"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.

“It's not about benefits or rewards,” one of them said.

“It's because back when we couldn't even afford to eat, it was Manager Silva who stuck with us through thick and thin. We're his people—he led us through it all.”

Only then did Crizza seem to remember.

Back when the company was at its most desperate, she wasn't the only one holding things together.

Yes, she had gone out seeking investments, lowering herself in front of powerful people to win opportunities—but in the end, she needed a solid product to back up her promises.

And who was leading the team behind the scenes, working day and night to make that happen?

It was Dalton.

When she came home drunk, unable to walk straight, it was Dalton—who hadn't slept properly for three days—came back from the office to take care of her all night, only to return to his team the next morning to keep grinding.

But when she woke up the next day, all she ever focused on was her own exhaustion. As if she was the only one carrying the burden.

Dalton had never stood in the spotlight, but his presence was behind everything—every breakthrough, every milestone.

“Ms. Snyder,” someone else said, “you probably don't know this—but my mom was dying back then. It was Manager Silva who sold his late mother's keepsakes to cover my mom's medical bills. He even went to the hospital himself every day to check on her."

“He only got those items back after the company finally made it big."

“My mom is still alive today because of him. Wherever he goes, I'll go.”

Another one spoke up.

“Yeah, no one believed in me when I first applied here. It was Manager Silva who took a green train and traveled over 1,400 kilometers to pull me out of the fields and bring me back."

“It was because of him that I created the company's top-selling product—and was able to support my parents and sister."

“I owe him everything.”

Then more voices joined in—one story after another.

Tales of loyalty, gratitude, and sacrifice.

Finally, the eldest of them all sighed deeply and said, “Ms. Snyder, we know it hasn't been easy for you either. But you can't forget the people who lifted you up the moment you struck gold.”

“Exactly,” someone else chimed in. “That Spencer doesn't have a shred of skill, and yet he's getting paid more than Manager Silva? We've had enough of it for a long time.”

Crizza fell silent, deep in thought.

She didn't approve of their resignations yet. Instead, she tripled everyone's salaries on the spot.

After the meeting, she went alone to a run-down old apartment in a shabby part of town. She pushed open a worn wooden door.

It was a tiny unit, barely fifty square meters.

Back in the day, Dalton had led a dozen team members in that place, working through freezing winters and scorching summers, building their product from scratch.

In all those five years, aside from the drama involving her and Spencer, he never once complained about the hardships he endured.

Crizza leaned against the wall, slowly slid to the floor, and let out a long sigh.

That very day, Spencer was dismissed from his position.

—

That same evening, Crizza stood outside my building, holding a massive bouquet of roses.

The moment I saw her, I turned around to leave.

She hurried to catch up.

“Dalton! I already sent Spencer away. I know I was wrong.”

I ignored her and kept walking, but she ran ahead to block my path.

“Dalton, I swear—nothing happened between me and Spencer.

“I was just... momentarily blinded. I never should've taken your efforts for granted.

“Please... give me a chance. Let's start over. Tonight, let's climb Grand Canyon together. Please?”

I couldn't help but lower my eyes, voice calm but cold, “But your first chance—you already gave it to someone else.”

“Crizza,” I continued, “I'm someone who takes things seriously. You only get one shot with me. I have no interest in giving out second chances.”

She began to panic.

The collage from her Instagram story had long been deleted—along with Spencer's post.

She started sending expensive jade antiques without regard for their worth.

Roses arrived every day without fail.

She even neglected major business deals just to wait on my usual routes, begging for my forgiveness.

Some of the old-timers in the company began to murmur.

“Ms. Snyder must really regret it this time... She even fired Spencer.”