A flurry of kisses landed along the hollow of my neck.

My whole body went rigid, but I didn't push him away—I let him pretend, let him pour out his false tenderness.

"There's still a few things to wrap up. I need to be there," I murmured.

There was no real need to go on a business trip. I only wanted to stop seeing Raymond for a while.

He undid the buttons of my blouse with a hand that was both impatient and practiced.

"Maddy." His voice was hoarse. "Hold me tight."

He wanted me. He wanted to pin my hands above my head like he always did. I didn't speak; I pulled my hands free instead, stiff and careful.

He sensed something was wrong and opened his eyes.

"Maddy, are you still angry?" he asked.

As I stayed silent, he sank to one knee like he was reciting some ritual, suddenly solemn, and took a small box from behind his back.

"Bought you something new. See if you like it."

Inside was a simple white dress. The sight of it turned my stomach with a deep-seated disgust; everything about it felt fake. I set the box aside.

"Raymond," I said, steady. "Let's get a divorce."

His phone buzzed at that moment, several messages flooding in. He glanced down without thinking, and his face softened, full of the kind of indulgence he'd never shown toward me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the contact name: "Dory." He was exchanging cheerful, intimate messages as if they'd known each other forever.

Only after he finished reading did he look up.

"Hmm? What did you say just now?"

It hit me like a punch into cotton. On his phone's lock screen was the video of Dorothy in that red dress, dancing. Whenever he saw that image, his expression went slack with adoration — an expression I had never once received from him.

...

When that girl, Dorothy, showed up holding a pregnancy test, I didn't hesitate. I slapped her across the face.

She hadn't expected it. She screamed and clawed at me.

"You bitch, Madeline! How dare you hit me? Wait until Raymond finds out—he won't let you get away with this!"

Hearing the commotion, Raymond barreled in, face suddenly ashen. He saw me gripping Dorothy's hair, forcing her against the wall.

"Madeline!" he barked, desperate, and yanked me back.

Rather than anger, a strange amusement spread across my face as I turned to him. "Hubby, this girl is a fraud—she's saying she's pregnant with your child. How could that be? For the money she once took, I'll teach her a lesson."

I swung my fist toward her stomach, but someone grabbed my wrist midair.

"Don't make a scene, Madeline." Raymond rubbed his temples, annoyed.

"You're stopping me?" I scoffed. Image was everything to him, his every posture calibrated for public display. This was the first time he'd stopped me without caring who watched.

"Raymond, what do you mean?" I pressed. "Is she telling the truth? Is that child really yours?"

I expected him to stutter, to invent a dozen excuses. Instead, he looked at me and frankly admitted it.

"Yes." He held my gaze. "The child is mine."

I threw the hardest, angriest slap I had left at his face. He didn't flinch; the handprint burned on his cheek, and for a long moment he didn't turn back toward me.

"Maddy—the night was a mistake." His voice was low and pained. "I thought she was you."

He swallowed and tried to explain, as if that made the betrayal smaller. "But the doctor said she can't terminate the pregnancy. If she aborts, she may never be able to have children again. I can't do that to her."

The words landed like another blow. He could find compassion for a stranger but not for me.

Raymond planted himself between Dorothy and me like a shield—his posture said everything. He would protect her, and that settled his position.

I thought back to the first time I'd questioned him, to the explanation he gave me then.

"Dorothy's just one of my students. She recently graduated and has been asking for career advice."

Aside from running a company, Raymond also taught as a guest professor at a university. A professor helping a student was normal enough. But I had seen the résumé he'd hidden under his desk. He'd already brought Dorothy into the company.

If it were merely a mentor-student relationship, I could have let it be. But then I remembered seeing Dorothy in that red dress—dancing with him, pressing her lips to his. At that moment, I wanted to snap every branch from the trees along the road.

"Maddy, weren't you supposed to be on a business trip?" he asked, brow furrowed as he tried to calm everything down. "Let's go home and talk this over."

I shrugged him off coldly and stared at Dorothy's scarlet dress. "You always said red makes you lose control. Are you blind? Don't you see her? She's in bright red."

"Raymond, do you remember what happened the last time I wore a red dress?" I asked. "I'd just found out I was pregnant and wanted to wear red to celebrate. You grabbed me—you hit me so hard I miscarried and ended up in the hospital. Have you forgotten?"

He looked at me, eyes heavy with exhaustion and helplessness. "I've said I'm sorry."

"Madeline, are you still holding onto this? How long are you going to make a scene?" His voice was narrow, irritated.

"Make a scene?" The word tasted bitter, and I laughed without humor. "That was a life we lost. Don't tell me I shouldn't make a scene."

"Either you send this woman to the hospital to terminate the pregnancy," I said, voice steady, "or you use your own life to pay for it."

