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.

"With my foot still hurting, you're really going to let me walk on my own?" Crizza frowned.

Spencer's muscles tensed.

The next second, he swept Crizza up into his arms and shot me a provocative glance as he always did.

Crizza looked over to gauge my reaction—seeing I gave none, she told him, “Kick the door shut.”

Bang!

The loud slam echoed through the office.

I stood still, and clenched my fist.

I had always believed that just because I was the one who had been by her side the longest, our relationship, no matter how strained, could still be salvaged. That if we ever veered off track, we could correct our course together.

But this time... I'd made up my mind.

I wasn't giving her any more chances.

—

Back at the company, I went to retrieve some documents and noticed a small crowd huddled around their phones, whispering and reacting with excitement.

Curious, I leaned in for a look.

It was Spencer's Instagram story—a series of selfies from a diving trip.

At first glance, it was just him posing with the ocean behind. But even the slowest person could catch the subtle clues—a woman's elegant figure appearing in every photo.

In the top left corner was Crizza's distinctive bracelet. In the top right was a glaring wedding ring, and in the lower left, the faint outline of her profile seemed to have "accidentally" slipped into frame.

Everyone in the company knew she had a deep fear of the ocean. She would never go diving unless she had a very good reason.

Her appearance in his social media said everything without needing to say a word.

I was just about to like the post when it suddenly disappeared.

When I got to the door of her office, I overheard her scolding Spencer.

“I was just upset after a fight with my husband. Going diving with you was a one-time thing. That doesn't mean I'm making it official with you!"

“Who told you to take those ridiculous photos and post them?”

“But Ms. Snyder, I thought...”

His tone was filled with grievance, but she cut him off sharply.

“Enough! Delete them. All of them! Not a single one stays. You're my assistant. Don't you know I don't appear in any other man's posts?”

The words ‘other man' clearly struck a nerve.

Jaw clenched, Spencer reluctantly pulled out his phone and began deleting everything.

Then he looked up—and saw me.

"Hub—"

Crizza caught herself just in time. What was supposed to be ‘husband' became instead, “Dalton...”

I kept my expression cold. “I'm here for the documents.”

She glanced at Spencer, silently telling him to leave, but he didn't budge.

“Get out.” Her tone turned sharp.

Only then did he turn and walk out, dragging his feet. As he passed me, he gave me a glare so sharp even his eyebrows seemed to twist together.

"Dalton, you saw it just now," Crizza said, her voice softening. "There's nothing between me and him."

“Where are the files?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral.

She reached for my hand, trying to guide me to her office chair.

“Dalton... darling... I admit it was wrong of me to go diving with him, but I was just upset, not thinking straight."

“I don't want a divorce. I acted out in the heat of the moment. But I swear to you—there's nothing between me and him...”

“Where. Are. My. Documents?” I pulled my hand away, raising my voice.

She froze.

“Darling... I only scolded him just now because we're innocent. If I had feelings for him, why would I get angry? I just...”

“Whether or not you two are ‘innocent' has nothing to do with me.”

Her breath hitched.

She stared at me in disbelief, brows drawing together.

“Darling, you're my husband. What are you even saying?”

“You two can keep playing your ambiguous little game. Even if you really did sleep together, I wouldn't say a word,” I replied flatly.

Her expression darkened.

I looked past her and repeated, “The documents?”

“Are you seriously going to keep making a fuss like this?” Crizza snapped.

I looked her straight in the eyes and replied calmly, “Yes.”

Crizza let out a bitter laugh, fuming with anger.

Nodding her head, she didn't say another word, nor tell me where the documents were, and turned on her heel—slamming the door behind her so hard the whole wall seemed to shake.

With no other choice, I turned to her executive assistant.

But even the assistant had no idea where she had left my materials, so I had to go back empty-handed.

...

The next morning, just after I woke up, I saw an update from Crizza on Instagram story—a full nine photo collage.

The woman who once claimed she'd never appear in another man's social media had posted herself, wearing a sleek black hiking jacket, holding a trekking pole—and smiling sweetly as Spencer wrapped his arm around her waist. She lifted one foot and flashed a playful peace sign toward the camera.

The caption read: [Ship us already. We're insanely sweet.]

Spencer posted the exact same photo set too.

One picture showed her leaning into his chest as they posed.

[Her foot is still injured, so I carried her up the Mountain Everest. I won’t say who’ll die from the sweetness—but my heart’s already melting.]

“What the hell is wrong with this woman?!”

My friend Lewis exploded while holding my phone.

On his phone, there were no such posts—same with everyone else we asked.

It was clear. Their posts were set to be visible to me only.

It was a deliberate provocation, and probably even Crizza's idea.

“This woman's insane! Five years ago she promised you she'd climb the Grand Canyon with you, but kept saying she was too busy with work!"

“And now, look at that! One night is all it takes to climb it with that pretty boy? Suddenly she's full of energy?”

Lewis was pacing furiously around the room.

I couldn't help but smile bitterly.

Five years ago, before the company grew, I once stopped at a roadside fortune-teller who said, “If you and Crizza climb Grand Canyon together, your love will last a lifetime.”

She agreed immediately.

But every time we tried, something got in the way—client meetings, exhaustion, excuses. The trip was canceled again and again.

Then, three years ago, on the day our company went public, she had me slide a Harry Winston ring onto her finger in front of everyone.

She looked at me and said, “See, Dalton? Nothing can truly come between us. You and me—forever. It has nothing to do with what we do or where we go.”

I was so moved, I teared up.

But three years passed, and the company got even busier. More clients than ever.

And somehow, she still found the time to climb Grand Canyon in one night—with Spencer.

“Dalton! I can't take this anymore! Are you going to do something or not?! If you don't, I'll go find that shameless couple myself!”

“No need,” I said coldly. “I'm already doing something.”

Lewis looked at me, intrigued.

I handed him my phone.

He glanced at the group chat I had created—then gasped in shock.

“All the key tech leads... they're leaving with you?! Is this for real?!”

He scrolled up through the chat. One after another, the engineers had submitted resignation letters to HR.

“Well done, Dalton.” Lewis clapped me hard on the shoulder.

“If it weren't for you leading those tech experts and building the product from scratch, do you really think Crizza could've secured any investment?

“Brilliant move—cutting off her lifeline. Let's see how Spencer handles product development now!”

When the news of the mass resignation broke, Crizza immediately called for a meeting.

“Why are you all leaving?” she asked, trying to stay calm. “If it's about money, just tell me—I'll raise your salaries.

“If it's the environment, I'll get you better offices.”

Over a dozen key tech staff sat around the conference table, exchanging glances.

Finally, the eldest among them let out a sigh and spoke first:

“Ms. Snyder, it's not about any of that. The truth is—Manager Silva is leaving, and we're going with him.”

Crizza's expression darkened.

“What did he offer you?” she demanded icily.