Chapter 1

After carefully choosing among countless suitors, the eldest daughter of the Quinn family chose to marry a man who was as good as a mute.

…

The first year after their wedding, Frost Quinn came down with a high fever in the middle of the night. Barely conscious, she sent Peter Lynch ten voice messages begging him to come home, but there were no replies.

The second year, while overseas, she was mugged on the street and nearly had her throat slit. She called Peter, who was nearby, pleading for help. Those 20 calls were answered.

In the fifth year, her car's central control failed on the highway. She was pregnant, hemorrhaging badly, and on the brink of death. The doctors needed a guardian's signature to operate, yet none of their calls connected.

Desperate, she signed her own name. As she lay on the operating table, she felt the baby's heartbeat fade away, bit by bit, until it was all gone. That was when she finally gave up.

The moment she came out of surgery, she stormed straight into Peter's office with a hammer and smashed his phone to pieces.

"If you never answer your messages or calls, what the hell do you even need this thing for?"

Peter stood calmly to the side, watching her rage without a word.

But then, amidst the hammering, his broken phone suddenly let out a special notification chime. It was a text message. However, the sound ended abruptly with her furious hammering.

For the first time, his composure cracked. He grabbed his car keys and rushed downstairs.

Frost hailed a cab and followed.

…

Half an hour later, his car stopped at a luxury apartment complex.

Under the blazing sun, Frost saw a pale woman waddle out from the building, with one hand on her pregnant belly. From the side, she seemed to be very young.

Peter hurried up to her, listening to her tearful complaints, then carefully scooped her up in his arms.

"Don't be scared. The baby will be fine…"

His low, gentle voice drifted to Frost through the car window. Her fingers dug into the glass so hard her nails cracked and blood seeped out.

She never knew her husband, who had ignored her for five long years, could reply instantly to a text, could show worry, gentleness, and care for someone.

Moreover, it was to another woman… pregnant with a child.

Frost trembled, then laughed through her tears.

Of all days, it had to be today, the day she lost their baby, that she saw this. Oh, the irony.

She returned home, dazed, and collapsed on the bed.

That night, she dreamed of her child. The child called her Mommy, and she kept apologizing repeatedly.

Then, a sharp pain gripped her wrist. She woke up to Peter's cold, furious face.

"Melanie lost her baby because of you. You went crazy and smashed my phone, so I didn't see her message in time," he said flatly.

The calmer his tone, the tighter his grip grew, until her wrist felt ready to shatter.

Frost gave a bitter laugh. "Dead? Good. Why should my baby die while yours lives?"

His expression twisted with rage.

Moments later, he climbed on the bed and tore at her clothes. He muttered like a madman, "You owe her a child. You'll carry one and miscarry to make things even."

"Peter Lynch!" she screamed, her heart numb from the pain.

She had just told him her child… their child… was gone, yet he didn't seem to have heard it. So, in his world, even when face-to-face, she was just as good as invisible. Every word from her was like a message left on read.

She fought back, her fingers brushing the fruit knife on the nightstand. She grabbed it and plunged it into his chest.

She hated him so much that she wanted him dead, yet he didn't.

He only sustained a minor wound.

…

A few days later, Frost went to the hospital with her lawyer. Peter was in bed, hosting an online business meeting. He didn't even glance at her.

His phone chimed again with the same special tone. He looked down, stopped the meeting, and typed out a long reply.

Frost caught a glimpse of the name on the screen—Melanie Johnson.

She felt her chest tighten, overwhelmed by disappointment.

So he was capable of responding instantly; he could stop a meeting for someone, but just not her. They chatted for ten minutes before he resumed work.

…

An hour later, the meeting finally ended.

Frost finally spoke. "Let's get divorced. You're the one at fault, so I want extra compensation."

Peter looked up, mildly surprised. "Melanie's baby wasn't mine. I never crossed any physical boundaries with her, and I never will." Then, his tone hardened. "But I'll take care of her as best as I can. You'd better not lay a finger on her."

That guarded look stabbed right through Frost's heart.

She asked, "How long have you two been together? Why…"

"A year." He ignored the second question. Instead, he pulled a photo of Melanie from his wallet and handed it to her. Then, he signed the divorce papers without hesitation.

"Hopefully, this time next month, you'll actually show up at the courthouse," he mocked.

Frost didn't answer. She stared intently at the wallet, as if trying to burn a hole through it with her gaze. It was the place where he'd never once kept her photo.

