"Who gave you the nerve to divorce Alexandra?"

Margot Perez was just as furious. "Let me make this clear—if you dare go through with this divorce, I will cut you off as my son. Believe that."

Gladys stood with her arms crossed, flanking my parents, making her stance perfectly clear.

In their eyes, Alexandra Henson was the picture of grace—a "devoted wife and loving mother."

Seven years of marriage, and she'd kept the household running like clockwork. She treated my parents and Gladys well enough.

But none of that changed my mind. This divorce was happening.

"Mom, Dad, Gladys—please don't be upset. This isn't Christian's fault. I must have done something wrong to make him unhappy." Alexandra turned the blame inward, her voice soft with contrition.

And that one sentence sent my parents' temper through the roof.

My father surged forward and slapped me across the face. "Alexandra married into this family. All these years, she's given you children, taken care of your mother and me—she's been nothing short of exemplary. What more could you possibly want?"

"She bore your children, Christian. How can you be this clueless?"

"Get on your knees right now and beg her forgiveness."

His voice was a command, not a request.

"Mom, Dad—this really isn't Christian's fault," Alexandra said gently. "I forgot he's allergic to cilantro. If he eats it, his skin flares up. I was helping Oliver Abbott with his homework so late last night that I made a mistake preparing lunch this morning."

She rose and walked over to me. "Christian, I'm sorry. Please don't be angry with me. I'll be more careful from now on."

Across from me, Gladys was practically baring her teeth. She'd always been blunt by nature, and fresh out of college, she still carried that righteous fire. Watching Alexandra apologize to me pushed her over the edge. "You're unbelievable. I can't just stand here and watch you bully someone this good. Alexandra, come here—I've got your back."

She pulled Alexandra to her side.

My mother piled on. "Why are you just standing there? Apologize to Alexandra. Tell her you're not getting a divorce. Let her forgive you."

"Mom. Dad." I kept my voice level. "What happens between me and Alexandra is between us. This divorce is final."

There was no point arguing further. Nothing I said would land.

So I turned and walked out.

Once I was outside, I sent a message to my legal team, asking how soon they could pull together the evidence I needed.

The reply came quickly. "Mr. Perez, we'll need some time. Please be patient."

There was nothing else I could do. Some things couldn't be rushed.

That evening, I went home.

Before long, Alexandra came back with Oliver, our five-year-old.

The boy looked at me with something close to fear in his eyes. The moment my gaze met his, he ducked behind Alexandra.

"Oliver, go to your room and rest. Mommy will come read you a story in a little while."

Oliver nodded obediently and scurried off down the hall.

Alexandra sat down across from me.

I pulled out the divorce agreement and tossed it in front of her. "Take a look. If everything's in order, sign it."

She picked it up, skimmed it for barely a second, and dropped it back on the table. "Christian, our son is still so young. Are you really this heartless?"

The performance was starting again.

"I'll be straight with you," I said, my voice low and hard. "I'm not playing games. You don't sign, we settle this in court."

The pitiful look on Alexandra's face vanished in a flash. A cold smirk curled at the corner of her lips. "I'm not signing this. You want a divorce that badly? Fine. Full custody goes to me, plus ten million dollars in compensation. Otherwise, there's nothing to discuss."

"Also, you're going to agree to this whether you like it or not. If you don't, I'll have to show you what I'm capable of."

"You know as well as I do—your parents and your sister are all on my side. If you divorce me, you'll be branded an ungrateful, disloyal son. And that kind of reputation?" Alexandra's entire demeanor shifted, the mask falling away completely. "That's the kind of thing that can destroy a man."

She looked like a stranger to me.

I steadied myself. "I'd love to see what you're capable of."

I gathered the divorce papers and left without another word.

The next morning, all hell broke loose.

"Company CEO forces wife to sign divorce papers—because she put cilantro in his stir-fry!"

The story rocketed up the trending charts on social media.

My secretary brought it to my attention while I was in my office. I tapped on the trending headline. Someone had posted it anonymously, but the recording from inside our home last night had already been leaked.

Anonymous. Right. As if that fooled anyone.

Connecting it to what Alexandra had said about showing me her "capabilities," there was no question—this was all her doing.

The story spread like wildfire.

Before long, an interview video surfaced—my parents and my sister, all on camera, publicly condemning me.

No need to guess who'd put them up to it.

"If he dares divorce Alexandra, this entire family will disown him," my father declared. "But if he comes to his senses, I'm still willing to give him one chance."

In the video, Alexandra maintained her signature look—fragile, wronged, on the verge of tears.

The comments section was a bloodbath.

"What kind of monster IS this guy? Even his own parents have turned against him! He must be absolute scum!"

"When the parents AND the sister side with the daughter-in-law, that tells you everything you need to know about her character."

"He's obviously got someone on the side. Got tired of his wife and wants to trade up. I've seen this a thousand times!"

"Boycott this garbage company! Nobody buy their products!"

The story detonated across every platform.

By the end of the workday, my phone rang. Alexandra.

"Christian, have you seen enough of what I can do? Ready to agree to my terms now?"

"And don't bother trying to record this. I won't fall for that. I've sent you an address—we can meet in person to discuss."

"No need to meet," I said. "And I have no interest in recording you. Not only will I reject every single one of your conditions—I'm going to make sure you walk away from this marriage with nothing."

A cold, triumphant laugh crackled through the speaker. "If you won't agree, then don't blame me for what comes next."

"If you think you have what it takes, go right ahead."

I ended the call.

One deep breath. Then I grabbed the hair samples I'd prepared in advance—mine and the child's—and mailed them out.

Over the next two weeks, I endured the worst period of my life.

My company ground to a near-total halt. Employees joined the public crusade against me. Resignations piled up on my desk daily. Some of the ones who stayed demanded I admit fault, apologize to Alexandra, beg for her forgiveness.

My own family posted a public statement online severing all ties with me.

Just like that, I was abandoned by everyone. Every single person I thought I could count on.

I became a pariah. A target for the entire internet's rage.

Then one afternoon, Alexandra called again. "Christian, are you ready to get on your knees and beg? Maybe if you grovel nicely enough, I'll show you some mercy."

I said nothing. I hung up.

And then—finally—my legal team called.

"Mr. Perez, we're sorry for everything you've had to endure these past weeks. We've secured all the evidence. We're ready to go to court."

At the same time, the paternity test results arrived in my hands.

The child had no biological relation to me whatsoever.

"Hello? Mr. Perez! Are you still there?"

I drew a deep breath. "Yeah, I'm here. File the motion for a hearing tomorrow."

Alexandra Henson—right and wrong, fault and innocence—it would all come out tomorrow. And when it did, she'd pay every last cent of what she owed.

I was going to show her exactly what "payback" tasted like.