"Alright, tell me—this car is dirty. How much are you planning to pay for it?"

It had been a long time since I'd been this angry.

Probably even Lyndon didn't expect it. "Claire didn't mean to. I'll pay for the car wash myself," he said.

I scoffed. "A car wash? Do you think that will get rid of the stink inside this car?"

"I want the entire interior replaced. Or better yet—replace the whole car," I added.

Claire's face went paper white. "Ms. Miranda... I may not have money, but I have integrity. You don't have to humiliate me like this, do you?"

I gave her a faint, amused smile. "Having dignity means you don't have to pay? Did I humiliate you? Or would you like to smell it yourself?"

The words barely left my mouth before her tears fell like broken pearls.

Lyndon shot me a cold glance. "That's enough."

"All compensation will be mine. It has nothing to do with Claire. Don't use your malice to dirty someone's heart."

I wasn't sure if it was my imagination, but despite it being midsummer, a chill ran down my spine.

The smile on my face stiffened. Suddenly, I felt it was all pointless.

I watched him hurry into the convenience store, carefully selecting a brand and type of sanitary pads.

Claire spoke up unexpectedly. "Ms. Miranda, you'll never understand the connection between Lyndon and me."

"We are kindred spirits. He appreciates my music, and I understand his struggles. None of this has to do with money or social class." She sounded proud, almost radiant.

"I'm different from you. I don't have a rich father, but I have an honest heart."

"Back then, Lyndon only married you because he was forced into a corner. If I had appeared a few years earlier, maybe he wouldn't look so refined and complete on the outside, while feeling utterly empty inside."

Empty inside, Lyndon?

I remembered the year I met him—he was working four jobs just to survive.

A boy whose father had gambled away the family's debts, forced to quit school and work early.

In the dead of winter, he wore a worn black cotton coat full of holes, his frame all skin and bone.

Even those striking eyes of his were lifeless.

I didn't know about teenage pride—I only knew he needed something, and I just happened to have it. So I pulled him out of the abyss, forcing him to accept all my kindness.

Forcing him to lift his head and look at me.

By the end, everyone in New York knew: Lyndon married me because he had no choice.

They said, "An aloof, poor genius boy—how could he resist the demands of a spoiled rich girl?"

Until that boy was cultivated into a tree everyone admired, they finally said I was lucky.

But no one knew that my contribution to this relationship went far beyond luck.

"He's a man, not your possession," Claire kept whispering in my ear.

In the past, my temper would have made me slap her twice. But seeing the man rushing toward us and the timid yet deliberately provocative woman, I changed my mind.

"You're right—he is a man. But he's my man. If you want to flaunt him in front of me, you'll need my consent—and you'll need to ask if he's really willing to be a heartless man who swallows a thousand needles for you."

My voice wasn't loud, yet it carried just enough to reach Lyndon's ears.

He frowned. "Reina, there's nothing between Claire and me. The gossip outside may seem trivial between us, but for a single girl like Claire, it's a huge slander."

"Don't believe the rumors they spread," Lyndon continued.

Claire bit her lower lip, hesitating just enough to make it look like she was the one being wronged. That expression alone seemed to please her.

But I couldn't bring myself to smile.

"Go ahead to the concert first. I'll come after I help out Claire," Lyndon said.

The woman leaned into him, and he didn't pull away. Instead, he held her in his arms and gently placed her in the passenger seat.

"If you think the car is dirty, take a taxi. I'll go with you tomorrow to pick a new one."

At that moment, I suddenly remembered that year, when we were twenty.

He had done the same back then—those calm, clear eyes were watching me without ever saying no.

I used to be so happy, thinking his life had changed its color because of me.

He never grew arrogant from affection, nor did he flatter anyone. He simply let me "cause trouble" as I pleased.

Except now, I didn't know whether he had crossed any boundaries, but Claire clearly had.

I stood quietly by the roadside, watching the car slowly drive away, unable to say a word.

I still went to the concert. After all, the tickets were given by an acquaintance, and I had to show them face.

Truthfully, I wasn't that passionate about music. But Lyndon loved it.

He could stare at a painting I didn't understand all afternoon, or be moved to tears at music that made me want to sleep.

Only in these refined matters did his emotions show any fluctuation.

So when I received the tickets, I wanted to please him. I imagined him lost in music while I linked my arm with his, enjoying a quiet moment together.

I never expected the seat beside me would remain empty for the entire concert.

I listened half-heartedly, then had the flowers I'd prepared delivered to the overwhelmed musician in the crowd and left.

At home, I saw a car parked in the courtyard.