After a long silence, she glanced at the picture of Melanie, then took a deep breath. "I'll be there."

He didn't believe her. He was too used to her pursuing him. After all, she had survived five years of marriage with thousands of unreplied messages.

However, this time, she was done, completely disillusioned.

As she reached the door, he called after her. "By the way, that villa in the southern suburbs that you liked? I transferred it to Melanie. It's surrounded by trees and fresh air. It's good for her recovery after the miscarriage."

Frost clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms. "I told you before—that house was my first gift for our baby. Even if… she's gone now."

There was no response.

When she looked back, Peter was already typing on his phone, his attention completely elsewhere.

She scoffed, then turned and walked out quickly, hoping that distance would erase the years of pain behind her.

In the car, she pulled out Melanie's photo again. She couldn't stop her fingers from trembling.

The resemblance was uncanny. Melanie looked almost identical to Peter's dead first love, the woman he had truly wanted to marry.

Five years ago, the Lynch Group's finances had collapsed. The Quinn family offered a lifeline on one condition—a marriage between the two families.

Frost's father, Daniel Quinn, had seen through her crush on Peter and agreed, hoping to help his daughter find happiness.

When the families met, she stared boldly at Peter, her eyes full of stars.

However, the first thing he said was that he wanted to marry Tara Lloyd, Frost's stepsister.

That was when Frost learned they'd been lovers all along.

Daniel refused to take the risk for an outsider and withdrew the offer. He then tried to persuade her to give up on Peter. "Sweetheart, love has to go both ways. Otherwise, you'll just suffer."

Frost tried to let go, but then Peter came to her privately. He was desperate to save his family, so he said he wanted to marry her.

One dinner was all it took for her to fall for him. She convinced herself that he'd changed his mind for her, that he'd eventually fall in love.

Their wedding, funded by Daniel, was magnificent.

It should've been a day to remember forever, but before the banquet ended, tragedy struck—Tara took her own life.

The celebrations stopped then and there.

All Frost remembered afterward was Peter's back as he ran out of the hall, her stepmother's screams, the gossip, and Daniel's sorrowful eyes.

Their honeymoon was canceled, and everything fell apart.

For the first six months of marriage, Peter didn't reply to messages, saying he preferred phone calls. Then, when Lynch Group's business took off, he stopped answering calls altogether.

He became a black hole. She poured all her emotions into it, and nothing came back.

When she broke down and confronted him, he threw a chat record in her face.

Before Tara died, she'd messaged him for help. However, Frost had been dragging him around, making toasts, so he missed it.

He blamed Frost just as much as he blamed himself.

And now, with Melanie looking almost exactly like the woman he couldn't save, Peter had found someone new to protect. With Melanie around, all of his affection went to her instead of Frost.

Frost snapped out of her thoughts, crushed the photo into a ball, and tossed it aside.

In the mirror, she barely recognized the woman staring back—pale skin, messy hair, and hollow eyes. She looked like a madwoman.

For five years, she'd clung to Peter, refusing to let go.

The more he ignored her, the harder she tried, like an addict craving one last hit of attention.

However, in the end, she'd only pushed herself further into ruin—breaking down, going mad, healing alone.

Finally, she pulled out her phone and dialed a number she hadn't called in five years, asking, "Does that promise from five years ago still count?"

Chapter 2

Back when Frost was getting married, one man had tried to stop her a total of three times.

She'd wanted a relationship based on love, but he'd only wanted sex.

He said, "Peter's too stiff. Trust me, he's going to be just as dull in bed. You, on the other hand? You need someone passionate."

She had laughed. "Oh? And who's that someone? You?"

He raised an eyebrow and remained noncommittal. "Frost, I bet you two won't last five years. If I win that bet, promise me you'll consider me first."

…

"I'm still single, so that promise counts."

The response from the familiar voice over the phone pulled Frost out of her thoughts.

"I'll be divorced in a month, but I'm not looking for love," she commented. "I just need someone to waste time with and to help me loosen up a little."

The man on the other end laughed. "You have a deal! Babe, I'll humor you."

After hanging up, Frost went home, tidied herself up, and started preparing for the death anniversary of her mother, Chloe Sutton.

Daniel had always treated that day with great care.

…

The next morning, when they met at the memorial, Peter was nowhere in sight.

Daniel frowned and asked, "He couldn't even take an hour off? Again?"