Dorothy, hiding behind him, began to sob and grab his sleeve. "Raymond—please! I don't want to terminate the pregnancy!"

Raymond held her hand and soothed her. "I'm here. Don't be afraid."

His stance never wavered—no one could touch Dorothy while he stood there.

"I said she couldn't have an abortion," he solemnly said, then dropped to one knee as if trying to coax me. "I give you my life. Do whatever you want—okay, Maddy?"

Once again, it was that same hypocritical act of self-sacrifice, staged for others to see. I swallowed my disgust and forced a bright smile.

"All right." I reached for the vase beside me.

Dorothy’s terrified screams rang out as I hurled it toward Raymond.

“Don’t hurt Raymond!"

The vase hit her in the back first—she stumbled and fell against him. Blood drained from his face, inch by inch.

"Dory—" he cried, panic shredding his voice as he scooped her up in his arms. "Don't worry. I'll get a doctor!"

He shot me a cold glare—pure, unyielding hatred. In that instant I understood: Raymond would never let me go.

But I had planned for this.

Hidden nearby, a reporter had been waiting—camera rolling, every moment captured. Tonight, the footage would go out as an exclusive.

Raymond, why must you always take whatever you desire, only to toss it aside when it no longer pleases you?

I am not an object.

This time, I would make sure you learn the price of your mistakes.

Sure enough, two hours later the headline trended everywhere:

#Raymond Tomlinson Two Timing—his betrayal splashed across the feed, a spectacle for the world to see.

At that very moment, my phone lit up with Raymond's furious call.

"Madeline! The trending news—you arranged it, didn't you? Delete it immediately!"

I said nothing. I simply hung up without a second of hesitation.

When his messages came flooding like bullets, I blocked him with one tap.

Still, they kept popping up on the screen, notification after notification.

Raymond: [Madeline, what are you trying to do? Do you realize how much damage this is causing the company? The stock price is already plummeting!]

[Maddy, I know you're angry, but can't we talk this through properly?]

[If that's what it takes, I'll apologize...]

Expressionless, I powered off the phone, set it face down on the table, and lifted my gaze to the lawyer across from me.

"Let's continue." I pulled out the old document I'd hidden away at the bottom of my drawer and slid it across the table.

"Please take a look. Is this divorce agreement still valid?"

Years ago, before our marriage meant anything, Raymond had personally signed this blank agreement.

At that time, his words had been ice-cold. "If you ever want to leave, just sign this. You'll always have the freedom to walk away."

I had thought it was a gesture of security, of trust.

Later, as our relationship deepened, he changed. The cold-hearted CEO cooked for me three times a day. He fussed over me endlessly—whether I was too cold, too hot, too tired. I believed it. I believed that kind of love could last a lifetime.

So I tucked the paper away, never once thinking of using it.

Until Dorothy appeared.

Other than his violent hatred for red, Raymond had treated me well enough. Even when I lost our child to his outburst, I forced myself to forgive. I could endure pain.

But I could never endure being made a fool.

The lawyer examined the agreement carefully, then nodded.

"Miss Alvares, this agreement is still valid. As long as you sign, it takes effect immediately."

I took the pen, signed my name, and pushed the paper back across the desk. "I want the divorce finalized—as quickly as possible."

When I walked out of the café, rain had begun to drizzle. A black car honked sharply in front of me.

It was Raymond's car. He rolled the window down, revealing his stern face.

"Get in."

I didn't pause, didn't even look at him, and kept walking past.

"Madeline!" He jumped out, grabbed my arm. "Are you still going to make a scene?"

My palm cracked against his cheek before I even thought about it. "Don't touch me. You disgust me."

He froze, staring at me with eyes that had gone cold, his gaze dropping to my flaming red dress. His brows twisted tightly together.

"Why must you oppose me in everything?"

"Maddy, wasn't our relationship always good before? Can't we go back to that?" His voice frayed, heavy with frustration. "Dory was lucky it was only superficial injuries. The baby's fine. But if something had happened—"

"If What then?" I cut him off. My voice was like ice. "If she'd lost the child, would you have killed me instead?"

"Madeline!" His shout was ragged. "How did you become like this?"

"How did I become like this?" My laugh was sharp and bitter. "Tell me, Raymond—did I change? Or was it you?"

His eyes, when they met mine, were full of exhaustion, full of disgust.

"Don't forget," I said, turning away. "It was you who betrayed me first."

I didn't want to waste another word. I walked off.

But he refused to let go, still chasing me down.

"That reporter—you set her up. Call her! Tell her to delete the video!"

So that was why he had come.

"Dory saw the article," he said, his tone accusatory, almost urgent. "She was so shaken she tried to throw herself off the building. It took me a long time to calm her down!"