Andres knew Hans wouldn't hold out on him.
He was just baffled—why was everyone connected to Maeve wrapped in impenetrable mystery?
Was the guy in the picture her ex?
If they were close enough to be in her phone case, why were they apart?
Unless... he had been in an accident? Was he dead?
The stranger's face flashed in his mind again. Unfamiliar, yet achingly recognizable.
If this man truly was dead...
The moment the word 'dead' surfaced in his thoughts, a sudden, suffocating pressure seized his chest.
"Boss? Are you alright? You look terrible."
Andres pressed a hand to his chest, his brow furrowed in pain.
His reaction led Hans to jump to an entirely different conclusion.
"Boss, you shouldn't let it get to you. Everyone has a past."
"Miss Vance is extraordinary; she naturally has a long line of admirers."
"But since you two got married, she hasn't entertained a single rumor with another man, nor has she brought up her history."
"That proves she's cutting ties with her past and showing you the utmost respect."
Terrified that his boss's jealousy would spark another marital war, Hans scrambled to extinguish the fire before it spread.
Andres stared at him blankly, blindsided by the unprompted relationship counseling.
In that fleeting second, his chest had genuinely hurt—a brutal, physical agony, not a metaphorical heartbreak.
He couldn't shake the feeling that his life was somehow intrinsically tied to the man in the photo.
Yet, frantically scouring his memories yielded nothing.
Seeing Hans open his mouth to offer more unsolicited advice, Andres raised a hand to cut him off.
"Get back to work. I need a moment."
They had dinner at The Imperial.
Maeve absolutely adored the chef's culinary skills there, especially the authentic Northern cuisine.
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