Our third wedding anniversary was coming up, but my wife, a programmer at a major tech company, suddenly claimed she had to work overtime to meet deadlines. She said she couldn't go on the trip we'd planned.

That very afternoon, however, her intern posted a video on social media.

My wife—the same woman who normally wouldn't even open a door for fear of chipping her manicure—was holding a screwdriver, repairing an old flip phone.

The caption read: [Having a programmer wife is the best. Even when Grandma's phone breaks, we don't need to pay for repairs.]

I chuckled, liked the post, and commented: [Right up her alley.]

Within minutes, the company group chat exploded. There were over ninety-nine unread messages speculating on when I'd finally snap.

Not long after, my wife called. Her voice was ice-cold.

"What was that comment supposed to mean? How is Shawn supposed to face anyone at work now?

"His grandma's phone broke, so I fixed it. What's the problem? Your parents have always spoiled you. You can't possibly understand real hardship.

"Delete the comment. I'll make it up to you over the New Year; we can take that trip then."

The New Year? I'd already waited through two other major public holidays. I'd even taken special leave for this trip, and she still bailed. Now she was dangling empty promises again?

I hung up on her.

My leave ended around the same time as our divorce cooling-off period.

The moment I hung up, my phone started ringing again, over and over.

After declining more than a dozen calls, my patience snapped. I blocked and deleted Lisa Blakely.

Three years of marriage, I'd always bent over backward for Lisa. This was the first time I'd refused to answer her call.

"Mr. Hunter, your wedding anniversary photo package is ready. Will your wife be arriving soon?"

I glanced at the white wedding gown hanging neatly pressed on the rack.

"She won't be coming. Switch it to a singlehood celebration theme instead."

Ignoring the makeup artist's sympathetic gaze, I looked down at my phone, still buzzing with notifications.

The intern, Shawn Peterson, had tagged everyone in the company group chat: [The video I posted earlier was just a joke, please don't misunderstand!]

That wasn't an explanation—it was a boast.

I sneered.

Right after, Lisa chimed in: [No need to explain, Shawn. Everyone can see you were joking. Only narrow-minded people would take it the wrong way.]

With the boss leading the way, colleagues rushed to show loyalty.

[Yeah, we all knew you were joking, no need to clarify.]

[Just explain it to someone directly. Only one person here can't take a joke.]

Anyone with eyes could see who the boss favored.

So even though they knew I was the one being humiliated, my coworkers fell over themselves to side with Shawn, trampling on me just to curry favor.

Even the employees I'd personally mentored abandoned all dignity, fawning over him shamelessly.

Why wouldn't they? Lisa was the company's founder, and Shawn was her darling.

And me? The husband who had built everything with her from scratch—just a lovesick fool clinging to illusions.

I flipped my phone face down, unwilling to watch the sycophants grovel any longer.

I had barely taken a few shots when Aaron Cole's urgent call came through.

"Grayson! The custom firewall code for Acestar is a total mess. It's full of bugs and won't even run. The client just showed up at the office demanding answers!"

My brow furrowed. "That's Shawn's project. Why are you calling me?"

"I know! But Ms. Blakely said the kid is a little careless, and asked if you could tidy it up."

I was speechless.

That project was highly complex. I'd warned Lisa from the start that Shawn couldn't handle it. She insisted on letting him "practice."

Now that it had blown up, suddenly they remembered me.

"If Shawn's careless, then he should review it carefully. If the client gets angry, let Ms. Blakely handle it. Everything should go through official company procedures."

I hung up before Aaron could say another word.

'What a joke—she pampers her pet intern, he screws up, and then I'm expected to clean up his mess and rewrite the codes for him? Not a chance.'

Scowling, I let the photographer click away, capturing shot after shot of me with a cold, ruthless edge.

But barely ten minutes later, Lisa's secretary rushed in, phone in hand.

"Grayson, Ms. Blakely wants to speak with you."

'Unbelievable! She actually sent her secretary to track me down.'

I snatched the phone, irritation simmering. On the other end, Lisa's voice trembled with fury as she tried to suppress her rage.

"Grayson, don't push me too far! Shawn never provoked you. Are you trying to humiliate him… or me?"

I leaned back in my chair with a cold snort.

"So you sent your secretary here just to ask me that?"

On the other end, Lisa's voice lost all patience, sharp with threat.

"So what if I broke a promise? You shouldn't make a scene over something so trivial! Unblock me right now, fix Shawn's code, and we'll call it even."

My jaw tightened. I was about to hang up when I heard laughter in the background—people teasing Shawn for wiping the sweat off her forehead. Sounded like they were Shawn's family.

I sneered.

"You're meeting Shawn's parents. Why bother calling me at all? Aren't you worried people might get the wrong idea? Oh, wait—you're right. In this whole company, I'm the only one who ever 'misunderstands.'"

Her voice suddenly spiked, shrill with anger.

"What are you saying? Don't spout nonsense! Shawn's family lives in a remote village. As his boss, what's wrong with showing concern? Only someone with a filthy heart sees filth everywhere!"

She was so furious she was gasping for air. Just then, a boyish voice chimed in nearby, "Lisa, my mom's cooked. Let's go in and eat."

In an instant, her tone melted into syrupy gentleness, like coaxing a child.

"Alright, Shawn. Go eat first. I'll come after I finish this call."

Then she turned her focus back to me, her voice cold as steel.

"Grayson, you'll have the program fixed and submitted within three days. If the schedule is delayed, you'll bear the breach of contract, resign in disgrace, and take the blame!"

She hung up violently.

I gave a bitter laugh. I should have faced the truth long ago: Lisa never loved me.

