After a week-long business trip, I expected a taxi. Instead, my wife came to pick me up.

Claire Vance—cold, aloof, an ice sculpture of a woman—had actually prepared a surprise.

I stared at the limited-edition, diamond-studded watch in her hand. Said nothing.

"Don't like it?" A flicker of confusion cracked her composed mask.

I didn't answer. Just looked at her.

"Claire." My voice was steady. "You slept with him, didn't you?"

Her expression tightened. She frowned, gaze shifting sideways. "What nonsense are you spouting now?"

I studied her profile, then let out a dry, humorless laugh.

"You're right. He has a clingy child. Joseph can't be left alone for a second. No matter how desperate Colin is, he probably wouldn't stoop low enough to do it in front of the boy."

——

"Ruby!" Her face flushed crimson. "How many times do I have to say it? There is nothing between Colin and me!"

Colin.

The way his name rolled off her tongue sickened me. Too intimate. Six months ago, she'd followed my lead—"Mr. James" or just "the neighbor." Now it slipped out like a lover's whisper.

I sneered and fell silent, letting the heavy atmosphere suffocate the car. The soft, slow melody on the speakers felt jarring against the tension.

I didn't know when it started, but Claire—a woman who used to despise music—had become obsessed with bitter ballads about forbidden love. She shared them on social media every few days. Even changed her ringtone.

What a coincidence. The exact same ringtone Colin used.

Claire started the car, her tone softening. "You know how hard it is for him to raise Joseph alone. We're neighbors. If we can help, we should. Isn't that what you told me back then?"

Yes. I was the one who'd invited the wolf into our home.

Colin was ten years my senior. His face bore the weathering of a difficult life, yet he maintained a facade of plain, gentle humility. In the elevator, he was always carrying heavy grocery bags, that timid, shrinking boy trailing behind him.

Whenever he looked at me, a flash of envy passed through his tired gaze. When our eyes met, he'd offer an embarrassed, self-deprecating smile.

I'd heard he was a single father with a child who had a genetic defect. Life was hard for him. A man like that—harmless, pathetic—would make anyone lower their guard.

That was why, when I saw him trying to stifle his sobs in the fire stairwell, I felt a pang of sympathy. The sound was heartbreaking. I quietly placed a pack of tissues near him and walked away to give him dignity.

The next day, he rang our doorbell, holding Joseph's hand and a plate of cookies.

Claire and I were both surprised, though her reaction was impatience. She'd just stepped out of the shower, wearing nothing but a loose bathrobe. Running into a male neighbor while half-dressed was hardly decent.

Colin had turned beet red. He hurriedly set down the homemade cookies and fled, ignoring my polite attempt to keep him—as if he were the one being violated.

I wasn't good at socializing, but the cookies were clearly made with care. Guilt and courtesy compelled me to invite him over for a meal later that week.

My intention was simply to return the favor. I never expected it to be the catalyst for them to start exchanging glances right under my nose.

I remained silent the entire drive home. The car pulled into the garage, darkness swallowing us.

In the elevator, Claire tried again. She pressed the watch box into my hand.

"I picked it especially for you, Ruby. Please, stop being angry."

She was a pragmatic woman. For her to go to this extent meant she was either truly sorry—or trying desperately to cover her tracks.

The elevator lighting was clinical and bright. I looked down at the velvet box.

Something caught my eye.

A single, short strand of hair resting against the plush interior.

I plucked it out. Not mine. Not Claire's long hair.

As I brought the box closer, a faint scent assaulted my senses. Not new leather or metal.

Cloying. Familiar.

The same cheap cologne Colin had started wearing recently.

Bile rose in my throat. I gagged, dry-heaving as the realization hit like a physical blow.

"What's wrong?" Claire's voice was laced with concern, her hand reaching for my shoulder.

Ding.

The elevator doors slid open on the tenth floor.

I didn't answer. Shoved past her, stormed into the hallway. Fueled by a rage that blurred my vision, I marched to the apartment next door and hammered my fist against Colin's door.

"What are you doing?!" Claire shrieked, grabbing my arm to drag me back.

But it was too late.

The door swung open, and a face appeared—rosier and healthier than six months ago.

"Ruby, you're back..."

Smack.

My hand moved before he finished. I struck him hard across the face, catching him completely off guard.

Colin's expression cycled through shock and confusion before tears welled in his eyes.

Claire shoved me back immediately, shielding him with her body.

"Ruby Stephens, have you lost your mind? If you have a problem, take it out on me!"

Veins bulged on her forehead. Her glare was murderous—like she wanted to tear me apart.

I didn't hesitate. I slapped her too.

My palm stung from the impact, and my fingernails grazed her cheek, leaving angry red welts.

She froze, stunned into silence.

At work, I was known for being decisive and forceful. At home, I'd always been gentle, accommodating. In all our years of marriage, arguments were rare. Physical violence? Nonexistent.

Colin spotted the watch in my hand and stepped out from behind Claire, immediately adopting an expression of innocent martyrdom.

"Ruby, I only picked that out for Claire. If you don't like it, you don't have to accept it. There's no need for violence, is there?"

I sneered.

"I hit you because you deserve it. Did you think I'd throw away a watch worth hundreds of thousands over a single strand of hair? I'm not that stupid."

