"Waylon, that night was a mistake," Rosalia whispered. "I thought Miles was you..."

"But the doctor said I can't terminate this pregnancy—if I do, I'll never be able to have children again. This baby has to stay."

Rosalia pressed Miles protectively behind her; the gesture left no doubt where she stood.

I remembered her first explanation when I'd first begun to suspect.

"Miles is just a student of mine. He recently graduated and is looking for work, so he's been asking me for guidance." Besides being CEO, she also taught as a guest lecturer. Students consulting professors—there was nothing strange about that.

But I had seen the résumé she hid under her desk. She'd already hired him into the company. If it was only a mentor-student relationship, it was fine. But then I'd saw her dancing with Miles in his red suit—kissing him, clinging to him. At that moment, I wanted to break every branch within reach.

"Weren't you supposed to be on a business trip?" Rosalia frowned and tugged at my sleeve, trying to smooth things over. "We can talk about this at home."

I shrugged her off coldly. Looking at Miles's blazing red suit, I snorted. "You're the one who goes berserk at the sight of red—are you blind? Can't you see him standing there in that scarlet suit?"

"Rosalia, do you remember what happened the last time I wore a red suit?" I asked. "You'd just told me you were pregnant. I put on red to celebrate, and you attacked me—you smashed my head open, and we lost our child. Have you forgotten?"

She looked at me, exhausted and helpless. "I've already said I'm sorry."

"Waylon, must you keep bringing this up? How long are you going to make a scene?" she snapped.

"Make a scene?" The word tasted absurd in my mouth. "It was a life—do you expect me not to make a scene?"

"Rosalia, either you go to the hospital and terminate this pregnancy today," I said, my voice flat, "or you pay for it with your life."

Miles, crouched behind her, twisted with indignation and grabbed her sleeve, eyes wide and pleading. "Rosalia, please don't abort this baby. This is our child..."

Rosalia squeezed his hand and calmed him. Her stance never wavered, as if saying no one must touch Miles.

"I told you—I cannot have an abortion," she said, then dropped to one knee in front of me. "Let me keep this child and I'll give you my life. I'll do whatever you want—please, Waylon."

The same false, performative devotion—always for show. I could feel my revulsion, but I forced a smile that felt like sunlight on poison.

"Fine."

I picked up the vase beside me.

Miles shrieked as I hurled it toward Rosalia. He lunged to shield her and the vase smashed against his back.

The color drained from her face inch by inch.

"Miles..." she cried, flinging herself around him. "Don't be afraid—I'll get a doctor!"

She turned once, and her eyes met mine—cold and full of murderous hate.

That's when I understood: Rosalia would never let me go.

But before she could ruin me—I had already arranged for a reporter to be lurking nearby. The camera caught everything. Tonight, unless something unexpected happened, Rosalia would see her private life splashed across the headlines.

'Rosalia—why do you get to take whatever you want, toss it aside whenever you're done? I'm not an object.'

'This time, I'll make sure you finally understand the price of what you've done.'

Sure enough, two hours later, the headline #Rosalia Lopez Two Timing exploded onto the trending list.

Almost immediately my phone rang, vibrating furiously. Her name lit up the screen.

"Waylon, did you arrange that trending post? Take it down—now!"

I said nothing and hung up without a moment's hesitation. Then I blocked her number.

Her messages still came through like bullets fired at a wall.

[Waylon, what are you trying to do? Do you realize how much damage this is causing the company? The stock is already plummeting!]

[Waylon, I know you're angry, but can't we just go home and talk this out?]

[If you want, I can apologize...]

Expressionless, I switched off my phone and placed it face-down on the table. Across from me sat my lawyer.

"Let's continue," I said flatly.

I slid a file from the bottom of my bag—the one I'd hidden away for years—and handed it over.

"Please check if this divorce agreement is still valid."

Before we married, Rosalia had signed a blank divorce agreement herself. At that time, there was no affection between us.

She looked at me in the eye and said coldly, "If you ever want to leave, just sign it. You'll be free. This is my guarantee to you."

Later, our relationship deepened. She, the powerful CEO, would still cook three meals a day for me. She thought of everything—whether I was cold, whether I was hot—she cared about every detail.

I've been moved. I thought that kind of life could last forever. So I buried the document deep in a drawer and forgot about it.

Until Miles appeared.

I had never seriously considered divorce before then. Apart from her hatred of red, Rosalia had been good to me—even after the baby was lost, I had forgiven her.

I could endure being hurt. But I could not endure being made a joke.

