Wilona froze for a beat, then snapped, "What the hell are you even talking about!" Frederick bent down, picked up the red scarf, and smirked. "Every time you're trying to reel someone in, you've got this thing on." Seeing the look on her face, he burst out laughing. "You didn't even notice that yourself, did you?" He tossed the scarf onto the couch, leaned back with his hands behind his head, and chuckled. "The first time you came after me, you were wearing it too. The way you looked at me, gosh, it's hard to forget." Wilona quickly defended herself, "Don't twist my words! I wasn't scheming anything. I just wanted to get along with the neighbors. If we're on good terms, we can back each other up." When he stayed quiet, she rushed to add, "And you like guns, right? If we really became friends, maybe Natalie would even let you mess around with one." Frederick snorted. "Keep dreaming. Why would she hand me her gun? "Quit dragging me into it. I'm not a kid." He clearly didn't buy her excuses, but he couldn't be bothered to argue either. Instead, he looked up at her and said, "I'll remind you one more time—when you become rich and successful, don't forget me. "We've shared a bed. That's not nothing. If you really end up getting close with those neighbors, don't forget to toss something my way too." Then he added, "But be careful. Before you manage to hook that guy, his wife might kill you first." Wilona blurted, "That woman isn't his wife." "Oh? So you did your homework." Frederick crossed his legs and smirked. "Looks like things might start going your way soon."He teased, "Bet finding out he's single was the best news you've heard all week, huh?" Wilona stiffened her neck and refused to admit it. "I'll say it again—I'm not thinking like that. You're the only one I love." Frederick clicked his tongue. "Stop with the cheesy love talk." He leaned forward, grabbed a strand of her hair, and twirled it in his fingers. "If it was really love between us, don't you think I'd have made it official? Would you still be chasing someone else?" Mid-sentence, he spotted a white hair. He plucked it out and held it up. "Already going gray this young?" Wilona gasped and grabbed for her head. He handed her the strand and said, "You're a wolf, not some fluffy rabbit, so stop pretending. Just remember—when you make it big someday, don't forget me. That'll prove you've got some loyalty." Wilona stared at the hair in her palm, not wanting to dwell on it. "Enough already. I'm only turning gray because of the stress you give me!" Frederick smirked. "Fine, I'll let it go. But then tell me—why the grudge against me?" He teased, "Gotta keep the future rich lady happy, right?" Wilona frowned. "I told you, it's not about you. It's the people next door." Frederick scoffed. "Don't spin it. If you're mad at them, why were you glaring at me from the bed?" His eyes said he wasn't buying it. Then he added, more seriously, "If you won't explain, I can't keep you here. Who knows, maybe you'll stab me in my sleep."Wilona panicked. "I'd never—" Frederick laughed coldly. "Still not talking? Then get out." Realizing she couldn't dodge it, Wilona finally admitted, "It's nothing serious. It's just ... you always run your mouth, you piss me off, and you never step up like a man should." God knew how stressed she was about supplies, while this guy just lived it up every day without caring about the future. So, of course, she was mad! But Frederick only stared at her in disbelief. "That's it? That's why you're mad?" Wilona's temper spiked again. "That's not enough? You're the man here! You should be stocking up for me!" Frederick threw his hands up. "You're not my wife. Why would I? Have you ever seen someone cheating who actually takes responsibility?" He added flatly, "I don't even take responsibility for my wife. Don't forget—I'm a scumbag." Wilona was so furious she nearly exploded. Frederick patted her back lightly. "Relax, Wilona. Stress isn't good for your health." Wilona was speechless. Meanwhile, Whitney had just changed into pajamas and was about to lie down when a knock sounded at her bedroom door. She froze and asked, "Bruno, what is it?" No answer. She tried again. "Bruno? Is that you?" A little boy's voice replied, "Whitney, it's me, Joe."Whitney was stunned. "Joe?" Why is he here all of a sudden? After thinking for a second, she asked through the door, "What's wrong?" Joe's voice was soft and childlike, but he always spoke slowly, with a calmness and maturity beyond his years.