, you shouldn't have come."

"I know."

"You said you respected my decision."

"I said 'wait for you to return,' not 'I will not come find you'." His voice was a bit raspy, as if it had been ground in his throat for a long time. "I respect your right to leave, but you didn't say I couldn't come find you."

Chapter 14

"You—"

"I asked Zhou for your flight information every day, wanting to know if you had secretly returned. I sent messages to Chen Qing every day, asking if you were eating well."

"The night you had a fever, I almost booked a flight to come over."

My tears finally fell.

He lifted his hand, wanting to touch my face, but stopped mid-air, ultimately just stuffing a tissue into my hand.

I clutched that stack of tissues, which still held his body heat, sniffled, and turned my face away to wipe my tears: "Why did you tell me these things?"

"Because I don't want to make you guess anymore." His eyes were also red, but his voice was as steady as a rock. "Before, I didn't say anything, and you felt I didn't care."

"Now I am telling you everything—I care, I care every single second."

People passed by in the hallway, looking at us curiously.

I turned my face away to wipe my tears, my voice muffled: "Julian, go back to your room first. There is a welcome banquet tonight, and I need to prepare."

"Okay." He took the room card, turned to walk two steps, then stopped again.

"Clara."

"Yes?"

"See you tonight."

He said "See you tonight," not "See you at the banquet."

He treated me as his wife, not as a tour guide.

At seven o'clock that evening, the welcome banquet.

I changed into a black dress and put on light makeup. I told myself this was work, not a date.

But when I walked to the door of the banquet hall, I stopped.

The door was ajar, and I saw Julian standing inside, talking to someone.

That person had their back to me, but I recognized her instantly—Selina.

She had come, too.

"Julian, I'm the one who pulled strings for this delegation for you, how do you plan to thank me?" Selina’s voice was cloyingly sweet.

Julian didn't answer.

His gaze swept past Selina’s shoulder and landed on the door.

Landed on me.

"Tour Guide Clara." He spoke, his voice calm. "Come in, everyone is here."

Selina spun around abruptly, and the moment she saw me, the smile on her face froze.

"Sister-in-law? How did you..."

"She is the tour guide for this delegation." Julian answered for her, his tone flat. "Is there a problem?"

Selina forced the smile back on, but her eyes had changed. "Of course there's no problem. With Sister-in-law here, I'm even more at ease."

I stood at the door, watching Selina hook her arm through Julian’s, watching him not pull away.

My heart felt like someone was gripping it.

But I didn't turn and leave.

I walked into the banquet hall, walked up to Julian, reached out, and took Selina’s hand off his arm, my movements light but firm.

"Ms. Selina." I said with a smile, my voice gentle but beyond questioning. "Mr. Julian is an important client of our group, and my job is to take good care of him. Don't worry, I will take care of him 'personally'."

Selina’s expression changed.

Julian looked down at me, the corners of his mouth curving slightly.

That arc was very small, small enough that only I could see it.

"Tour Guide Clara," he said softly, "trouble for you."

"No trouble." I looked up, meeting his eyes. "Mr. Julian’s affairs are my 'top priority'."

Selina stood on the side, watching our oblivious-to-others eye contact, her fingernails digging into her palms.

She turned and went to the restroom, took out her phone, and dialed a number.

"Auntie, she is also in Paris."

On the other end of the line was the voice of Julian’s mother: "Find a way to get rid of her."

"How?"

"Don't you know some locals? Let her have some sort of 'accident'."

Selina hung up the phone and smiled at herself in the mirror.

That wasn't a smile; it was a venomous snake flicking its tongue.

Chapter 15

The welcome banquet ended amidst the clinking of glasses.

I saw off the last group of guests and stood at the hotel entrance waiting for a taxi. The night wind in Paris was cold, raising goosebumps on my arms.

A black sedan pulled up in front of me. The rear window rolled down, revealing Julian’s face.

"Get in."

"No need, I’ll call a cab—"

"You can’t get a cab in this area at this hour." His tone allowed for no refusal. "Get in, I’ll take you back."

I hesitated for two seconds before pulling the door open and sitting inside.

The car was quiet, save for the low hum of the engine.

Julian sat beside me, less than an arm’s length away. I could smell the faint scent of cedarwood perfume on him—the exact same one I had gifted him.

"You’re still using that perfume?" I regretted the words the moment they left my lips.

"Yes." He turned to look at me. "You gave it to me, so I’ve kept using it."

I didn't respond, turning my head to look out the window.

The night view of Paris flowed past the glass, and the dim streetlights flickered by one after another like a revolving lantern.

"Why was Selina in the delegation?" I finally asked.

"She is a representative of the partnering firm." Julian paused. "But her purpose in coming to Paris is impure."

I turned to look at him. "What do you mean?"