"Shut up," I snapped at Glen, my voice cold and sharp, with no effort to conceal the contempt dripping from every word.

Wynona’s brows knitted in shock. "Noah! How can you talk to Glen like that? He’s my most capable assistant!"

I let out a low, bitter laugh. "Capable, huh? Then tell me—how much has he actually contributed to the company? How many major deals has he closed? How many clients has he brought in?"

She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Glen lowered his head, playing the part of the humbled employee. "Mr. Saunders is right. I still have a lot to improve. I haven’t done enough to lighten Mrs. Rhodes’s workload."

As if on cue, Wynona placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, her eyes full of concern, before turning that same sharp gaze back on me.

"Noah, that’s enough!"

"Glen has been working around the clock on this deal. Can’t you see how dedicated he is? What gives you the right to question him?"

"Day and night?" I scoffed. "Yes, even during our anniversary trip, he’s been glued to your side day and night. Truly commendable dedication."

Her face flushed. She raised her voice, clearly losing her patience. "Do you have to be so sarcastic all the time?"

"Glen is my assistant, Noah. He’s doing his job. What’s wrong with that? Do you want me to drop everything just to soothe your insecurities?"

"Insecurities?" I echoed.

I repeated her words slowly, the absurdity of it all crashing over me.

Then, I pointed straight at Glen. "You shared a room with him until almost dawn, while I—your husband—slept alone in an empty bed."

"He touched your hand, Wynona, right in front of me. And you didn’t even flinch."

"Since the day he joined the company, every time something goes wrong, you defend him and blame me."

"You never question him for all that—not even once. And now you’re telling me I’m the unreasonable one?"

Glen jumped in quickly, like he had rehearsed the script. "Mr. Saunders, please, don’t get the wrong idea. I have nothing but respect for Mrs. Rhodes. I would never cross that line."

"No other thoughts?" I scoffed, narrowing my eyes. "Even you don’t sound like you believe that. So why should I?"

That was the final spark. Wynona snapped like a lit fuse. She stepped in front of him, shielding him as though I were the one attacking.

"Noah, stop this nonsense!" she shouted. "Glen is my employee and my friend. I won’t let you insult him!"

I stared at her. I searched her eyes, desperate for a flicker of guilt, even a flicker of doubt. But there was nothing. Just anger and defiance.

And suddenly, all the fire in me just burned out. I was so tired.

I did not want to hear another word. So, I turned and walked away.

"Noah!" she called after me, panic suddenly creeping into her voice. "Where are you going?"

I did not even look back.

That evening, I sat alone on the terrace, smoking in silence as the sky faded into a blanket of dark blue. Eventually, Wynona returned.

"Noah," she called out gently, her tone far softer than it had been earlier, coated now with just the right amount of sweetness. "There are too many mosquitoes out here. Come inside, won't you?"

I did not respond. I just kept my eyes fixed on the horizon, where the ocean met the darkness.

She sighed, walked closer and reached out to take the cigarette from between my fingers.

I shifted slightly, just enough to keep it out of reach. Her hand froze midair, fingers hanging there for a beat too long before she slowly let them fall back to her side.

"Don’t be like this," she said softly, her voice almost a whisper now. "Can’t we just talk—really talk?"

For the first time that evening, I looked at her.

She was wearing black lingerie. The sheer fabric barely covered anything and it shimmered under the moonlight.

It was the same set I had given her on our honeymoon. Back then, she said it was too revealing, so she refused to wear it. I never thought she would bring it here.

"Does it look good on me?"

She tilted her head slightly, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. I stubbed out my cigarette, stood and walked past her without a word, heading back into the room.

"Put on some clothes," I said flatly. "Let’s talk about the divorce agreement."

"Noah." She rushed after me and grabbed my wrist. "What do you want from me?"

"You know how much I love you," she pleaded. "I don’t want a divorce."

I stopped and turned to face her, staring straight into her eyes.

"If you don’t want a divorce, fine," I said evenly. "Then fire Glen—effective immediately—and promise me you'll never contact him again."

"Can you do that?"

She froze. Her grip loosened and she took a half step back, visibly stunned.

"You want me to fire someone that important to the company," she said slowly, "just because he’s my assistant?"

"Important?" I scoffed. "He’s been here six months and hasn’t closed a single deal on his own. He’s only holding onto his job because of you."

"You’re not stupid, Wynona. You’re a grown woman. Stop pretending you don’t see what’s right in front of you."

Her cheeks flushed with anger. "You’re being ridiculous. Glen is dedicated, responsible—even you can’t deny that. Without him, this deal wouldn’t be—"

"Wouldn’t be what? Without him, your work wouldn’t have changed a bit, would it?" I cut in sharply. "But you let him bleed into every part of our lives."

"You brought him on our anniversary trip. He sat at the next table while we had our dinner. And now, you defend him even right here, in our room, beside our bed."

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her black lingerie rising with each breath, casting flickering shadows in the moonlight.

Once, the sight would have drawn me to her.

Now, all I felt was bone-deep exhaustion.

"You don’t understand," she said, her voice softening. "This is how the job works. I need his support—"

"I’m not negotiating," I snapped, cutting her off. "It’s him or me, Wynona Rhodes. That’s it. No middle ground. No third option."

