Disclaimer: No. Not mine.

Thanks to my betas, standinginthe-wings and empty. Special thanks to my reviewers Name and empty.

To all: Please note that the previous chapter has been edited. Some stuff has been cleared up, so do go and take a look.

She had requested for some privacy, and upon hearing of her name, the waiter struggled to seat her immediately. It was a secret, apparently, the identity of this mysterious woman, and one that he wasn't privy to.

Masaki scowled. He had just been promoted, but still too low on the economic hierarchy in the restaurant (Man, he hated his boss) to hear any of the important gossip, and thanks to his recent promotion, too high up to be trusted with any scandalous news. He took his anger out by snarling at a few waiters, and watched them cringe in fear. Well, at the very least, he had a few rookies to scare.

Rookies. Their constant fear of rebuke left them cowering in his sight, and at the moment, he found it particularly amusing.

But the woman at the far table was truly a beauty. Her brown hair was a slightly messy bun although a few defiant curls seemed to escape their constraints, framing her heart-shaped face. The dress that she wore was a vivid red, a stark contrast against her porcelain skin. She looked lost in a world of her own, sitting there with thoughtful eyes and fingers gently tapping on the tabletop in an irregular pattern.

Masaki noted with a wry smile that she checked her watch every once a while with furrowed brows, accompanied with a small sigh.

Masaki looked at the clock again. With time slowly ticking by and coupled with her lack of any order besides the customary glass of water, her presence at the restaurant was slowly becoming unwarranted. She had been sitting in there for at least 2 hours now. She was probably waiting for someone, he guessed. And that someone was most likely late.

As much as he admired her presence, and wanted her to stay, she simply could not linger in the restaurant for so long without an inkling of a proper order. He could give her one last chance, and decided to ask for her order again. He nudged a rookie, a trainee with shaking hands and a perpetually frightened look on his face.

Seniority and power had been bestowed upon him by the restaurant management, and he was not afraid of using it. The worst jobs would help those rookies toughen up anyway. And seeing the little kid move awkwardly towards the lonely woman in red, he grinned to himself. He loved his job.

"E-excuse me?" Mikan looked up to see a petrified waiter nervously clutching at his writing pad.

"Yes?" she asked, smiling at him, trying to make him feel more at ease. This, however, seemed to have the opposite effect intended, for he blushed bright red at the sudden attention and couldn't look her in the eye. She smiled patiently, waiting for his question, quite used to a similar reaction from female waitresses whenever she ate with Natsume.

"W-w-would you l-like t-t-to ord-der now?" the waiter managed to stammer out.

Her smile faded slightly at the waiter's words. He panicked even more, thinking that he had somehow offended the pretty lady sitting in front of him and frantically tried to apologise. Immediately noting the waiter's look of panic and worry and realising that she had been the cause, her face broke out in a radiant smile. It worked like a charm and the poor fellow relaxed.

"I'm waiting for someone ah, Hitori-kun." She explained, after a quick peek at his nametag. "Could you please give me a little bit more time?" she asked with a sweet smile. He fidgeted uncomfortably. His manager, Masaki, wasn't going to like this, not one bit.

For his job's sake, he had to get her to order. He opened his mouth to ask her to order but was interrupted by the sound of a cell phone ringing.

"Sorry." She shot him an apologetic look and glanced at the phone screen. "I have to take this." He made a jerky movement that might have been a casual shrug.

"Hello?" she must have recognised the caller because her eyes narrowed almost instantly. Her voice turned icy cold, and he felt sorry for the person at the other end of the line. He wouldn't want to be in his shoes right now.

"Where is he?" she demanded. She made an indignant noise after hearing the reply. "No, I don't care if he has a –. A meeting that lasts for 12 hours? Because I know for a fact that the only meeting that he had was one at 9 o'clock this morning and there wouldn't be any sudden meetings that he called for because Ruka is already back home."

"There isn't any other reason I can think of that he might be late and why you would hide it from me." She said scathingly. He stood quietly, watching her continue her angry tirade, gulping slightly at her venomous words and chilling tone.