From the first time she ditched me for Shawn, the first time she lashed out at me on his behalf, I should have woken up. From the moment she signed the divorce papers, I should have known there was no going back.

I had no mood left for photos. I changed clothes and went back to the hotel.

My phone showed over a hundred missed calls—all from colleagues. Dozens of documents were flooding my corporate account, urging me to advance the project.

Only now did they realize I was the only one capable of handling it.

But in three days, I'd be divorced and resigned. Their breach of contract had nothing to do with me.

I submitted my resignation through the company system.

I thought Lisa wouldn't let me go easily, that she'd drag things out in a power struggle.

Unexpectedly, the process flew by. Within half an hour, everything was approved. Normally, resignation takes at least a day or two. Without her say-so, it would've been impossible.

She was even more ruthless than I had imagined.

Fine. Without the endless barrage of work messages, I felt lighter instantly.

As planned, I spent three carefree days enjoying myself before returning home to the apartment we had renovated together—the home we had clung to even in the hardest days of our startup.

Back then, we worked late into the night, came home exhausted, collapsed on the couch, and pressed the ache from each other's backs.

Life was hard, but those memories were sweet beyond words.

But later, Lisa almost never came home. She traveled the world with Shawn under the guise of business trips, while his social media was filled with check-ins at tourist spots.

I touched the pillow she once gave me. It was still soft, yet covered in dust—like our love, suffocating me to tears.

I knew there was nothing left here worth holding on to.

So I contacted an agent to sell the apartment.

The next day, I went to the company to pack my things.

Colleagues clustered in small groups, whispering as I carried my box past them. Word of my resignation had clearly spread.

Just as I reached the office door, Shawn stepped in front of me.

"Grayson, are you done fixing the code for my project?"

Then his gaze fell on the box in my arms. His face twisted in surprise.

"Grayson… why have you packed your belongings? Don't tell me you've resigned!"

I shot Shawn a withering look and snapped, "Are you stupid? You saw my resignation announcement on the company feed yesterday. Forgotten already?"

Shawn froze, his expression stiff, as though swallowing down his anger.

"Even if you've resigned, you'll still have to pay for the damages if this project isn't delivered."

I let out a sharp laugh, meeting his eyes with cool disdain.

"If I remember correctly, the contract lists you as the responsible party, doesn't it?"

Clicking my tongue twice, I brushed past him with a shoulder bump.

But with just that light nudge, he flew back as though hit by a car, stumbling several steps before collapsing onto the ground.

"Ah!"

"Shawn! Are you alright?"

Lisa came rushing over at the commotion. She helped him up, and when she saw he wasn't hurt, she tenderly dusted off his clothes. Then she turned, eyes like blades cutting straight through me.

"Why did you shove him? Apologize!"

Shawn glanced at me timidly, then looked back at her with pitiful eyes.

"Lisa, don't blame Grayson. It's my fault. I was too anxious about the Acestar project and…" He bit his lip. "I must have run too fast and tripped on my own."

Lisa patted his back, soothing him as though he were a child.

"You're too kind. I saw it clearly. He knocked you down on purpose."

Then she blocked my path.

"Grayson, is fixing a few bugs really that hard? Do you still want this job or not?"

I sneered. "I stopped wanting this job a long time ago. I already resigned yesterday. What's left to fix?"

"Resigned?" She narrowed her eyes. "What game are you playing now?"

The speed of my resignation had only been possible with her approval, and now she was pretending ignorance.

After a moment of silence, she leveled a cold gaze at me.

"I've already apologized for canceling our trip the other day. What more do you want? If you're dissatisfied with me, fine—but don't drag it into work."

She actually thought I was sulking about her ditching me.

I was exhausted, too tired to explain. I moved past them without a word.

But Lisa caught up in two strides.

"Stop! What's in that box? Company property and confidential files aren't yours to take."

I lifted my head, meeting her furious eyes. A wave of bitterness twisted into raw anger. Teeth clenched, trembling, I tipped the entire box over.

"See for yourself. What's inside?"

The contents spilled across the floor—nothing but my personal belongings.

Then came a brittle crack.

Lisa's heart flinched.

On the ground lay a shattered ceramic cup, its glaze worn with age but scrubbed clean.

She had given it to me back when we first started the company. Back when she said she wanted forever with me. Back when her promise was real.

Now it was broken—and that was real too.

Holding back tears, I ground the shards beneath my heel.

"I don't want this trash anymore. Let's never see each other again."

The pent-up resentment I had carried for so long finally burst free. The release was intoxicating.

I walked out of the company lighter than air—only to be stopped at the entrance by Anna Murphy from the bespoke atelier, holding a suit I had canceled.

It was the custom suit I'd once planned to wear for our third anniversary.

I frowned. "Who ordered this?"

"Ms. Blakely ordered it for Mr. Peterson," she explained. "It's the same design as the one you canceled."

"Is that so?"

I grabbed the suit, yanked with all my strength, and tore it apart, buttons scattering across the pavement.

No wonder Shawn had posted on social media about wearing a million-dollar suit to a gala with Lisa.

So he'd been flaunting it—on my dime.

I hurled the ruined suit to the ground.

"Tell Ms. Blakely I tore it up. This was a suit meant for me. Shawn could never wear it with dignity."

Under Anna's stunned gaze, I walked away.

The moment I held the divorce certificate in my hands at the courthouse, I felt a weight lift off my chest.

At last, I was free of this suffocating, humiliating marriage.

I hummed a tune as I returned home, lighthearted for the first time in years… until voices inside stopped me cold.

They belonged to Lisa's parents.