Contract Marriage with My Secret Partner in Crime-Chapter 154: When You’re Not Here

Christy finally met his gaze, but her voice was soft. "I thought I saw... someone I used to know. Someone who’s... been gone a long time."

His brows drew together. "Gone as in...?"

"Gone," she said simply, leaving no room for clarification. "It doesn’t matter. It couldn’t have been him."

Kendrick didn’t like the way her voice caught at the end, but he didn’t press further. He just nodded slowly and said, "Alright. But Mom, if you ever want to talk about it, you know I’m here."

She reached out and patted his hand, managing a small, grateful smile. "I know."

For the rest of the evening, they didn’t speak of it again. But the image of Cassius’s—Patrick’s—face remained with her, no matter how hard she tried to push it away.

And somewhere across the city, in a quiet car heading toward the Varen Enterprises building, Cassius sat with his hands clasped, staring out the window at the passing lights, hearing her voice call that old name again and again in his head.

---

[93 Days Left to Live]

The faint sound of her stomach growling woke Zephany. She blinked at the ceiling for a moment, groggy, then sighed and sat up. Her hair was a mess, sticking out in odd directions, and she dragged her fingers through it as she slipped out of bed.

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

She padded into the hallway, her bare feet making soft thuds on the floor. Passing by Kendrick’s door, she stopped. Her hand hovered over the wooden surface.

She bit her lip.

He might be back. Maybe he came in late last night and was still sleeping.

Her knuckles tapped lightly. "Kendrick? You in there?"

Silence.

She tried again, a little louder this time, but still nothing.

Her smile faltered. The hallway suddenly felt colder. She leaned her forehead against the door and muttered softly, "He’s not yet back. Probably staying at their home."

The word "home" lingered on her tongue and seemed to echo in her head. It brought a sudden ache to her chest. Without him around, the apartment felt too big, too empty.

She straightened up, swallowing hard, and made her way toward the kitchen.

The counters were spotless. Too spotless. She stood there, staring at the space where Kendrick usually leaned while scrolling through his phone, or the spot where he absentmindedly made coffe while she talked about her articles. The more she looked, the heavier her chest felt.

The kitchen smelled faintly of dish soap and lemon cleaner, but the scent didn’t comfort her. Zephany stood in the doorway for a long moment, eyes tracing over every surface as though the room itself was taunting her.

Her gaze fell on the stove, and her chest tightened. She could almost see Kendrick standing there, sleeves rolled up, brow slightly furrowed in concentration as he stirred something in a pan.

She remembered that first time she’d insisted on helping him cook.

"You don’t have to just watch, you know," he had said, passing her a cutting board.

She’d puffed her cheeks. "I am helping. Supervising is a form of help."

He’d chuckled, the sound low and warm. "Fine, Supervisor Zeph, chop those onions."

She remembered how she’d mangled the first few slices, and he’d quietly stepped behind her, guiding her hands with his. She’d been so aware of the way his breath brushed her ear, the steady rhythm of his voice as he explained the right technique.

She remembered those days when he taught her how to cook, always stressing safety first. "Tuck your fingers in. Always."

And those lines he used to say: "Cooking’s like life, Zeph. Too high and you burn everything. Too low and nothing ever gets done."

Then there was the day she finally managed to cook something without burning it. She could still hear her own excited voice—

—and his praise as he said, "You know... I think this might be the best breakfast I’ve had in weeks."

Kendrick had looked at her like she’d just pulled off a magic trick, and he’d given her a slow, genuine smile.

Her eyes drifted to the small dining table. She could picture the two of them sitting there, plates between them, trading bits of food across the table.

"That’s too much for me, you eat it," she’d sometimes say, shoving half her portion toward him.

He’d just shake his head and push something else back toward her. "Eat. You’re too thin."

And then, the sink.

She saw herself standing there with sleeves rolled up, water splashing over her hands, while Kendrick stood beside her drying dishes. Sometimes they’d bump into each other, and she’d scold him for crowding her space—though in truth, she hadn’t minded at all.