A bad premonition rose in me.

I pushed the door open. Lyndon sat in the living room, expression calm as ever.

His jacket—stained with Claire's blood—was carelessly draped over the sofa.

His rolled-up sleeves revealed firm forearms, damp as if he had just touched water.

Something was off.

"Why didn't you get the car cleaned?" I asked.

Before he could answer, a woman's startled cry came from the master bedroom.

I froze.

He strode over, knocking on the door with restrained force.

"Claire, what's wrong?"

"Sister-in-law's clothes didn't fit me... and I accidentally broke your wedding photo on the bedside table..."

I went insane, shoving the man aside. I threw open the door, not caring that the woman's clothes were disheveled.

Slap!

I struck with full force.

Claire fell to the ground, clutching her face, panic written all over her.

Inhaling sharply, I looked around.

The framed wedding photo lay shattered on the floor. My clothes were strewn across the walk-in closet. The bathtub contained still-pink water. The air smelled of his shower gel—and faintly of blood.

A wave of nausea hit me, sudden and overwhelming.

Lyndon grabbed the comforter from the bed and wrapped it around Claire.

"Reina, are you crazy?" he demanded.

"Claire just used the bathroom and borrowed some of your clothes in an emergency. Do you need to react like this?!"

He looked at me, utterly incredulous as though I was unreasonable.

But this was our bedroom!

The closet held countless dresses I had bought to please him.

The men's shower gel was carefully chosen, a matching set for couples...

"Apologize." He protected the woman in his arms, his voice sharp and commanding.

A bitterness lodged in my throat. I took a few steps back and spat coldly, "Never."

We stared at each other, neither willing to back down.

Until my vision blurred, he finally sighed.

"You've been by my side all these years. I thought you'd have some understanding of others," he said.

"Reina, you really disappoint me."

His words hit me like a punch to the chest.

My eyelashes trembled, and tears slipped down my cheeks.

For him, I had abandoned the perfect life my parents planned for me. I even learned to cook and manage the household.

I gave up a carefree, indulgent past to force myself into the rigid, tedious world of refinement and elegance.

The thing I had worked hardest at in this life was shaping my entire personality into someone who could stand beside him.

I thought he would feel it, deep down.

But all I received was disappointment.

Nevertheless, I refused to let myself fall apart.

I wiped my tears, retrieved a slightly yellowed document from the study, and tossed it in front of them.

"Then let's get a divorce."

The room fell silent. The man let out a soft, almost mocking laugh. "Put it away. You'll need it again next time."

The ridicule in his voice was like a needle stabbing straight into my ear.

Claire, who had looked embarrassed moments ago, actually laughed aloud upon hearing that.

My nails dug into my palm. The last flicker of light inside me died out.

This agreement... Lyndon had prepared it himself.

Six months into our marriage, he had proposed divorce.

That day had been the darkest in my life.

I had grown up spoiled, sheltered, never knowing how cruel human hearts could be. I couldn't understand why the little tree I nurtured with all my warmth was suddenly withering, even though I had given him enough water, sunlight, and love.

I cried until I couldn't breathe, using both kindness and force to beg him not to divorce me.

In the end, he gave in.

After that, I gave him status, money, resources—the best of everything.

Gradually, I learned to control my emotions.

Slowly, his eyes toward me began to soften.

But my sense of security only dwindled further.

So I took out the divorce agreement again and again.

At first, he coaxed me helplessly.

Later, he would only frown and tell me not to be dramatic.

Now... He still thought I was using it as a ploy to win his affection.

I slid the ring off my finger and tossed it into the trash can.

"There won't be a next time."

Before leaving, I notified Miranda Corporation's lawyers to prepare for the division of assets.

I also had someone come over to tally the clothes and items Claire had damaged and request compensation accordingly.

Once everything was set, I opened the group chat with my friends.

[Tonight at the Red Pavilion. My treat. Who's in?]

The Red Pavilion was New York's most decadent hotspot, infamous for its extravagance.

My message detonated the chat.

[What's going on? Ms. Miranda isn't playing the dutiful wife anymore?]

[Isn't your husband the type who hates you going to places like that?]

[I already took a screenshot. If you back out tonight, I'll send it straight to your iron-faced husband.]

I typed calmly. [Divorce is already in motion.]

A ripple effect exploded through the group chat.

After casually replying to a couple messages, I closed my phone.

Before heading to the Red Pavilion, I stopped by a beauty salon.

With striking makeup, a black backless gown, and heels that clicked like a declaration, I walked into the private room.

My thoughtful friends had even arranged a row of handsome male escort.