The water stains on the coffee table reflected the crystal chandelier on the ceiling, making my eyes sting.
I was kneeling on the floor. I had already wrung out the rag three times, but Su Qing still hadn’t told me to get up. She sat on the sofa opposite me with her legs crossed, gently swirling the red wine in her hand. Her gaze never left her phone screen. She couldn’t even be bothered to look at me.
“Qin Luo, you’re blocking the TV.”
Her tone was casual, as if she were speaking to a dog in her way.
I shifted aside and kept wiping the glass coffee table, which was already so clean it gleamed. After three years of marriage, I was used to this life. I got up early every day to make her breakfast, waited for her to come home at night so I could clean up after her, and sometimes, like now, knelt on the floor as a breathing decoration.
The doorbell rang.
Su Qing put down her wineglass and got up to answer the door. I heard her adopt the polished tone she used at work. “Please come in, Mr. Lu.”
Lu Ziqian.
