When the company’s growth stalled, Michelle grew frustrated and often invited me for walks and long talks by the river.

Through these moments, we naturally grew closer, and I invested some of my own money into the business, acquiring a two percent stake.

As the company expanded, Michelle’s net worth skyrocketed. I proposed, and she said yes.

Three months before the wedding, she brought Maxwell from her hometown, saying it would help him pursue his medical studies. To celebrate his arrival, she even transferred my shares to him.

We had a fierce argument about it.

Maybe that’s when the rift between us began.

I woke up drenched in sweat and tears.

At some point, Michelle had returned. She saw my packed luggage by the door and looked irritated.

“What now? Wasn’t yesterday’s outburst at the company enough? You want to make a scene again?”

I rinsed my face with cold water and left the spare key on the sink.

“I’m moving out for a while. Did you sign the divorce papers?”

“You’re serious about this divorce?”

Her face dropped instantly, eyes turning icy cold.

“All because of a fake exam? I know it wasn’t real. I don’t even care.”

I said nothing.

How absurd.

After eight years together, she still didn’t know why I suddenly wanted a divorce.

She paused, then said, “Did my dad say something to you? Just endure it for now. Sophia is being considered for the Best Doctor award. Once he wins, I’ll explain everything to your family.”

“No need.”

Once the divorce is done, I’ll restore my name myself.

If I wait for her to explain, I know what she’ll say: “Let it go. Everyone believes it anyway.”

I used to think I understood Michelle.

My eyes landed on the gift she was holding—a watch from a niche foreign brand.

She snorted and tossed it at my feet.

“Sophia picked it for you. He’s more thoughtful than you.”

I didn’t pick it up. I just gave a cold smile.

Michelle snapped and called me uncultured.

The irony deepened.

If I recall, this exact watch appeared on her Instagram Moments at the end of last month.

“Michelle, you pride yourself on manners. Have you ever seen someone give a used gift? Or throw one at someone’s feet?”

I hooked the ribbon with an umbrella from the hallway, opened the box, and pulled out the watch—already damaged from scraping against an old dial.

The hands had stopped moving.

“It’s worn out.”

I looked up at her. Her eyes flickered with guilt.

“This watch isn’t flashy. Katherine Quinn works with patients every day—she just wore it briefly. Why make a fuss?”

I laughed.

I didn’t expose her lie, nor did I scroll back through her Moments to find the post.

Before leaving, I said one last thing.

“Just sign already. This is getting tedious.”

Not long after I moved into my friend’s place, Maxwell posted a new Instagram update.

As if afraid I’d miss it, he even tagged me.

“Why do good women always meet the wrong men? If it were me, I’d never let her struggle to balance her career and home.”

The post showed Michelle, slightly tipsy, staring out a floor-to-ceiling window at the night view.

For the next two weeks, Maxwell’s Instagram feed never stopped.

He packed up all the watches lying around at home and gave them away to his colleagues and patients.

Some people treat kindness like garbage, while others treasure it.

He and Michelle were having lunch in the office, both wearing the latest Cartier couple’s bracelets.

Everyone says we’re a perfect match—it’s driving me crazy. If someone gets the wrong idea, they’ll argue with you again.

I zoomed in on the photo. The diamond ring, once on Michelle’s middle finge,r was gone, leaving only a faint impression behind.

My friend cursed in anger, grabbed my phone, and typed a long message.

“Who doesn’t know how to be sarcastic?”

Before he could send it, I stopped him. I’d grown used to this kind of nonsense in my feed.

Since I added Maxwell, he’s posted a minor update every three days, and a major one every five.

“Why do you think he dares mention me so directly?”

My friend’s face twisted with frustration.

I can’t pinpoint when things started changing between me and Michelle. By the time I noticed, she was already appearing in Maxwell’s feed every time we argued.

With my go-ahead, my friend let loose and cursed out her entire family.

I stayed at his place for a month. Just as I was preparing to file for divorce, Michelle called.

She texted an address with only four words:

“Come over, let’s talk.”

Thinking she’d finally agreed to divorce, I grabbed my keys and drove over—only to find she wanted me to attend a dinner party on Maxwell’s behalf.

