"It looks like Mr. Howel can do whatever he wants," Avery says to herself with a sneer.

When Avery received the friend request she was confused by the profile picture. Instead of Evan or the company, the picture shows a distant girlish figure in pink. The girl stands under a big, weeping cherry tree and the wind swirls her skirt like the pink petals in the air. Avery was surprised that this feminine profile picture belongs to her overbearing husband.

Avery studies the picture more closely and she can't shake the feeling that both the figure and the scene are familiar. She squints at the photo, but she can't make out any helpful details. The toxin in her body has erased almost all of her memories from her life before Evan. Based on the size of the girl and the dress she wears, Avery guesses that she's about ten years old.

"Why does it feel familiar?" she thinks, "Is the girl Leonie Summers?"

As she stands at the door of the kitchen staring at her phone, the maid doesn't know whether she should pass Avery or wait for her. In a low voice she interrupts Avery's reflection, "Mrs. Howel, I will go ahead and request that the cooks prepare the kitchen for you."

Avery absently nodded her agreement without removing her eyes from the screen of her phone.

"Who is it?" she wonders.

Thinking too much about things she can't remember makes her head in pain. She rubbed her temples, and decided to delete Evan from her friend list. To her surprise, she's unable to remove him. She taps the screen over and over, but nothing happens.

"Is there something wrong with the app?" she wonders, "Or has Evan somehow meddled with my account?"

The more she thinks about it, the more certain she becomes that Evan has hacked her account. He's forced her to accept his friend request and now found a way to prevent her from deleting him.

"What an asshole!" she says aloud.

Avery idly leans against the doorframe and her long, slightly tangled hair falls behind her back. Unconsciously, she bites her lower lip with fury and faint teeth marks appear on her rosy lips.

She looks at the profile and finds nothing to reveal the girl in the photo's identity. Thinking about the mystery photo reminds her of her profile, and she quickly navigates to her profile page. There are dozens of candid photos of Evan. In these photos, Evan is eating, frowning, staring, and sleeping.

Avery remembers that she was obsessed with her husband in the early days of their marriage. She often took secret photos of him to look at by herself; she even snuck into his bedroom while he was sleeping to take the illicit photos. She scrolls through the pictures one by one, and feels the shame rising in her throat.

"So this is how I saw him back then," she thinks.

The photos capture the moments in which she found him most handsome or charming, but when she looks at them now she can't see beyond his pride and arrogance. She deletes them one by one.

She doesn't want Evan to see how obsessed she was, and she's scared of his rage if he sees the photos. She took all of the photos secretly as Evan hates being photographed, and she posted them without his knowledge or permission. She recalls that a journalist once took photos of him secretly and was beaten mercilessly by a group of Evan's security guards.

At the Howel Group, Evan leans back in his black leather chair. He holds his cellphone in his hand and watches as every photo of him disappears from Avery's profile.

He had never thought to look at Avery's profile before, and seeing so many photos of himself filled him with a strange and insuppressible happiness. Though her previous infatuation used to annoy him, he's recently realized that he cares what she thinks about him. The candid photos on her profile reassured him that in spite of her recent ferociousness, she still has a soft spot for him. Then the photos disappear.

"What's wrong with these photos?" Evan asks.

"It looks like Mrs. Howel took secret photos of you," Robert stutters, "It was very audacious of her, but I urge you to show her some mercy. You were quite severe with that journalist, and I think such cruelty may be damaging to your marriage."

"Did I ask for your advice?" Evan growls, "I just want to know why the photos have disappeared."

Robert swallows nervously. He looks at the screen again and clears his throat, "Umm, the photos may have been deleted."

"Do you mean that she deleted my photos?"

Evan slams the phone onto the table, almost cracking the screen.

"Maybe the IT team unintentionally deleted them when they added you to Mrs. Howel's friend list," Robert suggests, trying to protect Avery.

"Hmm, look into it," Evan commands, "If this is IT's fault, I want you to fire the person responsible and the head of the department."

"Got it," Robert nods.

"Wait a minute."

Robert freezes on the spot.

