Hold My Tear, I’m Getting My Wife Back!

But tonight, the gentle breeze stirred something deep within her soul.

Tina returned to her third-floor room, flicked on the light, and approached the window, her index finger parting the sheer curtains.

The vine-covered pergola was dim, its inhabitants gone. Phillip stood in the pitch-black night, his features obscured by the feeble nocturnal glow. He was looking her way.

Tina closed the curtains and threw herself onto the bed, sprawling out and staring blankly at the ceiling.

Her phone chimed. She reached for it.

Phillip texted, [I'll give you some time to think it over. Just let me know your decision when you're ready.]

Phillip hadn't received a reply since returning to Stonebridge from Capital City.

Their conversation on the swing that night seemed like a figment of his imagination, with only him waiting for a response.

He would check his phone occasionally, the frequency of his messages to her significantly increasing, yet they sank like stones in the ocean.

When a friend called him, Phillip was signing a stack of documents.

"Where are you?" the voice on the other end asked.

"At the office," Phillip replied, cradling the phone against his shoulder while his pen danced across the papers, his words sparing and efficient, not wasting a syllable.

"Still at work this late? If you don't leave, neither can your secretary. What kind of Scrooge boss are you?" his friend clicked his tongue. "VectorVista is thriving. Can't you take a half-day off? What harm could it do, giving the other banks a sliver of hope to catch up?"

"Do you think they can't catch up to VectorVista because I didn't take a half-day off?" Phillip retorted.

His friend was at a loss for words and changed the subject. "I'm sending you an address. Come over."

It sounded lively where he was, the background noise boisterous, as if he were at a party.

Phillip capped his pen after signing

the last document, the city's lights shining brightly outside the

Og windows, a tapestry

of urban splendor.

"I'll pass."

"It's a costume party. It should be fun."

Phillip remained uninterested: "Which part of that is supposed to interest me?"

"Not coming?" his friend teased with a hint of mystery, "You'll regret it if you don't." The party was at a private villa, and when Phillip arrived, it was already in full swing.

Laughter and music spilled out into the night, illuminating the darkness. Phillip entered to find a motley crew of characters, from Snow White and Queen Esther to Harry Potter and No-Face. Even a priest with a donation box was there. At the door, two figures with their faces painted white and dark circles around their eyes sat on a sofa, eating cake.

For a moment, it felt like stepping into a bizarre fusion of Eastern and Western mythical gathering.Property belongs to Nôvel(D)r/ama.Org.

As he walked in, several indiscernible eyes sized him up.

"Hey, bro, are you cosplaying as a corporate tycoon?"

Phillip was speechless.

Even the dullest document on his desk was more appealing to Phillip than this charade.

A person approached, slinging an arm around Phillip's shoulder. "You're just in time. The show's starting."

His friend led Phillip through the joyous crowd to the hall center, where a dance was on show.

A "Native Westerner" with a colorful feather headdress was performing a fiery dance to "Song of the Eagle," the men were in rugged, deer-skin outfits, and the women's attire was more elaborate, their faces painted with various designs.

Spotting Tina among them, dancing freely, left Phillip at a loss for words.

She wore a beaded bra and skirt combo with fringes that reached her ankles, fluttering with her lively moves, exuding an exotic, untamed beauty.

Stroking his beard, his friend gave him a knowing smile. "Told you, man. You wouldn't want to miss this."