Her eyes widened, as though she had not expected me to draw the line so clearly.

And then, a sudden shrill ring shattered the moment.

She rushed to the bedside table, glanced at the screen and immediately tensed. I did not need to look. I already knew who it was.

She picked up and her voice quickly shifted from worry to full-blown panic. "What? You fell? Are you hurt badly?"

"…Okay, I’ll be right there."

She hung up and scrambled to grab a coat, barely thinking to cover herself, still in the lingerie she had put on to seduce me.

"Wynona," I said, my voice calm and cold. "If you walk out that door tonight, we’re done. For good."

Her hand froze on the doorknob. The room went silent, time stretching so thin I could hear the pounding of my own heart.

Three seconds.

Five.

She turned to look at me and there was something in her eyes I could not recognize—something I had never seen before.

"Noah," she said, voice trembling, almost pleading. "Don’t do this. Glen is really hurt. We’re overseas and he’s here alone. There’s no one else to help him…"

"So what?"

I stood tall, unmoved. "The hotel has a doctor. Room service. An ambulance, if needed. He’s a grown man, not a toddler. And you’re not his mother."

"But he was working late—"

"Choose," I interrupted, my voice firm and unwavering. "Right now, Wynona. No excuses."

Her lips parted, trembling. Something flickered in her eyes—something I could not name.

Then she exhaled slowly before saying, "I’m sorry. I’ll be back soon."

And just like that, the last sliver of hesitation slipped out the door with her.

I stayed behind, reached for my phone and dialed a number.

"I’ll review the divorce agreement when I get back tomorrow," I told my attorney.

Wynona had not returned all night.

At four in the morning, my phone buzzed. Out of habit, I opened WhatsApp Status—and froze.

There, in a freshly posted photo, Glen Watson lounged on a terrace chair, a bandage wrapped neatly around his knee, a glass of champagne in hand.

Standing behind him, leaning toward his shoulder, was Wynona, smiling radiantly.

The caption read, [Thank you for your company in this foreign land.]

I stared at it for a moment. Then, without a word, I closed the app and booked the earliest flight home.

As I boarded the plane, a message from an unknown number appeared—an attached video file. I opened it and the screen lit up with the grainy image of a man and a woman tumbling onto a bed, kissing hungrily, their limbs tangled in frenzied passion.

The woman’s face was not clear, but I did not need it to be. I knew that silhouette.

I quietly exhaled, pressed my lips into a tight line and turned off my phone.

When the plane landed, I turned it back on—and was instantly hit with a flood of notifications. Over a dozen missed calls and messages. All from Wynona.

Just as I reached to power it down again, her call came through.

"Noah!" she snapped, her voice sharp with fury. "Where are you? Why did you leave without saying a word?"

"Without a word?" I repeated calmly. "I thought I made myself very clear last night."

"You left just because I went to help Glen?" Her tone rose, now laced with accusation. "Do you have any idea how worried I was? I spent the entire night alone in that hotel!"

A dry, humorless laugh escaped my lips. "The two of you looked like you were having the time of your lives—posting your lovely moments on WhatsApp. And somehow, you still had time to worry about me?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. Then I heard her voice—soft, slightly guilty.

"He… posted it on WhatsApp?"

"It was very lovely," I said coldly.

"Do you have to be so sarcastic, Noah? Glen fell last night. I was just helping him clean the wound. As both his boss and his friend, I had a responsibility to look after him."

My patience snapped. "Wynona, stop treating me like I'm a fool."

"You’re being ridiculous," she fired back. "Glen and I are completely innocent. You’re the one twisting everything, making it look dirty when it’s not."

"Innocent? You know damn well whether it is or not. Just wait for the divorce papers."

"Noah Saunders!" Her voice finally cracked, tinged with panic. "You’re really going to divorce me… over something this trivial?"

"Trivial to you," I said coldly. "But to me, this is about a man’s bottom line."

On the other end, I could hear her breathing quicken like she was about to say more, but I did not give her the chance and ended the call.

***

The next day, she seemed to go out of her way to provoke me, flooding her WhatsApp Status with posts. Photos of her and Glen dining at upscale restaurants. Pictures of carefully wrapped gifts with vague, suggestive captions.

[Thanks to someone for the surprise. No matter how hard the day is, it’s always worth it because of you.]

I scrolled through the updates without expression. No reaction, no comment.

I simply sent her the finalized divorce agreement, complete with property division. Not long after, she called.

"Noah Saunders, what’s the meaning of this? You really think I can’t live without you?"

I did not bother replying. I hung up.

Then I blocked her.

Seven days passed.

It was a rainy night and I was at a friend’s house when another message came in from an unknown number.

It was another video.

Glen lounged on my bed, wearing my silk pajamas, a wine glass in hand. He looked up at the huge wedding photo of me and Wynona hanging above the headboard, a mocking smile tugging at his lips.

Beside him on the bed lay the black lingerie I had bought for Wynona—now wrinkled.

A surge of fury rose in my chest.

They had not even waited until the divorce was finalized. Glen had moved into my home like he belonged there.