“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.”

Spencer tried to meet with her several times, but she refused to see him.

One time, he barged into her office—only to come out with red, tear-filled eyes after being scolded harshly.

Her closest friends said that when Crizza got drunk, she would murmur my name over and over again.

Even my father traveled a thousand miles to find me. He brought the property deed to a villa in the heart of New York and showed it to me.

“Son, I believe Crizza truly regrets everything.

“She messed up, no doubt about that. But I can tell that there's nothing between her and that assistant. You don't have to worry about it. A father can see these things.”

I declined.

My father sighed, then quietly put the deed away.

Later, Crizza found me, the corners of her eyes were faintly red.

“What do you want me to do to prove I'm innocent?” she asked. “Do I have to die before you'll believe me?”

I gave her a cold look. “Innocent or not, you know the answer yourself."

“All I know is—you ignored my feelings again and again for his sake. You made everyone believe I was the third party in our relationship. You let the rumors spread unchecked, let me be humiliated again and again."

“Crizza, I may not scream or throw tantrums, but that doesn't mean I can be hurt endlessly."

“My decision today wasn't made in a moment—it was built on years of your favoritism and neglect. There's no turning back now. Don't bother saying anything else.”

Her voice trembled as she replied, “But every single time—it was you who started it! You were always paranoid, always accusing me of something with him! But there was never anything between us!”

I looked down at her. “So what, it only counts as cheating if you sleep with him?”

Her face twisted in pain.

“I knew it! You still don't believe me. Dalton, Spencer and I are just really good friends!”

I shook my head. “That's not something I can accept.”

“Dalton... We've been together for ten years, and married for three. Do you really have to be this heartless?”

I shook my head. “This isn't heartlessness.”

She stood frozen for a moment, then nodded faintly before she turned and walked away.

The next day, when my team arrived at the company, we discovered that all our internal records—including mine—had been wiped clean.

Then Spencer arrived, strolling in lazily in a custom-made suit and polished leather shoes.

He tossed all of our personnel files on the floor in front of us.

“Ms. Snyder says this company has nothing more to do with you people. Take care of yourselves. I'm sure you'll all do just fine on your own.”

Then he glanced at me, smirked sarcastically, and walked toward Crizza's office.

My fists clenched tightly.

It was hard to believe he said all that without her approval.

Fine then.

If she wanted to burn the bridge, I'll make sure there's no path left for her to cross back over.