My wife, Rosalind Judd, has been tearing up our marriage certificate 99 times in the past ten years of our marriage.

This is her usual tactic to make me apologize and make amends.

The first time, I transfer 100 thousand dollars for Rosalind to come back from her travel abroad with her childhood friend, Jackson Lane.

The tenth time, she ruins the anniversary I have prepared meticulously and forces me to immediately help him get back to work.

The 50th time, she humiliates me in front of my client during the day and forces me to sign over the transfer agreement to a villa at night, while she has a candlelit dinner with Jackson.

...

Now, for the 100th time, she forces me to transfer my company shares.

Staring at the love bites on Rosalind's collarbone, I suddenly chuckle. Then, I board the plane decisively.

This time, I no longer want her.

I first met Rosalind Judd on a torrential, rain-soaked evening.

I had just come out of a business negotiation that lasted 20 hours straight. My suit was thoroughly drenched.

As I stepped into the hotel lobby, a young woman in a red evening gown was arguing with the receptionist.

"I told you. I only want the presidential suite!" She slammed her hand against the marble counter, the limited-edition bracelet on her wrist clinking softly.

The receptionist replied, "I'm sorry, miss. The last one has just been booked—"

As I looked at the young woman's pretty face, something compelled me to hand over my key card. "You can have mine."

She turned around, raindrops still clinging to her eyelashes. "Why?"

"You look like you need the rest more than I do," I replied honestly.

The young woman's eyes were red like a rabbit's. It was obvious she had been crying, and exhaustion weighed heavily on her face.

Her diamond-tipped nails brushed lightly across my palm when she took the key card. "My name is Rosalind Judd. Remember it. You'll see me again."

Sure enough, Rosalind appeared downstairs at my company just three days later.

She was dressed in a white sundress, holding a bouquet of roses. "Hendery Stone, right? I'm here to pay you back for the room."

I never told Rosalind my name, let alone my company address. I could hardly believe she actually found me.

Later, I learned that she had searched through the check-in records of every five-star hotel in the city over those three days.

That bouquet had cost twice the price of the room.

…

Rosalind was like a perfectly planned hurricane, tearing my heart apart piece by piece.

On the fifth day after we met, she brought me to try all kinds of extreme sports. As we leapt from the plane, she shouted my name into my ear.

On the tenth day, Rosalind drunkenly filled the bathroom of my apartment with lipstick-drawn hearts.

On the 18th day, she showed up at the entrance of my office dressed in a wedding dress.

"Marry me," Rosalind said as she climbed onto the conference table, her skirt brushing across my project proposal. "Or I'll jump."

My colleagues started laughing and applauding, urging us to get together.

"Alright." I went down on one knee and used the pull tab from a can of Coke as a ring.

…

Rosalind was unusually quiet on the day we registered our marriage.

As the clerk slid the marriage certificate across the desk and asked us to sign, Rosalind suddenly burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably. She leaned in and whispered to me, "Promise you'll forever spoil me like you do now, Hendery."

I leaned down and gently pressed a kiss on her forehead. "I promise."

Rosalind chose an infinity motif for the decor of our wedding dinner, saying she liked how it had no end to it.

That night, she danced alone on the stage in a custom-made gown, like a vivacious butterfly.

No one noticed the way her childhood friend, Jackson Lane, looked at Rosalind.

That was not the look a best friend should have.

Rosalind tore up our marriage certificate three months into our marriage.

That day, I came home early and found her in the walk-in closet, trying on an emerald necklace I'd never seen before.

Over a dozen luxury shopping bags were scattered across the vanity. The receipt on the top showed the total of over 500 thousand dollars spent.

"You went shopping again?" I asked as I picked up the receipt.

Rosalind didn't even turn around. "Yeah. I used your card."

Back then, my company was in the middle of a critical funding round. That was considered a significant amount of money.

I tried to keep my voice soft. "Next time, can we talk about it first before you make a big purchase?"

Rosalind's hand froze halfway while she was fastening the necklace. "Talk about it? What do you mean by that?"

When she turned, the necklace caught in her hair. She suddenly went amok and yanked it off, hurling it to the floor. An emerald necklace over 300 thousand dollars shattered just like that.

Rosalind demanded, "What did you promise me when you were pursuing me, Hendery?"

Before I could answer, she pulled our marriage certificate from her bag and ripped it in half right in front of me. "We're done!"

The torn pieces fell onto my shoes as Rosalind yelled, "I'm leaving the country now!"

I received her location three hours later. It was sent from the airport.

In the photo, Rosalind was wearing sunglasses. Behind her was the departure board for a flight to Ireya. Her caption read, "It's always comfortable flying first class."

I could barely make out Jackson's silhouette in the reflection of her sunglasses.

I called Rosalind over a dozen times, and she declined every single one of them. Eventually, I had to wire her 100 thousand dollars for her to rebook a flight back.

"Don't ever yell at me again," she said on the phone. I heard the pop of a champagne bottle in the background.

I waited at the airport until 3:00 am.

