Chapter 1

At the wedding tasting, Brent Gilbert, my private-chef boyfriend, set down a bowl of longevity noodles in front of Rachel Fox, his childhood sweetheart. The dish wasn't even on the menu.

When it was my turn, he told the server to take away my favorite sweet-and-sour crispy fish.

"Swap it for plain steamed fish. Two hundred cheaper, and better suited to real life."

Rachel slurped her noodles and laughed.

"Don't take it the wrong way. He remembers I don't eat cilantro, but he always forgets what you like."

I looked at the two heart-shaped fried eggs nestled in her bowl, and suddenly I thought back over these seven years.

When I ran a fever, he made me plain porridge, because it was easy.

When she couldn't sleep, he spent three days learning to cook medicinal broth, because she deserved to be cared for properly.

Even at our own wedding banquet, he'd cut my favorite dishes one by one, just to leave a whole hidden menu for her.

I didn't fight about it. I only set down my chopsticks and canceled the banquet and the marriage-license appointment.

The next day, he was still in the group chat telling friends and family the wedding was going ahead as planned.

What he didn't know was that the bride had already signed on to a deep-sea research vessel that wouldn't touch land for half a year.

...

I walked out of that suffocating private room.

Brent didn't come after me.

Rachel did, though, carrying that half-eaten bowl of longevity noodles.

She stopped in front of me and deliberately lifted the one whole heart-shaped egg with her chopsticks.

"Savvy, don't be angry with Brent."

"He's just too plain and honest. He thinks family shouldn't bother with all that empty stuff."

Family?

He and I hadn't even signed the paperwork, and she was already counting herself in.

I couldn't be bothered to watch her perform. I walked straight to the restroom.

I bent over the sink, dry-heaving until the tears choked up out of me.

Footsteps came from behind.

Brent had finally followed.

He was holding a bowl of plain porridge the kitchen had packed up, still steaming.

"Your stomach's bad. Stop being upset, eat something light."

He held the porridge out to me, a coaxing note in his voice.

I looked at that bowl of porridge, and suddenly I wanted to laugh.

Three years ago, I had emergency surgery for appendicitis, and after the anesthesia wore off I was in agony.

He stayed with me at the hospital all night, and the next morning, he brought me a bowl of plain porridge just like this one.

I asked him why he hadn't made something else.

He said, "Porridge is easy, and it's easy to digest."

Back then I thought he really was worried about me, that he understood me.

Now I could see it. Easy was the whole point.

Just like today, taking away a crispy fish that took real care to cook, and swapping in a simple steamed one.

Cheap, easy, suited to real life.

I looked up at him, this man I'd loved for seven years.

"Brent, do you remember? When you were chasing me, you spent a whole month learning to make sweet-and-sour crispy fish."

"Your hands were covered in burns, and you lied to me that the oil had splattered you."

He clearly froze, then gave me a smile that was part nostalgia, part helplessness.

"We're an old married couple now. Why bring that up?"

"Real life is different from when I was just starting the business."

When he was just starting out, he'd cross the whole city to buy a limited-edition lipstick, just to surprise me.

Now, he'd cut my favorite dish from my own wedding banquet to save two hundred dollars.

An alarm went off, sharp and urgent.

He pulled out his phone at once, glanced at it, and his brow smoothed.

Then he turned, stepped past me, and carefully reminded Rachel where she stood a little way off.

"Rachel, it's time, you need to take your medicine. Remember to use warm water."

Rachel nodded obediently and gave him a sweet smile.

In that moment, the last bit of warmth in me was gone.

I gripped my phone.

The screen was still lit, showing an email I'd just received.

The sender was the national marine research team.

The subject line read: 【Invitation: The "Heart of the Deep Blue" Program】.

Calmly, I took the bowl of porridge out of his hands and, right in front of him, poured the whole thing into the trash can beside us.

He stared at me, stunned.

"Savannah Pruitt, what are you doing!"

I didn't say a word. I just pushed the empty bowl back into his hands and turned to leave.

That night, I sat on the couch in the living room until dawn, and the screen of my phone stayed dark the whole time.