Every time my wife and I fought, she’d buy me a luxury watch.

By the time I had collected 99 of them, I decided I couldn't accept any more, and I asked her for a divorce.

It all kicked off one night last fall, sparked by a social media post from my wife's assistant.

"This holiday night, spending it with you, finally feels like home~"

The picture showed him at a fancy rooftop garden restaurant. Leaning against him was a woman, half her face hidden in shadow, but her distinct collarbone and the faint hickey on her neck screamed intimacy.

Alex then commented: "The boss looks amazing. My Venus."

I glanced at the message Amanda had sent just minutes before, saying she was working late. A faint smile touched my lips as I replied in the comments: "Her technique's even better."

Shortly after, Alex called, his voice laced with faux injury, explaining it was just some quote he found online, nothing more.

Amanda snatched the phone, her voice dripping with sarcasm towards me:

"We just grabbed dinner after working late, what's your problem? Do you have any idea how Alex felt when you said that publicly?"

Then, her tone softened towards Alex: "Don't take it personally. He watches too many trashy romance dramas; thinks everyone's a rival."

The line went dead. The next day, Amanda came home, and with her, another watch box. This one contained a green watch.

"Honey, please forgive me. What I said last night was just to save face."

Staring at the drawer overflowing with expensive watches, I gently shook my head.

I had loved her for seven years. I had forgiven her ninety-nine times.

This time, I was letting go.

1

When Amanda got home, I was digging into a special extra-spicy, loaded-with-peppers hot pot I’d made just for myself.

She never touched spicy food, so for seven years, chili peppers had been banished from our dining table.

Amanda walked straight over, grabbed my personal hot pot without a word, and dumped it down the toilet.

"I'm allergic to peppers, did you forget?"

She then handed me an elegant gift box.

"Alex picked it out. As an apology from him. Seriously, look at what you said last night. He's so much more considerate than you are. You're older than him, his senior; can't you be a little more magnanimous?"

I didn't move an inch.

She nudged me. "Are you listening to me? Why are you being so petty?"

As she spoke, she noticed my eyes watering – from the intense spice – and looked slightly flustered. She mumbled something about getting tissues, but I stopped her.

"Don't bother. I'm going to take a shower."

I went to wash up, avoiding her.

When I came out, she was surprisingly still there.

Amanda sat on the sofa, the gift box on the table. She seemed calmer.

"Honey, I lost my temper earlier. Come see the gift we picked out for you."

Amanda eagerly tore open the packaging, but froze when she saw the color.

"Why is it green..."

Her words trailed off, a flicker of guilt crossing her face.

She quickly forced a smile and tried to explain, "Honey, forgive me. What I said last night was just to keep up appearances."

The excuse felt incredibly flimsy.

I didn't bother looking closely. I ran a hand through my hair, about to bring up the divorce.

Just then, her phone rang.

She glanced at the screen and immediately answered.

"What's wrong?"

Alex's voice came through, choked with tears.

"Amanda, my stomach hurts so bad, and I can't get a cab to the hospital."

Amanda's expression turned grave instantly. Without even a glance my way, she grabbed her coat and rushed out the door.

I stood there, stunned. A few minutes later, a voice message arrived from her.

"You have to accept that watch. Otherwise, Alex will feel terrible, and it'll affect his work."

I didn't reply. She sent another.

"I'll be back soon."

The sound of speeding cars bled through the background noise.

I didn’t need to guess. She was racing to Alex's side as fast as she could.

2

After Amanda left, she never came back that night.

I waited from late evening until dawn. Nothing.

That night, the emotional turmoil triggered a severe angina attack. I was rushed to the emergency room.

I tried calling Amanda, but her line was constantly busy.

Just as I was about to give up, a notification popped up. Alex had updated his social media status.

He shared a photo of himself getting an IV drip, captioned:

"Looked into your eyes, knew you were the one. Watching over me through the night, by my side in my toughest moment. Boss, how can I ever repay this kindness? How about... with myself?"

The message oozed gratitude and adoration for Amanda.

Right below it, a comment from someone apparently working at the hospital: "OMG, I work here! Just snapped this on the sly, totally explosive!"

The attached picture showed a frail-looking Alex, with Amanda standing by his bedside, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. It looked like a poignant movie scene.

Another candid shot showed Amanda watching over Alex's bed, her eyes filled with a tenderness and concern directed solely at him.

Even though I should have been used to it, my heart clenched painfully.

Almost involuntarily, I dialed Amanda's number.

"Let's get a divorce," I said curtly and hung up.

I used to be skeptical about the "seven-year itch," but right then, I had to admit it was real.

The exhaustion and disappointment had completely drained my will to continue.

My angina attack was brought under control quickly, and I was discharged soon after.

Dragging myself home, I had barely stepped inside when Amanda confronted me, furious. "What stunt are you pulling now? Can't you stop being so unreasonable? He was really sick, shouldn't I have taken care of him?"

"I just had a severe angina attack. I almost died."

I cut her off coldly, my eyes devoid of any warmth.

Hearing this, Amanda's face went deathly pale, her eyes wide with disbelief.

She froze, speechless for a long moment.

3

To the outside world, Amanda and I were the picture-perfect couple.

Amanda wanted to be childfree, and because I loved her, I respected her decision without argument.

So, for seven years, we never had children of our own.

Until recently. One night, Amanda came home drunk after a work function.

