"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.