Thursday again. Since two years ago, it has been mandatory for you and Dylan to have dinner together every Thursday. On other days, you don't deal with each other. That's how this arranged marriage works.

The dining room remains silent as usual, until Dylan speaks up out of nowhere.

"I know you've been cheating on me," he says, his voice cold and calm.

You freeze. How did he know?

"Mike, isn't it?" He stops eating. He looks at your eyes, then moves to your plate. "So, how does he taste?"