The Day Her Assistant Wore My Pajamas, I Filed for a Divorce

Nine months of careful planning had gone into our anniversary trip. And yet, despite my objections, Wynona insisted on bringing her male assistant along. Her excuse was that she could not afford to neglect work.

On the third day of the trip, I filed for divorce.

"Noah, are you serious? You really want a divorce?"

"Yes. I’m done." I nodded without hesitation. "There’s no point in dragging this out. Let’s end it while we still have some dignity left."

——

"What’s the reason?" Her brows shot up in disbelief. "Say it, Noah. Say it clearly."

I turned away and leaned against the hotel window, gazing out at the turquoise waters of the Maldives. This was supposed to be a romantic getaway for our fifth anniversary—something I had poured my heart into planning for nearly a year.

But now, even the sunlit ocean felt cold and mocking.

"You’ll find out the reason soon enough."

Right then, the doorbell rang. Wynona turned to open the door and there stood her assistant.

"Mrs. Rhodes, the meeting call starts at ten," the assistant, Glen Watson, said softly, his voice deliberately gentle.

His gaze flicked toward me and a faint, smug curve tugged at the corners of his mouth.

However, I did not flinch.

"Wynona," I began, my voice calm but cold. "You and your assistant have had more than a dozen meeting calls in the past two days."

"Day and night, you’ve spent more time with him than you have with your husband."

"Tell me—do you really think there’s anything left in this marriage worth saving?"

She frowned. "What’s wrong with that? You know how important this deal is to me."

"A deal?" I stepped closer, locking eyes with her. "You brought three suitcases for our anniversary trip, Wynona. Two of them were filled with documents."

"You didn’t pack a single outfit for me—not even your own swimsuit—but somehow, you managed to pack for Glen."

"Care to explain why?"

She was silent.

Glen stepped in at just the right moment, that infuriating sweet smile still glued to his face. "Mr. Saunders, this is my fault," he said humbly. "I didn’t organize the schedule properly. I disrupted your time together, so please don't blame Mrs. Rhodes."

He lowered his head, his bangs falling across his forehead like a schoolboy pretending to be remorseful, eyes full of staged guilt.

"Mrs. Rhodes has been under so much pressure lately. It’s only natural to forget a few things. Please don’t blame her."

I watched him closely. As he spoke, I noticed his fingers brushed against Wynona’s wrist. It was too subtle, but calculated. And more importantly, Wynona did not pull away.

"Watson," I said coolly, "I’m speaking to my wife. You don’t get to interrupt."

Glen instantly took a half step back. "I’m sorry, Mr. Saunders. I overstepped."

He turned to Wynona like a soaked puppy waiting to be let back inside. Pathetic.

"I’ll go prepare the meeting materials now," he said. "I won’t bother you anymore."

"Wait." Wynona caught his arm.

Then she turned to me, that familiar look of stubbornness blazing in her eyes. "Noah, stop being unreasonable. You know my work isn’t like everyone else’s."

I stared at her.

"Is it so different that you need to share a room with your assistant? So different that you’re still whispering with him at two in the morning?"

I pulled out my phone and opened my photo album.

"Is it also different enough that he gets to call you ‘Wynnie,’ while I—your husband—have to book an appointment just to have dinner with you?"

Glen’s expression twitched, just for a second, before his mask of innocence slid back into place.

"Mr. Saunders, this is all a misunderstanding," he said, his voice smooth. "There were just too many documents to handle last night, so we..."