“Your mother has passed, and crying won’t change that—so wipe your face, prepare dinner, and don’t look like a mourning child when my guests show up,” my husband told me only two hours after I returned

I, who had been standing like a statue in a corner near the kitchen door, was startled. My heart was pounding. I felt very ashamed. My appearance was not at all appropriate to receive a guest like Mr. Harrison. My clothes were damp from washing dishes. My eyes were very swollen. And my face was pale and without makeup. I wanted to hide, to run to a back room and not come out until everyone had left. But in this house, Mark’s orders were law, especially in front of his boss. With heavy steps, I went to the kitchen to prepare the tea. My hands trembled as I took out the best porcelain cup we had left in the cabinet.

My mind was in chaos. Why was Mr. Harrison here? Mark said he hadn’t invited him. Was it a coincidence, or was there some urgent matter? As I poured the hot water, I could hear Mark’s voice in the living room, still trying to explain the party. Mark lied. He said the party had been organized at the request of his friends, who wanted to celebrate his success, and that he had felt bad refusing. He tried to create an image of a loyal team leader, beloved by his subordinates. I smiled bitterly upon hearing his lies. My tears fell again into the teacup. I wiped them away hastily. I must not cry in front of the distinguished guest.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the turmoil in my chest, and returned to the living room with a tray containing the cup of hot tea. When I returned to the living room, the atmosphere was still silent and tense. Mr. Harrison had not sat down. He was still standing in the middle of the room, rejecting Mark’s offer to sit on the sofa. Mark looked even more uneasy. Sweat was already soaking the collar of his shirt. Jessica stood next to Mark, trying to maintain a friendly smile, but her smile seemed forced as she was ignored. As I approached with the tray in my hands, Mr.

Harrison suddenly turned towards me. His movement was abrupt and focused. His gaze, which was cold when he looked at Mark, transformed into something difficult to interpret when it fell on my face. There was surprise, scrutiny, and also a flash of deep compassion. My steps stopped instantly, paralyzed by the intensity of that middle-aged man’s gaze. The distance between us was only a few feet. Realizing that Mr. Harrison was looking at me, Mark hastily stepped in between us. He blocked Mr. Harrison’s line of sight as if ashamed to acknowledge my presence. With a dismissive tone, he said that I was just his wife helping with the guests and apologized if my appearance offended Mr.

Harrison’s sight. Mark even added the foolish excuse that I wasn’t feeling well, which was why my face was pale and lifeless. He tried to divert Mr. Harrison’s attention back to him, talking about the sales targets for the next month that he had already surpassed, but Mark’s efforts were in vain. Mr. Harrison did not listen at all to Mark’s ramblings about sales figures or marketing strategies. Mr. Harrison raised his hand slightly, a firm signal for Mark to be quiet. Mark’s mouth closed instantly. His sentence was cut off mid-thought. The room fell silent again. It even seemed like people were holding their breath. Mr. Harrison moved past a petrified Mark and walked directly towards me.

I felt my heart stop. I dared not look him in the eye and lowered my head, afraid of making some mistake that could anger Mark even more or even get him fired. My hands, holding the tray, trembled more forcefully, causing the teacup on it to clink slightly. Mr. Harrison stopped right in front of me. An elegant and expensive cologne emanated from his body, masking the smell of food that permeated my clothes. Unexpectedly, Mr. Harrison extended his hand, not for the teacup, but to steady the tray that was about to fall from my trembling hands. His touch was firm and warm, conveying a strange sense of security.