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?"

Evan sneered at me, his smile sharp and malicious. "Francine said it herself, Carson. I'm much better than you. In work, in bed, all of it. She regrets marrying you, and even more, she regrets not meeting me sooner. This trip to the Maldives? That's the honeymoon she promised me. Don't worry. I'll take better care of her than you ever did. Maybe even get her pregnant with our kid!"

That was it—the final straw.

I raised my fist, prepared to hit, but suddenly I felt a cold object in my hand.

Unaware, Evan had secretly concealed a small knife there. Before I could realize what was happening, he seized my wrist, pulled my arm toward his stomach, and pushed the knife in.

"Ahhh!" Evan screamed, the sound tearing through the air, and blood soaked his white shirt instantly.

I froze, unable to grasp what had just occurred.

Then, I heard rushed footsteps.

“Evan!”

Francine burst into the room. Her eyes went wide, and she paled the moment she saw the scene.

Without hesitation, she hurried to his side, hands trembling as she pressed them against his wound.

Francine turned to me, fury in her eyes, and shouted, "Carson, have you lost your mind? It's one thing to get divorced, but why did you have to hurt Evan, too?"

Shaken up, I stuttered, "I didn't..."

My hand instinctively dropped the knife, and it clattered to the floor.

"Still trying to argue?" Francine's voice sliced through the air, harsh and full of anger. "I saw you stab him with my own eyes! You maniac!"

Evan, pale and weak, leaned into her, but he didn't stop adding fuel to the fire.

"Francine, don't blame Carson. It's my fault," he said feebly. "I shouldn't have come to take your things. He saw it, got so angry, and did something foolish. Don't blame him, please."

"Shut up!" I roared. "Francine, listen to me! I didn't hurt him. He stabbed himself!"

I kept explaining, but it was already too late.

With a face frozen in disbelief, Francine grabbed her phone and immediately contacted the authorities.

"I'm calling the police! Someone's been stabbed here! And it's attempted murder!"

The police arrived swiftly, forcing me to the ground, their cold handcuffs digging into my wrists.

Francine stood to the side, her eyes full of hatred as she looked down at me.

Suddenly, memories from my third year of college flooded back.

I had been falsely accused of stealing something from the dorm. Everyone looked at me with suspicion, and some whispered behind my back.

But Francine had stood by me.

"I believe Carson. He's not that kind of person."

Francine stayed up all night reviewing surveillance footage for evidence. She even argued with the counselor to clear my name. Ultimately, the truth revealed that another student had stolen the item.

At that moment, she smiled.

It was brighter than any sun.

I pulled Francine into a tight hug, swearing that I would cherish her for the rest of my life.

But now? The same kind of accusation, but she was on the other side.

Her eyes—eyes that once held nothing but trust—were now cold, filled only with hatred.

"Carson, I didn't expect you to be so extreme and actually to hurt Evan!" Her voice was laced with disappointment and disgust. "I'll hire the best lawyer, and you'll pay the price for this. You'll rot in jail!"

As they shoved me into the police car, I saw Evan being lifted into the ambulance.

Francine followed closely behind him. She didn't even spare me a glance.

And at that moment, my heart felt like it had died and was completely lifeless.

I turned to the officer beside me and asked, "Excuse me, may I call my family?"