"Do you not trust me at all?"

I glanced at Francine, the frustration building in my chest. "Can you explain to me what Evan has done for the company to deserve a million-dollar watch as a reward?"

Her brow furrowed, and her voice sharpened with impatience. "This was a decision made by senior management. It has nothing to do with you."

"Nothing to do with me?" I chuckled bitterly, the anger rising inside me. "You give another man a million-dollar watch, book him a trip to the Maldives, and I'm just supposed to stay quiet about it? As your husband, don't I have the right to question this?"

Francine took a deep breath, clearly trying to keep her composure. "Carson, can you stop making a scene? Evan closed three major deals last month. He generated tens of millions of dollars in profits for the company. What's wrong with rewarding him?"

"Rewarding him is fine, but why the Maldives? Why couple watches then?" I pointed at her wrist, where the same watch Evan had gotten was now adorning her. "I checked online. This is a limited-edition couple's watch, right? Don't tell me this is just a coincidence."

Francine's gaze flickered for a brief moment before she regained her composure.

"God, Carson! When did you become so paranoid? The company bought the watch, and our partners arranged the tickets. You're the one making this dirty!"

"Dirty?" I clenched my teeth. "Francine, I'm not blind or deaf. Do you really think I don't hear the rumors going around the office?"

Her expression shifted instantly. "What rumors?"

"You and Evan..." I didn't finish my sentence, but she immediately cut me off.

"Enough! Carson, I work hard every day, and this is how you treat me? If you don't trust me, there's nothing left to discuss," she snapped. "You don't have to wait for me for dinner tonight. I'm working overtime with a client."

With that, Francine turned and walked out. Evan stood off to the side, a faint, knowing smile on his lips.

...

Back home, I sat alone on the balcony, smoking one cigarette after another.

My marriage was once everything to me. It was happy and fulfilling. But ever since Evan joined the company, everything has changed.

Initially, it was limited to professional interactions between them. But soon, it turned into something constant over time, always together, hand in hand.

They even traveled for business together.

Then, her phone's password changed.

When I heard the rumors in the office back then, I tried to remind Francine gently, "Men and women should maintain some distance. You two are getting too close. It might lead to misunderstandings."

Francine laughed it off, dismissing my concerns with a wave. "Evan's just my assistant. Can't you stop being so petty?"

But reality was different.

Last month, after a company team-building trip, she returned home slightly tipsy. When Evan helped her out of the car, his hand lingered on her waist—much longer than necessary.

I stepped forward to help her, but Evan smiled and said, "Miss Watson can't handle her alcohol, Mr. Rutherford. You'll need to take better care of her from now on."

That tone, like he was the one closest to her.

And last week, I saw a message pop up on my wife's phone.

[Babe, see you at the usual spot tonight.]

I casually inquired, "Who's that?"

Francine brushed it off with a smile, replying, "Just my close friend, Lia."

...

Amid the swirling smoke, I stared at my phone screen.

Evan had just updated his social media.

It was a photo of the night view taken at a high-end restaurant.

The photo didn't include him or Francine.

Only two glasses of red wine and a pair of intertwined hands.

One of the wrists was adorned with the same watch that had been mistakenly sent to me today.

[Your company is worth more than all the beauty in the world.]

My stomach turned as I looked at the image.

It wasn't until the early morning hours that Francine finally arrived home.

The sound of her high heels tapping on the floor echoed through the quiet living room. I stayed seated on the sofa, not moving to greet her like I usually did, nor offering her any hangover tea or a warm towel.

Francine stumbled slightly, clearly not used to my cold indifference. Her brow furrowed, and there was a hint of frustration in her voice.

"What's wrong with you? You know I'm drunk, and you can't even help me?"

I didn't answer, just silently watched her. Her makeup was still flawless, but the smell of smoke and alcohol clung to her body and hair.

And then, there was the cologne, the unmistakable scent of Evan's cologne—the one he always wore.

I couldn't help but think back to the past. I loved my wife with all my heart and cared for her deeply. I chased her for five long years before finally winning her heart.

Back then, her smile was pure, and her eyes were filled only with me.

For her, I gave up so much.

I never once regretted it, as long as I was by her side.

Until tonight...

Suddenly, her phone lit up, the bright light cutting through the room's silence.

[Are you home? I had a great time today. Good night.]

What hit me even harder were the couple's profile pictures they had chosen together: a pink butterfly paired with a blue one, silently revealing what I had refused to acknowledge.

My heart sank completely.

Francine noticed my gaze and quickly turned the screen off, but it was already too late.

The air in the room felt thick, almost frozen for a few seconds.

Then, she tried to explain, her voice faltering.

"It's just work-related..."

I couldn't hold it in anymore as I cut her off.

"Francine, let's get a divorce."

I spoke the words calmly, as if I were standing outside of myself.

She froze, clearly unable to comprehend what I'd just said. "What did you say?"

