The difference between being loved and not being loved was so stark.
Claudia took a bite of the matcha truffle. It was bitter and tasted awful. She forced herself to swallow it, just like she was swallowing the endless bitterness in her heart.
She lost all appetite, and the food in her mouth tasted like ash.
York, as usual, ate in silence, his movements refined and elegant. The only sounds were the occasional clinking of their silverware. The atmosphere was suffocating.
He paused and looked at her. As a child, she had been a picky eater; as she grew up, she became the life of every meal, talking nonstop. When it was just the two of them, she would practically sit in his lap and beg him to feed her. He once thought she had ADHD and had even suggested her parents take her to a doctor.
Even when she was angry with him, she would cry, shout, and throw a tantrum. She was never like this.
York tugged at his collar, annoyed.
Just then, a text message lit up the screen of his phone on the table. He glanced at it and then turned the screen off. As he was about to refill Claudia's glass with juice, the phone started to vibrate.
He thought about it for a second, then didn't pick up and went to get her more juice. But before he could even put the jug down, his phone started buzzing again.
Their eyes met. York's expression darkened.
Claudia's gaze fell on his incessantly vibrating phone. In all the years she had known him, she would, at most, call him once if she needed something. If he didn't answer, she would send a message. She might send dozens of texts, but she would never dare to bombard him with calls. That was a rule he had set. Besides, she knew he was busy and often in important meetings, so she never wanted to bother him.
This call, however, was clearly from his old flame. She could see the urgency in his eyes, but not a trace of anger.
When the fourth call came through, York finally spoke. "I'll leave the driver for you. Go home and get some rest. Don't wait up for me."

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