"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.

This was crossing the line.

Half an hour later, drenched in rain and sweat, I shoved open the front door.

Inside, the room was dimly lit, flickering candlelight casting warm glows across two figures seated at the table.

Glen raised his wine glass, clinking it lightly against Wynona’s. The moment he noticed me, he stood up with mock surprise. "Mr. Saunders, you’re back?"

"I’m so sorry," he apologized. "It started raining out of nowhere. Mrs. Rhodes was kind enough to lend me these so I wouldn’t catch a cold."

I looked at Wynona.

She was seated gracefully at the dining table, makeup flawless as always, but her eyes were cold. As if I were nothing more than a stranger who had barged in on something intimate.

"Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?"

Her tone was cool, detached.

I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay calm. "This is my home. Do I need your permission to walk through the door?"

Before she could respond, Glen stepped forward again, his voice dripping with artificial guilt. "Please, Mr. Saunders, don’t get the wrong idea. I was only here to drop off some documents. I didn’t mean to overstay… the rain caught me off guard…"

I finally could not stand it any longer. "Is borrowing my pajamas also part of delivering documents? And the candlelit dinner? Was that on the schedule, too?"

"Get out."

Glen took a half step back, his expression painted with mock panic. His eyes shimmered faintly, as if on cue.

"I’m really sorry… this is all my fault… I’ll change right away…"

As he spoke, his fingers slowly unbuttoned the pajama top, deliberately drawing out the movement. His eyes darted toward Wynona, searching for a reaction.

Sure enough, she stood abruptly and stepped between us.

"Noah, that’s enough!" she snapped. "Glen is my guest. Who do you think you are, treating him like this?"

"Guest?" I let out a dry laugh. "Fine. Let your guest stay. I’m leaving."

I turned and stormed into the bedroom, pulling clothes from the wardrobe and stuffing them into a backpack without care.

Wynona made a move to stop me, but Glen caught her sleeve gently. She hesitated, then slowly sat back down.

On my way past the study, I paused. I pushed the door open to retrieve my mother’s portrait. The frame lay shattered on the floor, glass in pieces. A large footprint marred the photograph, right across her face.

My chest instantly tightened.

"Who did this?" I asked quietly, trying to contain the fury pulsing through me.

Glen appeared behind me, feigning remorse. "I’m so sorry, Mr. Saunders… I must’ve knocked it over while I was showering. I’ll get you a new one, I swear."

"Knocked it over?" I repeated slowly, turning to face his fake guilty expression. "Did you knock it over—or did you stomp on it on purpose?"

His eyes flickered, just for a moment. Then his pitiful expression returned. "I didn’t mean to… Please don’t be mad…"

Wynona appeared at the doorway, her brows furrowed in irritation. "Noah, Glen already apologized. What more do you want?"

"It’s just a picture of your mother. I’ll reprint it tomorrow."

"He said he didn’t mean it. Do you really have to make a scene over something like this?"

Her words were the spark that lit the fuse.

In an instant, the anger I had been holding back exploded. I lunged forward, grabbed Glen by the collar and slammed him hard against the wall.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" I shouted. "How dare you touch my mother’s picture?"

For a moment, his eyes widened in panic. But just as quickly, they filled with tears. "Mr. Saunders… I swear, I didn’t mean to…"

Wynona rushed to my side, grabbing my arm. "Noah! Have you lost your mind? Let him go!"

But I did not even hear her.

Blinded by rage, I grabbed a fistful of his hair and slammed his head against the wall. A dull, sickening thud echoed through the room. Blood immediately began to trickle from his nose, mixing with the red swelling on his forehead.

"Noah, stop! Stop it!"

Wynona’s scream rang out, her hands clawing desperately at mine as she tried to pull me away.

Glen finally dropped the facade. The mask of politeness he always wore cracked, revealing the twisted malice beneath as he glared at me.

Yet his voice remained soft and pitiful. "Mr. Saunders… if you do this, your wife will be upset…"

"Upset?" I slammed him against the wall again. "Her opinion has nothing to do with me."

Wynona rushed forward, wrapping her arms protectively around him before turning to glare at me.

"Noah, have you completely lost your mind? You’re being ridiculous!" she screamed. "We’re done. We'll finalize our divorce tomorrow."

I slapped her hard across the face.

"This isn’t something you can just walk away from with a simple divorce, Wynona Rhodes."

"You can rip my heart to shreds, but you will never insult my mother and walk away like it means nothing."

"If I don’t make you both pay, I don't deserve to carry the name 'Saunders' another day, for the rest of my life!"