Breaking Our Marriage Vow Because of Her Assistant

On the way to the business summit, Crizza's feet began to ache from wearing her 12 centimeter heels.

Her new assistant immediately turned around, about to offer her his sneakers.

Frowning, I said, “What does my wife's foot pain have to do with you?”

Just as I was about to offer her my own shoes, Crizza shot me a displeased look—then turned and let Spencer carry her in his arms.

That very day, a striking photo of the dashing bodyguard carrying the beauty in one arm while holding her heels in the other rocketed to the top of the trending searches.

By the end of the summit, instead of being greeted by me like always, Crizza received something entirely different—my letter of resignation, delivered by one of her staff.

She frowned. “Has Dalton lost his mind? He's making a fuss over something this trivial? Tell him to come see me immediately!”

So I did. With a freshly drafted divorce agreement in hand.

——

“What are you trying to pull now?” She tossed the divorce papers onto the table, staring at me in disbelief.

“There were so many people watching that day, and you humiliated Spencer in public! If I don't stand up for him, how is he supposed to survive in this industry?"

“You expect me to just watch while you bully a newcomer out of his career?”

I looked at her calmly. “Then why don't you marry him? That way you can support him for life. I'll step aside for you both.”

She was stunned, then sighed. “You're jealous again.”

“I've told you a thousand times—there's nothing between me and him!”

“Is that so?” I raised my eyes to meet hers. “Maybe there's nothing going on between you two. But the pain I've swallowed all these years? That's real.”

She froze.

“Crizza, when you brought in an incompetent intern despite my objection—when you gave him a custom-tailored suit on my birthday—when you took him to the summit to ‘gain experience' and left me behind—do you know who people think your husband is?"

“I've put up with it for three years, and I've had enough. Let's divorce.”

Her brows furrowed. She turned to Spencer and snapped, “Get out.”

“Ms. Snyder...”

Spencer's chiseled brows tightened slightly.

But she glared again. “Out.”

He pursed his lips, glanced at me with a hint of grievance, and slowly walked toward the door—though he hesitated as if unwilling to leave.

Crizza sat beside me, gently placing my hand on her thigh. “Alright. If it bothers you so much, I'll assign him his own office. We won't work together again."

“I'll have my female assistant liaise with him. No more direct contact between us."

“And for business trips, I'll take you instead. Okay?"

“There's really nothing between us.”

I pulled my hand away. “No, it's not okay.”

“Darling...” she murmured.

“I said no.” I stared straight into her eyes. “How many times have I brought this up? In the past three years, has there ever been a single time when you chose my side in all this?”

“But there really is nothing going on. You're just being unreasonable—” she insisted.

Smack!

I slammed the divorce agreement onto her lap.

“Just sign it. After that, I won't care what happens between you and him.”

She held the divorce papers in her hands, frozen for several seconds, as if trying to process why—for the first time—her explanations weren't enough to earn my forgiveness.

With a loud bang, she suddenly hurled the divorce agreement to the ground.

“You're really not letting this go, are you?!”

I looked at her in silence.

“Fine! Keep throwing your tantrums!”

She stormed to the door, then threw an arm around Spencer's neck.

“Carry me.”

“Ms. Snyder? What are you doing?”

Crizza shot me a cold glance.

The way she looked at Spencer next—it was practically dripping with affection.