Once, he’d flicked a drop of water at her cheek, and she’d retaliated by smearing soap foam across his forearm.

"You’re impossible," he’d said, but his lips had been twitching like he was trying not to laugh.

Now, the kitchen was silent. The stove was cold. The table was bare.

It felt wrong.

She moved toward the counter, fingers brushing the surface as though she could summon those moments back—but there was nothing. Only the faint hum of the refrigerator.

She opened it. Almost empty now. She remembered how it was always packed with food when Kendrick was around.

And the memories came—those trips to the market, the way she discovered he was actually popular there.

She could still see it so clearly—the way she had caught on instantly, grinning at him. "Oh, that one. You mean me being your knight in shining armor, saving you from ’testing gravity,’ as you put it?" She’d said it just to watch him squirm.

And he had. Kendrick’s groan, the way his hand dragged down his face, the pink creeping up his ears as he avoided her eyes—like a guilty kid who’d been caught raiding the pantry—she remembered every bit of it.

She had folded her arms then, smug and triumphant. "Of course I will. Every chance I get." His dramatic sigh had been the final flourish, his head tipping back as he muttered, "This is going to haunt me."

Even now, the memory tugged a bitter chuckle out of her.

Her phone felt heavy in her hand when she pulled it out. No messages. Not even a simple "good morning."

Her eyes blurred. She pressed her lips together, but a tear slipped free anyway.

"Isn’t this what I wanted?" she whispered to herself. "Not to be attached. That’s why I didn’t accept his confession last time. I didn’t want to... to end up alone again after feeling like I had a home."

Her voice cracked. "But why does it hurt?"

She sat down at the kitchen table, wiping at her cheeks even as more tears came.

"Would things be different if I accepted his confession?" she asked the empty room, her voice trembling.

Her hands curled into fists against her knees. "Kendrick! You damn mute if you’re Obscura! Why did you leave me alone here?"

Her voice rose into a frustrated sob. "Didn’t you like me? Then why did you just leave? I know I was wrong for avoiding you last week. But what the heck is this? Huhuhu, come back now! This place is too empty without you!"

Her nose was red now, tears streaming down without pause. She kept swiping them away but they just kept falling.

"You can’t blame me for ignoring you," she muttered between shaky breaths. "That damn Obscura always ignored me and didn’t like me at all. I was scared you wouldn’t like me anymore if you knew I’m Eclipse."

Her voice broke again, and she buried her face in her arms.

---

Miles away, Kendrick sat bolt upright in bed, heart racing for no reason he could explain. A shiver ran down his spine.

He rubbed his arms, frowning. "Why do I feel like someone’s cursing me?"

A sneeze burst out of him. He groaned, grabbing a tissue from his nightstand and rubbing his nose.

It took him a moment to realize where he was—his family’s home, not the apartment. The room was warm, familiar, but it wasn’t the same.

His shoulders slumped.

He reached for his phone on the nightstand, half-expecting to see a notification from Zephany.

Nothing.

"Seems like I’m forgotten now," he murmured, leaning back against the headboard.

He tossed the phone onto the bed beside him with a sigh. "That Cassius and Sophia... just when I actually wouldn’t mind doing those ridiculous couple tasks they used to arrange, they stop giving them. Now how am I supposed to talk to Zeph?"

---

At the same time, Cassius was humming under his breath as he laid out his lecture notes for the day. He poured himself a cup of coffee, looking almost cheerful.

Then a sudden sneeze doubled him over.

"Who’s cursing me this early?" he grumbled, grabbing a napkin and wiping his nose.

---

Across the city, in the expansive Diamond mansion, Brent stood near the tall windows, phone pressed to his ear.

"Make the arrangements," he said simply.

The other person confirmed, and the call ended.

Brent slipped the phone into his pocket, his lips curling into a smirk.

"Cassius," he murmured, gazing out over the manicured gardens, "I wonder how long you’ll keep delaying things... when you find out that person is involved."