Chapter 9: Chapter 9 A Password of Shame
Rose stared at the message, her mind going blank for several long seconds.
She had not expected Margaret to take this so seriously, nor had she imagined that arranging a new match for her had already progressed this far.
It felt as though events had accelerated beyond her control, like a cart rolling downhill with no one left to steer it.
She called back.
"Grandma, I really don’t have the headspace for this right now."
She pressed her fingers against her throbbing temple, trying to steady herself.
Even knowing that Margaret meant well, the weight of that concern felt overwhelming, almost suffocating.
"But I’ve already arranged the meeting," Margaret replied, her tone gentle yet firm, leaving little room for refusal. "Just think of it as meeting a new friend. It never hurts to widen your circle. We can talk about everything else later, all right?"
Rose opened her mouth, but before she could respond—
"Eight o’clock tonight. Dress appropriately."
Margaret, as if anticipating further objections, cut her off and ended the call decisively.
Rose stood there, phone still in hand, unsure whether to laugh or sigh.
She understood Margaret’s intentions—she wanted to see her settled, wanted to pave the way for her future before this marriage was fully put to rest.
Still, good intentions could sometimes come on too strong, and this felt like being pushed into deep water before she had learned how to swim.
She glanced at the time. Six-thirty.
After a moment’s hesitation, she picked up her coat again.
If she refused outright, explaining herself later would only become more complicated; if she went, she could at least make things clear face to face—that she had neither the desire nor the intention to meet anyone new.
---
The meeting was arranged at Skyview Club, one of New York’s most exclusive venues, a place whose reputation rivaled the finest private entertainment clubs in the country.
Her electronic ticket indicated the fifth floor, which housed private dining suites and performance lounges.
After confirming the room number, Rose paused at the door, checked it once more, and knocked.
No response.
Either no one had heard, or they had not arrived yet. Without overthinking it, she gently pushed the door open.
The moment her eyes fell on the scene inside, she froze.
Someone was already there.
Ryan stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, one hand casually tucked into his pocket, his tall silhouette outlined by the glow of the city lights beyond the glass.
Samantha faced him, standing on her toes as she adjusted his tie. Then their eyes met, and she leaned in, pressing her lips to his.
Seeing it with her own eyes still struck Rose like a blow, leaving her mind blank for a few seconds.
Seven years of marriage, whatever feelings had once existed, could not simply vanish overnight, no matter how often she told herself her heart was already dead.
Instinctively, she moved to close the door.
Before she could, a small pair of hands shoved her hard.
"You bad witch! Why are you spying on my sister?"
Rose looked down.
A boy of five or six stood in front of her, round and sturdy like a little cannonball, his face full of the unchecked arrogance of a child who had never been told no.
His voice carried, loud and shrill, and the people inside immediately noticed. The door was pushed fully open.
Ryan remained composed, his gaze settling on Rose’s pale face.
"What are you doing here?"
There was no anger in his tone, no embarrassment, not even a trace of surprise, as though he were merely an uninvolved observer in this confrontation.
The door to the adjacent suite opened as well.
A man leaned lazily against the frame, raising an eyebrow—it was James Taylor, Ryan’s longtime friend, closer to him than most family.
"Don’t tell me you followed us here," James said with a grin that sounded like teasing, though the implication was clear enough.
Samantha stood beside Ryan and drew the boy toward her.
"This is a private gathering," she said coolly. "Don’t you think it’s inappropriate for you to be here?"
"Hey, isn’t she the bad witch who stole your house?" the boy—Mike—chirped, sticking his tongue out at Rose.
Samantha ruffled his hair affectionately, neither confirming nor denying.
James watched Rose with interest, as though waiting for her to lose her temper.
The boy’s words were rude, certainly, but considering what Rose had "done" in the past, it seemed justified in the eyes of those present.
At least, that was how they chose to see it.
"Smart kid," James remarked lightly, which only made Mike puff up with pride.
He clutched Ryan’s hand tightly and glared at Rose in open defiance.
Ryan did not correct him. He simply watched Rose with his usual detached expression.
By now, everything had fallen into place in Rose’s mind.
Margaret had deceived her. The person she was meant to meet had never been some eligible bachelor—it had always been Ryan.
Margaret had hoped they might reconcile, though she clearly had not anticipated that he would arrive with Samantha and her younger brother.
There was no place for her here.
Rose did not look at Samantha, nor did she spare Ryan another glance. Instead, she crouched down, bringing herself level with Mike.
"Yes, I’m a witch," she said calmly. "A witch who specializes in eating ill-mannered children like you."
Samantha’s expression darkened immediately. Mike did not fully understand her words, but at that age, pride ran deep. Hearing himself described as rude and unlikable made his face flush bright red, and he burst into tears, tugging at Ryan’s sleeve.
"Make her apologize! Make her say sorry! Waaah—!"
Ryan looked down at Rose. "Arguing with a child—how old are YOU?"
Another accusation, delivered as though it were self-evident, placing the blame squarely on her shoulders.
Rose laughed—not because anything was amusing, but because anger had reached its limit, and laughter was the only outlet left.
"Teaching basic manners is what adults are supposed to do, isn’t it?" she said evenly. "If you failed to do that, and I say a word, suddenly I’m the one at fault?"
Ryan’s expression grew colder.
Samantha held Mike, who was still crying, and frowned. "Rose. What kind of person argues with a child?"
As she spoke, her gaze flicked to the phone in Rose’s hand, something shifting subtly in her eyes.
"Why do I feel like you were secretly recording us just now?" she said, staring at her. "Let me see your phone."
Rose almost laughed out loud. The audacity was astonishing.
"No."
Before the word had fully left her lips, the phone was no longer in her hand.
Ryan had stepped in without her noticing. Holding her phone, he entered the passcode with practiced ease, and the screen unlocked instantly.
In that moment, Rose went rigid, humiliation surging through her like a tidal wave.
She had never hidden anything from him—her phone, her laptop, her bank cards.
The passwords had almost always been his birthday.
Perhaps she had been too busy lately, or perhaps she had simply grown too accustomed to that sequence of numbers. Either way, she had forgotten to change it.
And now, at the very end of their marriage, he had used his own birthday to unlock her phone.
James noticed as well and chuckled. "WOW, that’s a rather sweet password."
Rose had no energy to respond.
There was only one thing on her mind—inside that phone were photos and messages from Ariel, and Ryan absolutely could not see them.
Ryan casually opened the photo gallery. The thumbnails were too small to make out clearly, but several appeared to show a child.
Before he could look closer, a faint citrus scent brushed past him.
Rose’s heart clenched. Without thinking, she lunged forward and snatched the phone back—
Crash!
She slammed it onto the floor. The screen shattered instantly, splintering beyond recognition.
The sudden act left the entire room in stunned silence.
Comments