The year I graduated from high school, my dad brought home a woman and a child with a rose on my mom's birthday.

When the child offered my mom the rose, my mom gladly accepted it, only to end her life after spending her 39th birthday.

…

When I got married, I told my husband, Alistair Yates, that a rose was enough to end our marriage if he wanted a divorce.

Then, he tried to reassure me that our house would not have anything related to roses.

…

Five years later, during one of the Yates Group's tender, one of our partners had a rose pinned to her chest.

When he saw this, Alistair immediately kicked her out of the company and blacklisted her.

That day, I realized that marriage could actually be blissful.

Yet, six months after that, I completed my new drug research. The entire corridor was full of roses when I came out of the lab.

The person who had been kicked out of the company?

She was standing beside Alistair with a bright smile.

I looked at him coldly, but he casually said, "Maria prepared all these for you. She's your sister and she wants to make amends with you."

It took me two seconds to stare at Alistair before I turned to leave.

What sister? I never had one.

And from today, I no longer need a husband.

The Beginning

I zoned out in front of my mother's tombstone for three hours.

Today was her birthday—and also the tenth anniversary of her death.

Red roses were the symbol of my parents' love.

Yet ten years ago today, my father watched with his own eyes as Maria Granger handed a red rose to my mother—an act that shattered her spirit completely.

Red roses became my taboo.

And ten years later, on this very day, my husband brought the woman who caused my mother's death, carrying those same red roses, and dealt me a fatal blow.

Fireworks bloomed in the distance like a rain of light. That was Alistair Yates' celebration banquet, held to mark the successful development of a new drug.

I had led the research team—six months of relentless effort and 180 days of sleepless nights, yet at this moment, it all felt like Maria's victory proclamation.

After saying goodbye to my mother, I stood up and left.

That was when Alistair's call came through.

On the phone, the man's voice was thick with alcohol. "The celebration's almost over. You're the head of R&D—how can you not be here?"

I stayed silent.

In the past, I would've instinctively acted coy, but tonight, I didn't know what to say to him.

His voice rose sharply. "Winnie, I'm talking to you! Where did you run off to?!"

"The cemetery."

He fell silent—as if he had finally remembered that today was the anniversary of my mother's death.

As if he had finally recalled that, for the sake of this new drug, I had given up celebrating my own birthday, canceled our wedding anniversary dinner.

My only request was for him to accompany me to see my mother.

Silence passed before he spoke with difficulty. "I… I was too happy today. I forgot. Wait for me at the cemetery."

I hung up and turned to leave.

Yet, when I reached the parking lot, I received his message.

'Winnie, it's too late tonight. Next time. Maria's drunk. I need to take her home first. Don't worry. I'll make it up to you.'

I wasn't surprised at all.

With Maria's scheming nature, she was bound to cling to Alistair tonight.

I could see through her tricks. A man seasoned in the business world like him could see through them too, but he didn't care because he enjoyed it and never cared about how I felt.

It was fine, though. From now on, I won't care about him either.

Drifting Apart

That night, Alistair did not come home.

He didn't send a single message or make a single call.

I didn't chase him, and I didn't ask.

…

The next morning, I arrived at the office early.

Alistair was the CEO, while I was the head of R&D.

In five years, our company had grown from a garage startup to an office in the heart of the CBD, yet our relationship had drifted farther and farther apart.

The first phase of the new drug's development was complete, so work was relatively light for now.

Holding my coffee, I opened the divorce agreement my lawyer had sent—just as Alistair walked into my office.

"Maria twisted her ankle getting out of the car last night," he said. "I stayed with her a little longer. By the time we were done, it was too late, so I just found a nearby hotel to stay the night."

I nodded, my eyes still on the divorce papers, and replied casually, "I know."

After all, we were about to get divorced. Who he slept with, or where, was none of my business. There was no need for him to report it to me.

Alistair froze. He seemed like he wanted to say something, but held it back. "How about dinner tonight?" he suggested instead. "The new drug was a success—you're the biggest contributor. We should celebrate."

He paused, glanced at me, then added, "Should we invite Maria too? I think you should talk to her. After all, when your mother passed away, she was just a child."

My hand paused slightly.

Listening to him excuse and whitewash Maria, I suddenly wanted to ask him that—when my mother took her own life, wasn't I just a child too?

I swallowed the anger rising in my chest, took a sip of coffee, and replied softly, "My affairs don't concern you. Tonight, let's keep it just the two of us."

We were going to talk about divorce.

Having outsiders around wouldn't be appropriate.

As for a 'younger sister'? My mother had only one daughter—me. Where would a sister come from?