Frost looped her arm through his and forced a smile. "Dad, we're getting divorced. I'm the one who asked for it. Whether he comes or not doesn't matter anymore."

He stared at her for a long time, then gently patted her head. "Good girl. You're right to cut your losses early."

After a brief prayer to Chloe, they went to the kitchen to cook her mom's favorite dishes.

Just as they finished setting the table, Peter's parents, Martha Flemming and Martin Lynch, stormed in, their faces twisted with fury.

Without warning, Martha slapped Frost hard across the face.

"Daniel! This 'wonderful' daughter of yours just stabbed my son and didn't even stay in the hospital to take care of him. What kind of wife does that?"

Frost snapped back to her senses, stepped in front of her father, and returned a slap at Martha without hesitation. Then, she snatched Martha's phone and dialed Peter's number.

The call connected instantly. It seemed he could answer quickly after all.

Frost sneered. "Your parents are in my house, acting like thugs. Get them out of here right now. Today's my mother's memorial!"

Peter's voice came through as calm as ever. "I can't… leave the hospital right now."

Then came a sweet, girlish tone from the background. "Pete, which couch do you think looks better in the villa you gave me? Why don't you give them a try and help me choose?"

It was Melanie.

Frost's grip on the phone tightened until her knuckles turned white. Just as she opened her mouth, she heard him say gently, "No ice for you. You're not in the condition for cold stuff."

Then, the call cut off.

Frost stood there motionless, her gaze cast down like a statue.

Martha mocked, "After slapping me, his mother, do you really think he's going to take your side? Dream on. He's never loved you, not once in the past five years!"

She smirked and flipped the entire table over, sending the dishes crashing to the floor. The frame of Frost's late mother shattered against the tiles.

Frost froze, then grabbed her trembling father by the arm and glared at the in-laws she had once treated with respect. "I used to put up with you because I cared about Peter. But now, I don't give a damn about him. What makes you think I'll care about you?"

Right after that, she stormed out, bringing two bodyguards with her. They drove straight to the Lynch residence.

While the guards stood by to keep her safe, Frost picked up a baseball bat and went to work, smashing everything from the living room to Martha's beloved walk-in closet.

Crashes echoed through the house, accompanied by Martha's shrill scream over her ruined jewelry.

That was when Peter appeared, striding in and grabbing Frost's wrist. "Are you done yet?"

Frost looked up at him, panting, and laughed softly. "Oh, looks like you found the time after all. It didn't even take you 15 minutes!"

She shoved him away, dropped the bat, and headed for the door.

Someone was standing there—half hiding, half peeking inside. When the woman saw Frost, she quickly said, "Please don't be mad. It's all my fault that Pete got delayed. He didn't mean to ignore you…"

Melanie again, with that practiced, gentle tone. Frost couldn't be bothered to engage and brushed past her.

However, Melanie suddenly flinched backward dramatically, letting out a soft yelp as she fell to the floor, screaming, "My stomach hurts…"

"Melanie!" Peter rushed forward to pick her up, bumping into Frost's shoulder.

The impact wasn't enough to knock Frost off balance, but a sudden stabbing pain from her abdomen hit her hard. Her vision blurred, and she dropped to her knees.

Through the haze of pain, she saw him lifting Melanie in his arms, tender and protective, as if she were something precious.

Melanie's face, rosy and radiant from Peter's doting care, showed not a trace of pain.

When Frost's knees hit the floor, the sound made Peter frown. "Are you seriously trying to fake an injury now? Trying to make yourself the victim?"

Martha snorted with laughter.

Frost almost laughed out loud, too.

How had she, the pampered daughter of the Quinn family, allowed herself to become this pathetic?

She gritted her teeth and used the doorframe to slowly pull herself up.

Martha watched her coldly. "Melanie's gentle. She suits Peter better."

"Indeed," Frost agreed between breaths, forcing a smile. "For a family that mooched off the Quinn family's fortune without a shred of gratitude, someone like her—a cheap masseur who'll hop into bed for a mere 800 dollars—fits right in."

Chapter 3

"Shut up!" Peter barked sharply as he took two steps forward.

As he did, Melanie used the momentum to kick hard at Frost.

Frost staggered back, almost falling again. She barely caught herself by gripping onto the doorframe.

Pain bloomed hot and sharp in her abdomen. Her chest throbbed where the heel of that woman's shoe had left a dusty gray print. It was like a mark of humiliation, like a brand that summed up her entire marriage.