"The shadow of a shadow—the media likes that," Evan says cryptically, "One of Avery's most important responsibilities is protecting the reputation of the Howel family. You know what to do about that."

Robert nods again.

Back at the Howel house, Avery stands at the kitchen counter, illuminated by the light above the stove. Her hair is curled slightly from the heat, and she has it tucked behind her ears. With her head bent, she beats the eggs in a large bowl.

The cooks watch her from across the room amazed and confused. Although this is the first time that Mrs. Howel has tried to make a quiche, it seems she has a talent for cooking. She makes the dough as if she's a professional; crimping and pleating the crust as if the breakfast is a work of art. She chops the filling like a professional chef—each vegetable is evenly diced. She has refused their help, so they stand aside and watch her.

"Mrs. Howel, you are very ingenious," the cooks say, "The quiches you made are excellent."

"Bring me a container," Avery demands.

She wants to store the extra quiche in the refrigerator. The cooks bring a glass container, and Avery stores the extra food. Though the quiches are finished, a lot of extra filling remains and piles of vegetables and seafood sit on the counters.

"Mrs. Howel, there's a lot of leftover crab," one cook observes.

"Store them," Avery says calmly.

The cooks sigh. Avery steamed way too much crab, and Mr. Howel doesn't particularly like it. It will probably go to waste.

Avery finishes with the quiches and dusts the flour from her hands. She exits the kitchen and sees Robert Tinder approaching her.

"Mrs. Howel," he greets her.

"What's wrong?" Avery asks, subconsciously checking behind him to see if Evan is there. He's not.

"The IT Department found that your Facebook photos have been deleted, and they're concerned that your account may have been hacked. I'm here to take your phone back to the IT Department so they can make sure no other information has been compromised."

"There's no need for that," Avery says cooly, "I deleted the photos."

Robert is at a loss for words. He followed up with the IT Department, but they denied any knowledge of deleting the photos. He decided to return to the house to check the phone and see if the photos could be recovered. He's surprised that Avery is admitting to deleting the photos.

"If Mr. Howel knows—" he says.

"What?" Avery asks, "I can't delete several photos? I thought Evan would prefer that I protect his privacy."

"It wasn't several photos," Robert says, "It was 72."

Avery rolls her eyes. The situation seems completely absurd to her.

"Well aren't you good at math," she snaps.

Robert smiles awkwardly, "Mr. Howel would like you to re-upload the photos."

"That's impossible: I've completely deleted all of them," Avery says, "Moreover, I'm ashamed of them and don't want them on my profile."

Robert is confused.

"Is Mr. Howel ugly?" he thinks, "Many people consider him one of the most handsome men in the city. Fortunately, he isn't here to hear Avery speak that way or he'd fly into a rage."

"Anyway, I don't have many friends on Facebook so it doesn't matter what I post," Avery says.

"You're right, but the media is everywhere and they like to make up stories," Robert said, "People often speculate that you don't get along well with Mr. Howel, and they'll surely start unpleasant rumors if they see you've deleted all pictures of him."

"I don't get along well with Mr. Howel," Avery says, "If there's any doubt about that, you can remind Mr. Howel that there's no need to focus on one fish when there are many others in the sea. Furthermore, the photos have been permanently deleted, and it'd be impossible for me to upload them even if I wanted to."

Avery tries to leave but Robert blocks her path.

"You can take new photos and upload them," Robert suggests.

"I have no time for that," Avery says, brushing past him.

Robert follows her, "Please Mrs. Howel, give me your phone, and I will help you recover the photos."

"Why would I do that?" Avery turns around and stares at him.

Robert feels the nervous sweat beading on his forehead.

"Once upon a time, Mrs. Howel must have considered these photos precious treasures—she went to such great lengths to get them," he thinks, "If she still felt that way, she wouldn't have deleted them. Or if she had, she'd been filled with remorse and eager to accept his help. When did she become so difficult?"

"Mr. Howel asked me to recover the photos," Robert says.

"Well that's too bad," Avery responds, "I refuse."

Robert Tinder clears his throat awkwardly, "Well then, there's nothing I can do but apologize to you."

He grabs her phone from her hands and puts it in his pocket.