Chapter 1
For five years of marriage, Emily Smithhad never been intimate with her husband.
All because Harold Anderson, the youngest senior physician, suffered from severe mysophobia.
Harold once said, “I dislike physical contact.”
Yet on their fifth anniversary, Emily traveled 7,944 kilometers through grueling journeys to see him.
Only to witness him removing soaked shoes and socks for another woman outside the Edinburgh medical institute.
“Still acting like a child, sweetheart? Can’t even take care of yourself?”
Torrential rain drenched Emily as she stood frozen, clutching roses like a
drenched chicken.
In the distance, the woman in a tailored suit tilted her head, laughing with
Harold.
Emily had never seen Harold show such a tender expression, as if all his icy edges had melted away.
As she spoke, he watched with a soft smile, his gaze never leaving her for
an instant.
Six years ago, Emily accidentally rear–ended Harold’s car. The moment he stepped out of the driver’s seat, she fell for him.
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Harold was the top surgeon at the hospital, known for his stern
composure. Emily, however, had always been outgoing and excelled at relentless pursuit.
Emily chased him for a full year before they finally got together. Only then did Emily discover how pathologically averse Harold was to physical contact.
In the five years since they got married, they’d only been intimate once. That was when Emily kissed him on the lips.
Harold reacted so violently he ran to the bathroom and threw up. Even though he later explained it was a reflex, not because of her, Emily nursed that hurt for ages.
This time, she came to see Harold because they’d been separated for a year.
A year ago, he’d been sent to the UK to lead an international medical project. As his wife, Emily barely ever got replies to her messages. Only when she asked about his parents would he respond with a few clipped words:
“Thanks for your hard work. I’ve transferred this month’s household allowance.”
To maintain their long–distance marriage after a year apart, Emily had planned a surprise for Harold today.
Never did she expect to witness this scene.
After what felt like eternity, Harold finally noticed Emily standing in the rain.
His smile faded slightly as he whispered something gentle to the woman
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before walking straight toward Emily with his umbrella.
“What are you doing here?” Irritation laced Harold’s voice.
Emily handed him the red roses, forcing a smile.
“Happy fifth anniversary.”
Before Harold could take them, the woman’s voice carried from afar, “Harold, the meeting’s starting.”
Expressionless, he said to Emily, “Follow me.”
Emily froze in place for a long moment before catching up to Harold.
As they approached the unfamiliar woman, she naturally fell into step beside Harold. They walked shoulder to shoulder ahead of Emily.
Whispers of work–related conversations drifted back to Emily. All medical jargon–esoteric terms she couldn’t grasp.
But Emily learned this woman was Sophia Brown, clearly familiar with
Harold.
Several times Emily tried to speak privately with Harold, only to be interrupted by Sophia’s deliberate or accidental interference.
Finally at the conference room entrance, Sophia turned to Emily and suddenly remarked in Spanish, “So this is your wife back home? Doesn’t match you at all.”
Whether intentional or not, Harold replied in Spanish.
“Matching doesn’t matter. As long as it works.”
Emily and Harold both assumed she couldn’t understand, but five years
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ago, when pursuing Harold, Emily had taken Spanish classes after learning he spoke the language.
After Sophia entered the conference room first, Harold finally looked at Emily, his tone still holding no warmth.
“I have a meeting. Wait here.”
It sounded like he was addressing a complete stranger.
Emily’s throat felt dry. “Alright.”
Once he disappeared into the conference room, she glanced down at the roses in her arms—already wilted.
Just like her relationship with Harold, sustained by her one–sided devotion for five years, all for nothing.
Emily wiped her rain–soaked face before tossing the unwanted bouquet into the non–recyclable bin nearby.
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