It was rare for Peter to lose his composure. Too bad it was over a woman who worked in a dingy foot massage parlor.

Frost had looked into it. Melanie wasn't anyone respectable. She was just someone who sold herself for money, yet she'd somehow managed to make Peter anxious, protective, and behave recklessly for her sake.

And now, she was even acting all high and mighty in his house.

Frost slowly lifted her head. Cold sweat slid into her eyes, blurring her vision. In her eyes, Peter's face turned into an unfamiliar shadow. He looked nothing like the man she had once fallen for.

Perhaps they had both changed beyond recognition over the years.

"Clean yourself up before you come downstairs. I married a lady, not a lunatic," he ordered flatly.

Frost tilted her head and gave him a crooked smile. "Peter, why aren't you dead yet?"

Then, she lunged, driving the utility knife in her palm straight toward him.

For a long time, Peter didn't even process that he was stabbed a second time. It wasn't until his parents yanked Frost away from him in a panic that he finally came to.

He stared blankly into her eyes and asked with an unsteady voice, "Do you really… want me dead?"

Frost's eyes were bloodshot. The word "Yes" barely reached her lips when Martha screamed, "She… She's bleeding! She's bleeding a lot!"

Everyone turned toward the direction she was pointing. Blood was spreading rapidly across Frost's dress, with the darkest stain pooling between her thighs.

"Frost!"

Ignoring his own wound, Peter shot up and pulled her into his arms, panic breaking through his composure for the first time.

"What's happening? Hey… Get the car! Get a car ready! Now!"

Frost's eyes had already lost focus. Her hand clutched the hallway railing with desperate strength. Her breath came in shallow wisps.

"Guards… take me… to the hospital… Guards… Nanny… Anyone…"

"I'll take you! You'll be fine. You'll be—"

He tried to pry her fingers loose, but she wouldn't let go.

"I don't believe you!" she suddenly screamed, her voice ragged and raw. "You're never this kind. You've never cared about me! You won't! Guards! Someone! Help me!"

Only when the female bodyguard grabbed her hand did Frost finally relax and pass out.

Peter ran with her in his arms all the way to the car, his hands trembling as he cradled her head.

He was used to her fury, to her sharp tongue and cold defiance, but he had never seen her like this, so pale and fragile.

Sweat and blood soaked her dress. She looked like she could shatter with the slightest touch.

Peter pressed his cheek to her cold one, whispering over and over, "It's okay…"

He wasn't sure if he was saying it to her or to himself.

…

When Frost woke up, it was already night.

"Ms. Quinn, how are you feeling? Shall I call the doctor?" the female bodyguard, Devon Brown, asked, hurrying over.

Only she and another male bodyguard were in the hospital room.

"Where's Peter?" Frost's voice was barely above a whisper.

"Ms. Johnson… was hospitalized too. Mr. Lynch went to her room about an hour ago." Devon hesitated, then added, "Your father called. I told him you were out with some girlfriends."

"Well done."

Frost reached for her phone. From her photo album, she pulled up an old video of her drinking at a bar and sent it to her father. Hopefully, that would be enough to make him think she was fine.

When she backed out of the chat, she saw a new friend request notification from a user named Mel.

The moment she accepted it, Mel sent a stream of photos.

"The day I miscarried, Pete stayed by my bedside all night. He fell asleep like this."

"When I called him crying, saying I couldn't handle losing the baby, he came right over to comfort me while still in his hospital gown."

"Just now I said my stomach hurt again, and he's been feeding me polenta and peeling fruit. Ms. Quinn, do you know how good your husband is with a knife?"

Frost stared at the photo of a perfectly spiraled fruit peel. It was thin, even, and elegant.

No, that was something she never knew.

"It's fine if you look down on me, Ms. Quinn. As long as Pete doesn't, that's enough for me. You almost died from all that bleeding. Poor thing. I'll be nice and let Pete come check on you, okay?"

…

A minute later, Peter walked into the room. He looked at Frost with an expression she couldn't read.

Just then, the attending doctor entered.

Peter turned to him. "Why did she bleed so much?"

The doctor gave him a startled look.

The doctor was just about to inform Peter that Frost had miscarried once before and never allowed herself to make a full recovery.

Chapter 4

However, Frost quickly spoke up, speaking over the doctor's voice. "I know my own condition. There's no need for you to ask."