I shifted my gaze to Claire, eyes cold.

"I can't stop people from being cheap. But if you think you can fish a single cent out of my pocket, you're dreaming."

Colin bit his lip, expression shifting. Finally, tears trembling on his lashes, he turned to Claire.

"Claire, please don't involve me in your marriage anymore. My life is hard enough. I don't want to be a scapegoat for your arguments."

He sniffled, wiping his eyes. "I never thought about money or... hair. I might not be educated, but I have dignity. I have a child to raise. The innocent have nothing to hide... but if rumors destroy me, who wins?"

Claire seemed to snap out of her daze. She turned on me, defensive.

"Ruby, you've gone too far. Apologize to Colin. Now."

I gripped the watch so hard the metal edges bit into my palm. That sting was nothing compared to the ache in my chest.

I had loved Claire for seven years. Married for three.

She consumed every memory of my youth. The acceptance letters, the first kiss, the way her eyes went hazy with wine at our wedding... I thought I knew every part of her.

I was wrong.

She glared at me, impatient for my apology—like a dog eager to please its master, desperate to comfort the man behind her.

I stared her down.

"You want an apology?" I scoffed. "In your dreams."

I spun on my heel, marched to my apartment door, and punched in the code.

The lock beeped. I stepped inside.

Immediately, something felt wrong.

The floor gleamed. The trash can was empty. The throw blanket on the sofa was folded with military precision, and fresh laundry scent drifted from the balcony.

Too clean.

Claire was not a domestic woman. She never mopped unless forced. Only took out the trash when it overflowed. Preached about hand-washing delicates but let them pile up until she ran out of clothes.

These trivialities had been constant friction in our marriage. We fought about it endlessly.

I remembered her defense vividly: "I'm carrying the weight of the entire Vance family, and I respected your wish not to have children. I never force you to do anything. What more do you want?"

So I'd compromised.

Swallowed my complaints. Tried to make time for housework myself.

Claire had made a show of sincerity by hiring a weekly housekeeper. But a paid stranger wouldn't hand-wash intimate apparel or obsessively rearrange and color-code an entire wardrobe.

Standing before the master bedroom closet, I stared at the unnatural orderliness. A cold knot tightened in my stomach. Every neatly folded shirt, every aligned hanger screamed that this house had acquired a new male master.

Then I saw it.

A new addition to the photo wall. Claire holding the child, leaning into Colin's arm. She was smiling gently—a soft, domestic look I rarely saw anymore.

It had been taken on Claire's birthday. Colin had shown up in a crisp white shirt, holding a small homemade cake. He'd smiled shyly, asking for a picture to "share in the birthday girl's luck." I hadn't thought twice before snapping it for them.

I never imagined he'd print it out and hang it in our master bedroom.

A silent, brazen provocation.

Voices drifted in from the living room.

"He was at fault first," Claire said, defensive. "You were just being kind. If he doesn't appreciate it, that's his problem. Why apologize?"

A pause—likely listening to Colin—then: "Ruby is young and talented. Smooth sailing her whole life, never suffered real hardships, so she has a temper. I don't want you two fighting because of me. I'll apologize to her first. You soften your attitude, and we'll consider it closed."

Her voice lowered, but the walls were thin.

"I just don't want you suffering," she murmured. "He doesn't know what's good for him…"

Through the crack in the door, I saw Colin place a hand over her lips. His eyes held a cloying, sticky affection that made bile rise in my throat.

"Hush," he said softly. "I know how hard it is for you. I can handle a little unfairness. It's nothing."

That was it.

The last shreds of hope disintegrated. I closed my eyes, letting the anger burn away my remaining hesitation.

When I opened them, I was calm. I walked out.

They sprang apart in panic, but I didn't care. I looked at my wife expressionlessly.

"Claire. I can't live with you anymore."

I didn't blink. "Pick a day. Let's get a divorce."

Claire froze. She stared at me, then took a deep breath and turned to the man beside her. "Colin, you can't fix this. Go home."

To my disbelief, tears instantly welled in his eyes. He stepped toward me, pitiful.

"Ruby, don't say that," he pleaded, trembling. "Divorce is such a heavy word. It brings bad luck to say it so casually."

He pressed a hand to his chest. "I came to apologize. I overstepped. I thought because we were friends, I could help out, but I had no boundaries. It's all my fault. A thousand times, my fault."

He sniffled, wiping his eyes. "From now on, I'll keep my distance. Just me and my son, alone. I'm used to it. But please, don't divorce Claire because of me. She's such a good woman…"

He broke into theatrical sobs, shoulders shaking.

Claire's expression hardened. She looked at his weeping form, hands clenching into fists. When she turned back to me, her eyes were cold.

"Ruby, Colin has humiliated himself enough. I don't want to fight with you."

She stepped closer, voice dropping to steel. "You know this. A divorce right now would destroy your career. Don't bring it up again. I'll pretend I never heard it."

My jaw tightened.

We'd joined the same conglomerate before our marriage. Different departments, but when the company promoted a new Vice President, we were the final two candidates.

Back then, to help my parents accept her faster, I'd withdrawn my candidacy.

I handed her the victory.