Alistair looked at me, clearly mistaking my words for jealousy. A smile curved his lips as he was about to speak—when the ringing of his phone cut him off.

At the sight of the name "Maria" on the screen, his expression softened. Without another word, he answered the call and hurried out of my office.

…

Near the end of the workday, I received a message from him—a reservation confirmation at a private restaurant.

I knew this was his way of compensating me.

I slipped the printed divorce agreement into my bag and prepared to go.

As I left the building, Alistair's car passed by. He lowered the window, saying, "Go home and freshen up first. I need to meet a client—I'll be there soon."

Before he even finished speaking, the car had already driven off.

In the past, whenever I went on a date with him, I would spend two full hours getting ready. Choosing clothes and doing makeup—things I wasn't good at—always left me exhausted but oddly happy.

This time, there was no need.

I found a massage parlor nearby and loosened up my stiff muscles, finally giving my body—worn down by endless late nights—a proper break.

…

When I arrived at the restaurant, he still hadn't shown up.

I sent him a message. No reply.

I shook my head. Unlike before, I didn't wait for him and ordered food on my own.

The private restaurant had a lovely atmosphere, and the food tasted excellent—far better than eating boxed lunches at the office.

So, even when Alistair never came, I wasn't angry.

After all, he had already betrayed our seven-year relationship. Why would one more broken promise matter?

What he didn't know was this—his signature on the divorce papers would be the greatest compensation he could ever give me.

…

After dinner, I walked home slowly.

Years of nonstop work had left me feeling cut off from the world. The warmth and noise of the streets—everyday life unfolding around me—made me feel alive again.

Suddenly, when I reached a familiar street, I stopped in my tracks.

He Brings Her Home

Only then did I realize that the garage Alistair and I had rented when we first started our business had long since been demolished. And the stall we used to visit every day just to save a dollar had already turned into a bakery.

That was when I finally understood—things change, and so do people.

Even the beautiful memories I once cherished had been erased by time.

My phone rang. It was my mentor.

There was a hint of hesitation in her voice as she began, "Winnie, your application to join the 707 confidential research project was approved yesterday. I need to confirm this one last time—have you truly thought this through?

"This mission will take at least five years. Without you, the company you and your husband built could easily collapse. Will your husband agree?"

I stepped forward, leaving that familiar street behind, and answered firmly, "I'm getting a divorce."

…

Because the classified project was about to begin—and because I wanted to leave as soon as possible—I arranged for my mentor to send someone to pick me up the very next day.

With no mood left for wandering, I took a cab straight home.

The living room lights were on. Alistair was sitting on the couch, texting.

The moment he saw me, the crease in his brow smoothed out. He rushed over, grabbed my hand, and demanded, "Why didn't you wait for me at the restaurant? When I got there, and you were gone, do you have any idea how awkward that was for me?"

I froze for a moment. I hadn't expected him to actually show up in the end, but seeing how confidently he questioned me, I couldn't help but find it ridiculous.

Then again, it made sense. He was used to me waiting right where he left me.

I pulled my hand free. "I was full. Why would I stay?"

Perhaps realizing he was indeed in the wrong, he suppressed his irritation and handed me a gift box. "I bought this especially for you today. Open it and take a look."

I wasn't surprised. After standing me up so many times, some compensation was expected.

That was Alistair. Every time he messed up, he would toss me a little sweetness afterward.

And I would always wait anxiously, hoping the compensation would be a little more—hoping he would spend just a little more time with me.

I took the gift box and casually tossed it onto the couch. "You're too kind," I said politely.

The smile on his face froze. For the first time, he noticed my indifference. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes as he reached for my hand again.

Just then, Maria's voice floated down from the second floor. "Alistair, maybe I should go home first. If Winnie comes back and misunderstands, that would be troublesome."

When she came down the stairs and saw me, Maria hid the triumph in her eyes, covering her mouth as she put on a look of surprise.

Alistair hurried to explain, "Maria twisted her ankle yesterday. I took her for a follow-up check today—that's why I was late. She can't move around easily right now, so I let her stay in the guest room for the night."

After speaking, he stared at me intently, as if afraid I might get angry.

I nodded and replied indifferently, "Then, I'll stay at a hotel. I won't live under the same roof as her."

Alistair was stunned. He clearly hadn't expected that reaction. "If you really don't like Maria staying here, I can send her—"

Before he could finish, Maria suddenly tumbled down the stairs, clutching her foot as she began to sob softly.

He turned pale, quickly lifting her up and carrying her back into the room to massage her ankle.

When I pulled my suitcase toward the door, ready to leave, he returned to the living room. He pressed his lips together and gripped my hand tightly, refusing to let go.