The Day I Wore Red Again, Our Marriage Ended

"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.