The lawyer finished reviewing the papers and nodded.

"Mr. Flores, this agreement is still valid. As soon as you sign it, it will take effect."

Right there, I signed and slid the file back across the table. "I want the divorce finalized. As soon as possible."

When I left the café, it had begun to drizzle. A black car honked and rolled to a stop in front of me—Rosalia's car.

"Get in," she ordered as the window slid down, revealing her cold, composed face.

I didn't even pause, walking straight past her.

"Waylon!" She jumped out and caught my arm. "Are you still making a scene?"

I slapped her hand away and then slapped her across the face. "Don't touch me. You're filthy to me now."

She stood frozen, eyes narrowing, gaze flicking to the blazing red suit I wore. Her brow knotted tightly.

"Why must you fight me on everything?"

"Waylon, didn't we once love each other? Can't we go back to that?"

"Miles only suffered minor injuries. The baby is fine. If something had happened—"

"What?" I cut her off. "You would have killed me?"

"Waylon! What have you turned into?" she snapped.

Her eyes were filled with exhaustion and disgust.

"Tell me," I said quietly. "Is it me who changed—or you?"

"Rosalia, don't forget," I said. My voice was like ice. "You were the one who betrayed me first."

I didn't bother arguing with her anymore—I turned on my heel to leave.

But Rosalia wouldn't let up. "That reporter was arranged by you, wasn't he? Call him. Tell him to delete it!"

So that was the real reason she'd come running after me.

"Miles saw the news and had a breakdown," she continued breathlessly. "He was threatening to jump off the building, and I had to calm him down for hours."

Then, with that self-righteous tone she had perfected, she added, "Waylon, can't you stop being so selfish? Stop dragging other people down with you."

What a saint—always thinking of others.

I turned, a cold laugh curling off my lips.

"Selfish?"

"I'm not just going to be selfish, Rosalia. I'm going to destroy you completely."

Her face blanched. "Waylon, don't touch him," she pleaded. "I swear, that night was an accident. If I carry this baby to term, I'll make sure he disappears from our lives forever."

Her reaction told me everything—she'd just revealed her weakest point.

My chest ached, but my smile didn't falter.

"And what if I refuse?"

I wasn't just after a divorce. I wasn't going to let her slip away so easily.

The years of my youth, my energy, my loyalty—they weren't worthless. She would pay every last cent back.

Her eyes turned cold too. "Then I'll have no choice but to send you away for a while."

By "away," she meant out of the country.

Exile.

She wanted me to "calm down" somewhere foreign and unfamiliar. But how was that anything but a gilded cage?

"You have no right to interfere with my freedom." I sneered. "Rosalia, I'm not some pet you keep on a leash."

I walked out the door wearing red, only to have her bar my way.

"Change your clothes before you leave," she deadpanned. "I told you, you're not allowed to wear red."

A stubborn fire flared in me. "And why can't I?"

"Because only Miles can wear red," she replied without shame. "When he wears red, it helps treat my mental condition. Haven't you noticed how much better I've been lately?"

I nearly gagged at the audacity, tearing my arm out of her grip.

"Enough. With acting skills like that, you should be winning film awards instead of lying to me."

Did she really think I still believed her pathetic excuses?

I had already checked the security cameras. I'd seen her late at night, thinking I was asleep—pressing Miles down on the sofa, kissing him like she couldn't breathe without him.

I heard her whisper to him, "I only want to keep your child. Waylon can forget it—he'll never get to plant his seed in me. After all, I'm already married to him. He's had enough."

That was when I finally understood—her supposed "red color triggers" had been a lie from the start.

Even the "accidental" miscarriage of the last baby... All of it had been part of her plan.

I had no more words for her.

Back at the villa, I packed my things and dialed a number that had been burning on my phone for weeks.

"I've decided. I'll go abroad. Come pick me up."

After saying that, I hung up.

And then the uninvited guest arrived.

Ever since Miles had "taken a hit" for Rosalia—shielding her from a falling vase—he'd been living in the Lopez family's villa as if he owned it.

Today he was wearing my pajamas, smirking at me.

"Waylon, don't you think you're pathetic?" he sneered. "You couldn't keep your wife. You couldn't even keep your child. Why don't you just die already?"

"Be smart—step aside and give the position of master of the Lopez family to me. Otherwise, you'll only make yourself into a joke."

This time I didn't lunge at him, didn't make him bleed like before.

I simply walked to the window.

The sunlight outside was warm and sharp.

"Miles," I said quietly, "do you really think that just because she's carrying your child, you've already won?"