“These are all Sophia’s former patients.”

Michelle gave a dismissive glance toward the four men in the private room.

“They wanted to treat Sophia to dinner, but he’s busy and can’t say no. Could you help me out?”

I looked at her—and suddenly realized I’d been far too courteous.

“No.”

I brushed her hand off and turned away.

“I’m filing for divorce. After this, don’t contact me unless it’s about dividing the assets.”

Panicked, Michelle grabbed my arm.

“Why are you always so mad at Sophia? What did he do to you? And what did I ever do? Ever since you brought up divorce, you’ve been bitter and snide.”

“You’re upset over a free meal now? Zachary, why are you so stubborn? Just have a few bites, a couple of drinks—it won’t cost you anything. I’ll wait outside and take you home later, okay? Do you enjoy bringing up divorce every time?”

“Let go!”

She ignored me and ordered the two bodyguards behind her to drag me into the private room.

Before I could protest, she introduced me, snatched my keys and phone, and left.

On her way out, she locked the door from the outside.

Behind me, the four men stared eagerly. One, a skinny guy, stood up and poured me a drink.

“Thanks, Doctor. This toast is for you. That checkup order ruined my engagement—my fiancée dumped me, and I became a joke to everyone I know. I’m still scared to go out.”

With that, he downed the drink in one go.

Seeing him, the other three followed suit, each finishing their drink in silence.

I felt something was off. Cold sweat began to trickle down my back.

“I’m not Maxwell,” I said quickly. “If you have a problem, wait for him to show up…”

As soon as I finished speaking, a sharp slap struck me across the face.

It came from the tall, thin guy who’d been standing silently in the corner. He snapped hysterically:

“This is all your fault! If you hadn’t written that report listing 24 anal ins-and-outs, my girlfriend wouldn’t have dumped me! I wouldn’t be humiliated, with classmates and friends asking me what it felt like!”

I was still reeling from the slap when the other two slammed my head twice more.

“You call yourself the best doctor? My first relationship—you told my girlfriend I had moderate rectal prolapse and an overly wild sex life! She posted it all over the campus network. Give me back my dignity and my future!”

“What did I ever do to you? You told my wife I’d cheated multiple times. Now she’s never home, always demanding a divorce. I hate you for ruining my life!”

Four of them tackled me to the ground, punching and kicking relentlessly. I curled up, shielding my head, yelling:

“I’m not Maxwell! You’ve got the wrong guy! He’s the one who treated you—how can you not recognize his face?”

They finally paused, but just as I caught my breath, their next words chilled me again:

“You wore a mask the whole time, all we saw were your eyes. You really thought this was a dinner invitation? I’m telling you, until we’ve let out all this anger, you’re not leaving this room.”

Bruised and frantic, I pounded on the door, calling Michelle’s name, begging for help.

No one came.

When the four had finished venting, I was a mess—nails had torn my skin, leaving bleeding scratches. My shirt and pants were ripped, barely covering me. I was covered in welts and bruises.

I grabbed the tablecloth, wrapped it around me, and opened the door. The hallway was empty.

My whole body throbbed with pain.

Turning the corner, I spotted Maxwell, sobbing with his head bowed, while Michelle gently comforted him in the restroom.

“Michelle, are you sure they won’t report me to the hospital? I didn’t mean to write those reports... It just... got mixed up…”

“I know it’s not your fault, that’s why I asked Zachary to help. Later, treat your Zachary to a meal—I’ll handle the rest. I’ll pay off whoever mixed up the reports and send them away.”

My head buzzed. My chest heaved. My hands trembled with the urge to hit something.

And in that moment, I understood.

Forget a peaceful divorce. Forget a dignified settlement with her father. Forget the damn dinner.

I stepped forward, caught them off guard, and slapped them both—twice, leaving clear red marks on their faces.

Michelle stood frozen, staring into my bloodshot eyes. She couldn’t even respond, too stunned to move. She didn’t even glance at Maxwell, who was screaming, sobbing, and splashing water on his face at the sink.

“Michelle.”

“Take your golden boy and get ready to start over from scratch.”

“This is the last day you’ll enjoy the title Mrs. Carter!”