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.

Claire Vance had won. No suspense there.

She claimed gratitude for my contributions, using her shiny new VP title to "escort and protect" my team.

In reality, my team had provided the ink for every stroke of brilliance on her resume.

Only I knew the truth: I never needed her protection. I'd played the supporting role solely to feed her fragile ego.

And now she was weaponizing that concession against me?

Ridiculous.

I didn't bother arguing. I gave her one cold look, turned, and walked into the bedroom to grab my suitcase.

Claire frowned, composure slipping. "Where are you going?"

I ignored her and walked out.

In the corridor, a small figure was curled in the corner. When the child saw me, his eyes lit up—then panic replaced the gloom.

"Auntie Ruby... Daddy! Mommy!"

My footsteps froze. I turned slowly to face the two people behind me.

Claire went rigid. Beside her, Colin flushed a deep, guilty crimson.

"Silly Joseph, this is Auntie Claire." Colin grabbed the boy, pulling him behind his legs like a shield. His voice dripped with practiced helplessness. "Ruby, listen. It was just one time. Claire and I took him to the amusement park, and I casually mentioned Auntie Claire would protect him like a mom. I didn't expect him to take it literally..."

As he finished his frantic explanation, he glanced at Claire. His eyes didn't hold apology—they rippled with lingering, sickening intimacy.

The scene before me was clearly a tacit family of three.

When they'd visited the amusement park no longer mattered. The betrayal was already woven into the child's vocabulary.

I looked at Claire. She opened her mouth, then closed it, hesitation written across her face.

I raised my left hand.

She could have blocked it. She saw it coming. Yet she let it fall.

Smack.

The sharp sound echoed through the hallway, punctuated by Colin's startled gasp and Joseph's frightened shriek.

I quietly admired the result. The red handprint on her left cheek now perfectly matched the one on her right.

"So you've already become a mother, Director Vance." My voice was dangerously calm. "Deeply devoted. Congratulations."

I smoothed my cuffs. "On the day of your wedding banquet, send me an invitation. I'll use my own appointment letter—the one with my name on it—as your wedding gift."

The words landed, and Claire's lowered eyes snapped up. Guilt vanished, replaced by defensive arrogance.

"You want to take over my position?" She scoffed. "You still don't have the ability."

"Whether I do or not," I replied, meeting her gaze, "you know better than anyone."

I didn't wait for a response. I turned toward the elevator.

Behind me, her voice cracked into a hoarse, angry roar.

"Ruby Stephens, don't you dare!"

What is there that I don't dare do?

Years ago, Claire said she wanted to get married. I married her without hesitation.

I was born into an affluent family in a prosperous district. She was a scrapper—a child who'd fought with every ounce of strength to escape the deep mountains of her youth.

That year, she had no house, no car, and a dowry of barely two thousand dollars.

People joked that even my enemies felt sorry for me, watching a high-flying executive settle for so little.

But I knew the truth. When it came to ambition, Claire Vance was my equal.

In just one year, I helped her rise, turning the pity in my enemies' eyes back into red-hot jealousy.

No one understood that I never placed a bet without preparation. I never lacked for the things I wanted. And what I was willing to sacrifice, I had the power to reclaim.

I watched the elevator doors slide shut, cutting off Claire's twisted expression.

I knew it, and she knew it too.

I took a taxi straight back to my parents' estate.

When I lay down in a bedroom larger than the entire living room of our marital apartment, I finally exhaled, tension draining from my shoulders.

In truth, I'd never gotten used to that cramped apartment. It wasn't just the size—the walls were paper-thin, leaking city noise. Central location, but suffocating.

When Claire had insisted on buying it, my mother objected first.

I'd comforted her then, saying the road ahead was long and I wouldn't let my potential go to waste.

I'd always been confident. I believed that in life, as in business, effort guaranteed return on investment.

But Mother, known for her decisiveness, had simply sighed.

"Marriage does not follow reason, Ruby. It is not the same as work."

At the time, arrogant and high-spirited, I hadn't understood.

Now I finally did.