Rosalind was dressed in a brand-new dress when she finally showed up. Around her neck was a new emerald necklace, one more expensive than the one she'd shattered earlier.

…

The tenth time Rosalind tore up our marriage certificate was on our first wedding anniversary.

That day, I'd cancelled all my meetings and cooked her favorite dishes myself.

At the center of the dining table sat a gift box I'd spent half a year preparing. Inside was a pair of custom wedding rings, with Rosalind's name engraved on the inside.

"What about the old ones?" she asked.

I replied, "Didn't you say the design was outdated—"

Rosalind shot up suddenly. The ring box fell to the floor.

Only then did I notice her eyes were red and swollen. "What's wrong?"

"Jackson got fired," Rosalind replied.

Jackson was her childhood friend living next door. He was two years younger than me.

"For what?" I asked as I bent down to pick up the rings.

"They're accusing him of misappropriating confidential data!" Rosalind grabbed a plate from the table and flipped it over violently. Steak sauce splattered everywhere.

"You have to help him," she said.

I frowned.

I saw Jackson just last week. The watch on his wrist was clearly not something a mere employee like him could afford.

"Let's eat first. I'll reach out to his company tomorrow—"

"Eat, my ass!" Rosalind completely lost it as she flipped the dining table. A candle toppled into spilled red wine. Its flames flared before sputtering out.

"I'm telling you—do it right now!" She pulled our marriage certificate from her bag and shredded it into pieces. "Or else, I'll divorce you!"

Three days later, Jackson drove his brand-new Porsche back to work to accept their so-called apology.

That same day, I came home early to grab some documents and saw the Porsche parked in my garage. The windows weren't fully closed, so I could hear Rosalind's laughter… and some other sounds entirely.

I stood beside the car, my nails digging into my palms.

The window suddenly slid down, and Rosalind leaned out. "What are you standing there for? Jackson is showing me how to operate his new car."

From the back seat, Jackson grinned at me. A lock of her hair was wrapped around his finger while he looked at me smugly.

The 50th time Rosalind tore up our marriage certificate was in front of my most important client.

A multinational corporation from abroad had flown in to discuss an acquisition. If the deal went through, my company's valuation would triple at minimum.

I brought them to the best restaurant in the city. Rosalind insisted on coming along.

"And this is?" the CEO asked politely.

"My wife," I replied briefly.

Rosalind was unusually quiet that night, playing the part of a devoted spouse.

It wasn't until the third course arrived that she suddenly said, "Do you know what a marriage certificate looked like, Mr. Stevenson?"

Before Peter Stevenson could even reply, Rosalind pulled ours out of her handbag and tore it into pieces in front of everyone.

"Just like this." She scattered the pieces over the table. "As long as I'm happy, I can tear it apart anytime I want."

The private room went dead silent.

A scrap of paper clung to a slice of fatty tuna, making an absurd, grotesque decoration.

"Rosalind!" I hissed, voice strained.

Rosalind leaned close to my ear, her voice low and threatening. "The transfer agreement to the villa is in your briefcase. Sign it now."

That night, I signed the agreement while on my knees in the living room.

When I looked up, I saw a candlelit dinner set for two on the dining table. Rosalind and Jackson were clinking glasses.

The wine in their glasses was my prized 1983 collection.

…

The 100th time it happened, I was standing in my study, staring at our past marriage certificates in the safe.

All of them had been neatly restored and stacked inside. Each replacement copy recorded my humiliation.

From the living room came the sound of glass shattering.

This time, Rosalind had thrown away our custom wedding rings. They were the ones with "forever love" engraved on the inside.

"Have you finished signing the equity transfer agreement?" she asked, leaning against the doorframe.

On her collarbone was a fresh, perfectly shaped love bite.

I stared at it.

Having just returned from a business trip that morning, I bumped into Jackson as he was leaving our house. He claimed that he was there to return underwear Rosalind had left at his place.

"Rosalind." I kept my eyes on our marriage certificates as I whispered softly, "Is Jackson your childhood friend or your lover?"

Rosalind's expression froze. She then grabbed a crystal glass and hurled it at me. It shattered on impact, and blood ran down from my temple, hot and pungent.

"You actually had the nerve to investigate me?" she screamed, her voice as sharp as the shards on the floor.

I laughed. It was ridiculous how I'd convinced myself she was just spoiled and entitled all these years.

I said, "Last year, you said you wanted to open a beauty clinic, so I gave you five million dollars. Last month, you said Jackson needed capital for a project abroad. I transferred two million dollars to you."

Blood dripped onto the carpet.

I continued, "You used that money to buy him a villa, didn't you?"

Rosalind's diamond-studded fingers started to tremble. "So what if it was? Jackson is ambitious and passionate. He's much more interesting than a money-making robot like you!"

Thunder cracked outside the window, reminding me of the day we got married.

I suddenly recalled Rosalind's words then. She'd said, "Promise you'll forever spoil me like you do now, Hendery."

Suddenly, I realized that her "forever" was actually very short.

Blood slid down my temple, darkening the carpet.

Rosalind stood backlit in the doorway, the love bite on her collarbone burning my eyes like a branded mark of shame.