"And as for your question, well maybe because it's our anniversary? Late? By 2 hours! No, no, you look Nobara. Natsume pays you to do a lot of things. And I really hope that one of them is not lie to me." Her voice grew even colder, if that possible and she almost sneered into the phone. "You know what I'm talking about." Mikan angrily snapped her phone shut. All the fight left her after the call ended and her shoulders slumped. He could see she was trying valiantly to hold back tears.

"Ma'am, are you okay?" he ventured hesitantly. She seemed to remember his presence for she visibly pulled herself together, taking several deep breaths. "Well, since my date isn't coming, I guess I'll leave now. Thank you for your service, and it was nice meeting you, Hitori-kun." She straightened herself, tucked a few strands behind her ear and picked up her clutch bag which was lying forlornly on the table.

Without another word, she swept out of the restaurant like a whirlwind, leaving Hitori behind, with his breath taken away.

Only when she was in the cab and safely on the way home that she picked up her phone and punched in a number that she had memorised a long time ago.

"Hello, Hotaru?" her voice sounded slightly choked. Hotaru immediately pushed Ruka's hands off her waist and pulled away from his embrace. Ruka groaned. "I just got home, Hotaru. Can't I expect a remotely warmer welcome from my girlfriend?"

She shot him her patented I'm-an-Imai-so-back-off-now look. He shut up. Then said, "Be quiet, Nogi, I'll welcome you back later. The idiot is on the phone." Hearing that, he perked up slightly. "Oh! Mikan's on the phone! Can I— "but her boyfriend of 2 years never got to finish what he wanted to say because they were interrupted by sniffling sounds.

"I tried to give him another chance. If this marriage meant anything to him at all, he would have shown up, instead of spending time with her. I'm so angry with him."

"What did he do this time?" Hotaru released a breath she didn't know she was holding when Ruka placed his hand on hers to reassure her.

There was a sigh heard over the phone, then silence. "What he did or didn't do doesn't matter anymore. Could you come over, Hotaru? I'm going to need your help for this." And with that, Mikan hung up.

Natsume came home to see his wife in a beautiful dress, one that clinged tightly to her body, and with her hair done up just the way he liked it. He stared at his wife, admiring the creamy white expanse of skin that was her neck, and let his eyes roam over her figure. Why was she dressed like that? Dinner together normally entailed a quiet meal at home, or at a small restaurant.

While pondering that question, he couldn't help but notice the glimmer of the ring on her finger and his hand moved over to check if he still had his on. He had taken it off earlier that night, in light of his activities. With a gentle pat, he realised he did. He moved closer to where his wife was, in their room, dropping his keys on the tabletop.

She was sorting through a pile of clothes on the bed, and passing them to Imai, who stood by her side, methodically folding them and placing them into a ridiculously orange suitcase. She seemed to be in a hurry though. She had been in the middle of tossing out a yellow shirt and upon hearing the slight disturbance had looked up immediately, dropping the article of clothing in her hands. Imai sensed her sudden halt and followed her actions.

The look on Imai's face when she saw him, Natsume thought to himself, was that of utter contempt and disgust. She turned to Mikan and spoke into her ear. He only caught a few words. "Going... car... be ready in 5 minutes." Mikan nodded and continued sifting through her clothes.

"What exactly, are you doing?" he moved away from his spot at the door frame and advanced towards her.

"I'm packing." Came her reply.

"I can see that." He was standing next to her now. "If you wanted to stay over at Imai's for a while. You could have just told me." He said, peering over her shoulder to see what else was in the bag.

"I'm not staying over for a few days." She said calmly, trying to avoid his gaze.

"Then why are you packing?"

"Well," She did not cease her activity but talked to him patiently, as if explaining to a petulant child that it was a necessity to wash one's hands before a meal. "It's traditionally what people do when they're—"She didn't finish her sentence but he knew what she meant.

He grabbed her wrists with one hand and used the other to lift her chin up. "Look at me," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "Why are you packing?" She shrugged out of his grasp and slammed the suitcase shut. Mikan looked up at him with a defiant gaze.

"Natsume, I'm leaving."