The Day I Wore Red Again, Our Marriage Ended

'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."