Peter sat down beside the bed and watched her for a long time before gently taking her hand. "I asked the chef to make some polenta. Would you like some?"

She smirked faintly. "Sure."

He opened the insulated container, poured out a small bowl, and scooped a spoonful to her lips. It was the same style of polenta that Melanie liked, and he fed it to her in the same way.

Frost slapped his hand away. The bowl flew from his grip, crashing onto the floor.

She took a tissue and slowly wiped her fingers. "Sorry, I hate sweet polenta," she apologized. "The chef has worked for us for five years and still doesn't know my taste? What a terrible hire. You should fire him."

Peter called someone in to clean up, all the while remaining as calm as ever. "What would you like to eat? I'll have the chef make another batch."

Frost didn't answer.

He picked up his phone and asked the chef about her preferences, listing the dishes one by one, all the while watching her face for a reaction.

Finally, he decided, mentioning, "Shrimp and polenta. Make that one."

Frost said coldly, "What happened to me has nothing to do with the Lynch family. You can go now. No need to waste your time here. We're divorced."

Peter ignored her. He went to the bathroom, wrung out a towel, and came back to wipe her hands and face.

Once upon a time, she'd begged him to stay, and he ignored her. Now that she told him to leave, he still seemed to be ignoring her all the same.

Frost threw her cup of water at him. "Get out!"

Despite his shirt being thoroughly soaked, he didn't flinch. Instead, he gathered everything from the bedside table and placed it within her reach.

"Keep throwing. Once you're done, we'll clean you up again. Being covered in sweat, you'll be the uncomfortable one in the end."

She complied, throwing every single thing she could reach at him.

When she ran out, he picked them up and put them back for her to throw again.

By the third round, Frost's strength gave out. She sat there, motionless, while he wiped her body with the gentleness of someone tending to an old, frail patient.

After he was done feeding her, his phone chimed with a familiar tone. He stood up. "Melanie's still recovering. I should go check on her."

He didn't come back that night.

…

The next morning, Frost's friend—the very same doctor—came to check on her and asked, "Why did you hide the miscarriage from him last night?

"When he brought you in for emergency care, his whole chest was covered in blood. People told him to get bandaged, but he just wouldn't go until you came out of surgery. Frost, if you'd seen how lost he looked, you'd know he really does care about you."

Frost replied, "I know. I was half-conscious then. I felt it."

She turned her gaze toward the window. The sharpness of the sunlight caused her to squint. "That's what scares me. I'm scared that if he shows me a little kindness, I'll fall again. My boundaries with him… are paper-thin."

But between them stood a chasm, one of a human life. It was one that neither could move past. Peter would never cross that boundary to meet her in the middle.

…

This round of hospitalization left Frost weak. She stayed in the hospital for five days, then rested at home for another week.

For those five days, Peter did something unprecedented. He pushed aside all his work to take care of her himself.

During the next week, he claimed to be away on a business trip. However, Frost knew from the photos and videos Melanie kept sending that he had brought her along.

Peter used to hate mixing business with personal matters. When they first got married, Frost had offered to travel with him to help with his schedule, but he refused, blaming she was too playful.

Now? She'd lost count of how many times he'd made exceptions for Melanie.

"I told Pete I'd never been to Stanlow, so he took me with him! Your husband is so thoughtful," she informed. "He brought me to a revolving restaurant, a theme park, and he even promised he'd show me more of the world in the future."

"He took all these pictures for me. I love taking photos, and he helped me for two hours straight. He's so patient, and talented, too!"

Frost had never experienced any of that. She never knew Peter was so softhearted and easygoing, or that he could take such beautiful photos.

The irony stung.

She was learning about her own husband through another woman.

Frost typed a reply. "Where are the photos of you two in bed? Or have you yet to get in bed with him?"

The chat went silent.

…

She tossed her phone aside and called the housekeeper. "Pack up everything that belongs to Peter into a box."

This was the home Daniel had brought her, the one she had designed herself when she still believed in love.

A week after the divorce, it was Peter who was supposed to move out.

Chapter 5

After returning home from his business trip, Peter felt that something in the house had changed. However, since Frost often liked to rearrange the decor, he didn't think much of it and handed her a gift.

"My work's finally settled down for now. I can take three days off to spend with you. Where do you want to go? Getting out a bit would be good for your health."

Frost froze in shock.

All these years, he had never once taken the initiative to accompany her anywhere. The countless travel plans she'd once made so eagerly had all been canceled because of the same excuse—too busy, no time.