I reiterated, "I said, let's get a divorce."

Then, I stood up, the weight of it all sinking in. "Francine, it's over."

Instantly, her face drained of color.

"Carson, listen to me. It's not what you think."

I looked at her, cold as ice. "So, what is it then? Did Evan's hand accidentally slip onto your waist? Did you both unintentionally pick matching couple profile pictures? Or was the Maldives ticket something you accidentally booked?"

Francine's gaze flickered briefly before turning to anger. "Why are you pushing me like this? I work so hard every day. Can't you be a little more understanding? You weren't like this before! Now, you want a divorce over two plane tickets?"

I rubbed my temples tiredly, a deep sigh escaping me. "Yes, divorce. I'll move out tomorrow and contact a lawyer to draft the divorce agreement."

With that, I turned and walked into the guest room, slamming the door behind me.

I didn't sleep a wink that night.

The first time I met Francine was at a university debate competition. She wore a simple white shirt, had her ponytail high, spoke sharply, and her gaze was bright.

I sat in the audience, my heart pounding in my chest.

Right there, I fell for Francine instantly.

After that, I chased her for five long years. For her, I chose to give up the family business and stay in the country, joining her father's company after graduation.

From campus to the workplace, from being unnoticed to becoming a part of her life.

On the day I proposed, I kneeled by the sea. The sound of the waves drowned out my trembling voice, but she smiled and nodded in response.

What a pity! The sweeter the memories, the sharper the reality.

Sighing deeply, I picked up my phone and saw a number I hadn't called in a while.

I sent a message:

[Dad, I've made up my mind. I'll be back next week.]

It was daytime on the other side of the world, and my father, Hector, replied almost instantly:

[Really? That's great!]

Then, cautiously, my father asked:

[Is Francine coming too?]

I stared at the screen, my throat tightening.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a few seconds before I typed a simple reply:

[Just me.]

My father stayed silent for a moment, then sent a voice message.

His voice was deep and controlled, but there was no mistaking the pain behind the words.

"Carson, no matter what happens, I will always support you."

...

The next morning, I opened my sore, tired eyes to find my pillow soaked. I had no idea when Francine left, but the room now only carried the lingering scent of her perfume. It was faint, but it cut at my heart like a dull knife, slowly and relentlessly.

Still, I got up, moving like a robot, numb to everything around me.

In the closet, the couple's jackets, which they had bought in Hokkaido the previous year, still hung side by side. I took mine down and stuffed it into my suitcase.

The rest—Francine's things, the memories—stayed untouched.

I couldn't bear to look at them again.

Then, my phone vibrated, pulling me out of my thoughts.

It was a message from my father:

[The tickets and accommodations are all arranged. The flight is next Wednesday.]

[Carson, son, no matter what happens, your family will always be your support.]

I stared at the screen, my eyes welling up once more.

Once, I thought Francine was my everything.

Now, I realized some warmth had never truly left me.

The doorbell rang suddenly, and for a moment, I thought it was Francine, coming back.

But when I opened the door, I found Evan standing there.

Still impeccably dressed in a suit, with that smug, irritating smile.

"Mr. Rutherford, the chairman asked me to come pick up some of her personal items," he said casually, as if commenting on the weather.

I stayed silent for a few seconds, then stepped aside to let him in.

Meanwhile, Evan headed straight to the bedroom, opening the closet as if he'd done it a hundred times before. He pulled out some of the clothes and cosmetics Francine often used.

Watching him handle her things with such familiarity twisted something in my chest.

"When did it start between you two?" I forced the words out, my voice hoarse.

Evan paused for a moment, then let out a light laugh.

"Mr. Rutherford, you've misunderstood. My relationship with Miss Watson is strictly professional."

My eyebrows rose. "Professional?"

Then I gestured toward the lingerie in his hand. "Is this part of the job too?"

Evan's smile faltered for just a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. He slowly placed Francine's lingerie into his bag, then turned to face me, his eyes filled with challenge.

"Mr. Rutherford, since you're so curious, let me tell you."

He lowered his voice, the corner of his mouth curling into a mocking grin.

"You're right. My relationship with Francine has long since gone beyond the professional."

My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms, but I felt no pain.

Then, Evan spoke flippantly, "Our first intimate contact was in the company's break room. That day, she was drunk and kissed me first."

His tone was smug, as if he were bragging about some great victory.

"Francine knows exactly what she wants. I admit that I couldn't resist the temptation. Later, we were at hotels, in the car, even on your family's sofa. She's far more passionate and open than you think."

Each word felt like a knife, stabbing deep into my chest.

I thought I had moved on, but hearing these vivid details, my rage consumed every bit of reason I had left.

"Shut up!"

I lunged forward, grabbing his collar.

Evan didn't resist. Instead, he smiled that damn victorious smile.

He leaned in, his voice lowering to a whisper, just loud enough for me to hear.

"What's wrong? Can't take it?"