As I helped her onto the bed, she suddenly threw her arms around my neck, her eyes hazy.

"Honey, let's have a baby..."

Then she passed out. I carefully removed her makeup and changed her clothes.

I thought she genuinely wanted a child with me.

I thought she still loved me.

Until...

Three days prior, my sudden angina attack landed me in the ER. The feeling of being pulled back from the brink still haunted me. Originally, I had made preparations, even got a full physical.

I had planned to spend the holiday weekend with Amanda, tell her I wanted to cherish every day we had together even more.

My health check confirmed I could provide my half of a healthy child.

But now, none of it mattered.

On that autumn night, Amanda spent it with her assistant, Alex, even speaking coldly to me in front of him.

What hurt most was that green watch she held – a symbol of betrayal.

Her words defending Alex were like sharp knives, cutting into my heart again and again.

She knew exactly what the color green implied in certain contexts, yet she went along with Alex's choice. It was chilling.

Amanda stood up angrily, her knuckles white from clenching her fists.

But she didn't ask why I hadn't told her about my condition sooner.

Because she had already chosen to discard me, call after unanswered call.

I had given her countless chances, hoping she'd come back to me, but she always chose Alex.

"Enough, Ethan!"

Her voice was filled with anger and contempt. "You'd make up a lie like that just to get my attention!"

She shoved me hard onto the sofa.

"You've been fine for years, and suddenly, right after I hire an assistant, you have a heart attack? Do you think this is some kind of TV drama?"

"When did you become like this? Alex is just my assistant! Is it wrong for me to care about my staff? Can't you stop being so sensitive, watch fewer of those stupid shows, and stop messing with your head?!"

She stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

Staring at the closed door, I remembered a text message I'd seen five days earlier.

Alex had told Amanda he wanted a child.

Amanda had replied to Alex:

"Baby, I want a child that belongs to us too."

In that moment, I knew with chilling clarity that she seemed to have completely forgotten the vows we once made together.

So, her drunken words that night... they were meant for Alex.

I looked at the shut door, no longer feeling the familiar urge to compromise or smooth things over.

In our seven years of marriage, I had always been the one trying to hold things together.

Today, I was completely disheartened.

I thought back over the years. She had once given me ten watches as symbols of love. But since Alex appeared, the subsequent eighty-plus watches felt more like milestones marking their relationship.

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms, fighting back the pain as I texted my lawyer:

"Hello, I need to consult about a divorce. As soon as possible."

4

For several days, Amanda didn't come home.

On the fourth day, my phone finally rang.

Amanda's voice still held a trace of lingering anger, tinged with coldness and distance.

"Come downstairs. My mom wants us to come over for dinner."

Before I could respond, she hung up.

My mother-in-law had always been kind to me. No matter how much I resisted going, I had to consider her feelings.

When Amanda saw I had made an effort to dress up, a sarcastic smile played on her lips.

"Well, look at you, all spruced up. And you tried to tell me you almost died. How ridiculous."

My breath caught. Then I managed a small smile and said softly, "Yeah. Right."

She didn't press the issue, instead turning on the car's music system.

As the music started, a soft voice alert played.

"Your little assistant Alex reminds the dear Mrs. CEO, please enjoy the music, but also drive safely, love you~"

Alex's gentle, slightly magnetic voice echoed in the somewhat awkward silence of the car, making the atmosphere even more charged.

In the past, I would have immediately demanded an explanation from Amanda, insisting she justify it.

It would have ended in another argument.

But now, I chose silence. I just sat there quietly, saying nothing.

Amanda seemed to realize her blunder, a flash of embarrassment crossing her face. "...Alex said personalized voice prompts are trendy now, so I had him set one up for me."

I nodded slightly, my expression calm and unreadable.

During dinner at her parents' house, my mother-in-law clearly sensed the strained atmosphere between us, occasionally casting questioning glances our way.

As the meal drew to a close, she finally leaned in and asked quietly, "What's going on with you two? Had a fight?"

Amanda laughed lightly, naturally linking her arm through mine. "No, Mom, don't worry about it."

Her mother immediately relaxed, her face filled with relief. "That's what I thought! All those online rumors about you and your male assistant being too close are nonsense. My Amanda would never do anything to hurt Ethan!"

5

"News? What news?"

Amanda looked puzzled. Her mother glanced at me, paused for a moment, then took out her phone and handed it to her.

"This. Everyone online is buzzing about a 'ManXu' CP – pairing the CEO and her male assistant."

I caught a glimpse of the phone screen. It was a compilation of photos featuring Amanda and Alex, many taken in settings I'd never seen.

For instance, one showed Amanda and Alex painting plaster dolls together in a park. One of those identical cartoon figures sat silently on the nightstand in our bedroom.

She had told me it was painted by an employee's child, and she brought it home because she thought it was cute.

Thinking back now, it was just another carefully crafted lie.

Amanda took the phone, then grasped my hand to explain, "Those photos were all taken during company events. It's not like what they're saying online."

"Alex just graduated; I mentored him closely, like his teacher. It's natural for him to rely on me.

Sometimes, when we spend a lot of time together, he even worries you might misunderstand and tells me I should go home and spend more time with you."

I wasn't particularly interested in her explanation, just replying flatly, "Mm, I get it."

The tension eased slightly from her face, but then I turned to her mother, my voice firm. "I want a divorce from Amanda."