Chapter 2A Valentine's Prescription for Divorce

"Alright, you can go now. We’d like some privacy."

When Amber withdrew, her eyes were practically screaming.

But every one of David’s subtle movements felt like he was overcompensating, trying to hide something.

If they didn't eat here privately all the time, how would Amber know what he "loved" to eat?

If they didn't spend a lot of time together, how would she dare to act so relaxed and flirty in front of the Chief?

Halfway through the meal, the lights in the booth suddenly dimmed.

A waiter wheeled in a massive, three-tiered strawberry mousse cake, followed by another waiter holding 999 deep-red roses.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Clara."

David stood behind the massive bouquet, the candlelight reflecting off his handsome face.

"Thank you for everything this past year. I know taking care of Leo is exhausting. Once this busy season at the hospital is over, I’ll take a long vacation so we can go to the Maldives."

The surrounding diners turned to look, gasping in envy.

Amber stood in the shadows of the hallway nearby, staring deathly at the roses, her grip on her serving tray so tight it was bending.

I accepted the flowers, smiling gracefully. "Thank you, David."

As soon as the waiters left, Amber rushed back over.

"Mrs. Sterling is so lucky. A man like Dr. Sterling is one in a million. But I suppose it makes sense—Mrs. Sterling only needs to arrange flowers and raise the child at home, while Dr. Sterling is out there killing himself to support the family. It must be nice; some of us are just born to toil, not rely on a man."

I set down my fork, slowly wiped my mouth with a napkin, and looked at her. "Miss Hartley, I recorded what you just said."

She froze, her face turning pale.

"First, as a server here, making offensive remarks to guests is a serious issue of professionalism. Second, as David Sterling’s student, commenting on your mentor’s family matters is an issue of breeding."

I looked toward the front desk. "Please call your manager over. I want to file a complaint."

Amber panicked, instinctively grabbing David’s sleeve. "Dr. Sterling, I didn’t mean it like that… I was just… just worried that you were pushing yourself too hard..."

David looked at her, and a flicker of internal struggle flashed through his otherwise stern eyes.

He finally sighed in resignation, turned to me, and said, "Clara, she’s still young, she hasn't been out in the real world yet. She doesn't know how to measure her words. I’ll discipline her back at the hospital."

"You are her mentor’s wife, after all. Be the bigger person. Don't bicker with a young girl, okay?"

"Her family is poor; that’s why she’s working part-time here."

I almost laughed in frustration. Because her family is poor, she has to become a homewrecking brat?

Because she is poor, I’m supposed to endure her?

But David didn't care. He cut me off before I could speak: "It’s a holiday. My wife isn't that petty. Let it go."

David practically dragged me away to leave. In the shadows, Amber quietly reached out her hand and quickly brushed it against the back of his hand.

And David did not flinch.

He not only didn't flinch, but he also took advantage of the darkness to briefly hold her hand in return.

My stomach churned.

He was wrong. I am that petty.

A man is like a toothbrush—I do not share.