The rejection that had long since become a reflex rose to her lips. However, in her mind, she saw again those itineraries she'd crafted with such care. They carried five whole years of her unwillingness to give up.

After some time, she said quietly, "Let's drive to the seaside. I like the beach."

If this miserable marriage was going to end, she at least wanted it to end with some grace.

She unwrapped the gift box. It was a luxurious Louis Vuitton cashmere shawl. The color wasn't remotely her style, but she draped it over her shoulders anyway, playing along.

Peter followed her request and drove a sleek coupe. Halfway along the highway, his phone chimed with a special notification.

"Pete, I twisted my ankle. It hurts so much."

Without hesitation, he called Melanie immediately and changed the GPS route. Frost's gaze caught on his screen. There was actually a location tracker on her phone.

She searched online and realized it was a couple's app.

At this point, did it even matter whether he had physically crossed the line and cheated on her?

Her head pounded. She rolled down the window and let the cold wind rush in, trying to drive away the rising storm inside her.

"Peter, I don't ask anything of you. You're the one who offered to take me on this trip, so at least follow through. It'll take you two hours to turn back. Do you expect me to waste my entire morning in your car like this? My body can't take it. Send someone else—"

"I don't trust anyone else," he interrupted calmly.

Frost was at a loss for words. Her eyes burned.

A sprained ankle, and he didn't trust anyone else to care for Melanie.

However, all those years Frost had suffered high fevers alone, the fear of a knife at her throat, the car accident… What were those to him? Was that proof that she was tough enough to survive without his concern?

"Pete, I'm so sorry to trouble you again."

When they picked up Melanie, Peter helped her into the car.

Frost glanced over and froze.

Melanie was wearing the exact same shawl. Only hers was in a prettier shade, the very color Frost had always liked.

"Peter, who picked this shawl for me?" Frost asked slowly.

Melanie answered softly before he could, "Ms. Quinn, do you not like yours? There were only two left at the boutique. I thought since you're a bit older, you might prefer something more mature, so I picked the brighter one for myself."

She smiled with false remorse. "Would you like to swap?"

Frost ignored her. Her burning gaze stayed locked on Peter. "So, you gave me what she didn't want? What am I? Her garbage bin?"

She tore the shawl off and threw it out the window.

Melanie flinched, shrinking back into her seat. Peter patted her shoulder gently. "It's alright."

After buckling her in, he took the driver's seat again and commented in a flat voice, "It's just a color difference. You blow everything out of proportion. It's no wonder you're never happy."

For a long time, Frost remained silent. Then, she let out a dry laugh. "So, you can tell that I'm unhappy, huh."

He noticed, but he never cared.

The car detoured to the hospital.

…

By the time Melanie came out with her ankle bandaged, the whole morning was gone. Frost's planned trip hadn't even begun.

"Let's have lunch first. Melanie's hungry. You probably are, too."

Then, turning to the back seat, Peter asked Melanie, "What do you want? Hyrunese cuisine? Or Shimmian cuisine?"

She giggled and answered coyly, "Pete, how do you still remember what I like to eat? You're amazing!"

He smiled faintly. "It's not hard to remember, if you care enough."

That smile was like a blade that cut straight through Frost's heart.

Melanie continued asking, "Then, do you remember what I like to drink?"

"Fresh orange juice."

"My favorite fruit?"

"Jackfruit."

"My favorite way to cook ribs?"

"Braised. What about Ms. Quinn? How does she like hers?"

All of a sudden, Peter hesitated.

Frost's tone turned icy. "Get a room if you two want to flirt. Don't do it in my car and make me sick."

He frowned. "Is it really all you ever think about? Dirty suspicions? Melanie's like a sister to me."

Melanie's eyes turned red. "I'm sorry, Ms. Quinn. I didn't mean to make you misunderstand. I… I'll stop talking. Pete, pull over and let me out. I'm not that hungry."

Peter shot Frost a look of reproach. Then, with a firm tone, he insisted, "It's lunchtime. We'll all eat together."

Frost folded her arms. "Fine. I want Illuvine cuisine."

This time, he didn't refuse.

…

He drove to an Illuvine restaurant, but when she arrived, he didn't get out.

"Melanie doesn't like Illuvine food. Her foot hurts. She needs someone to take care of her. I'll go have some Shimmian cuisine with her first, then pick you up after."