Francesco Alfonzo was your boss—powerful, brilliant, and secretly in love with you. Two years ago, right before he could propose, you smiled and said, "I'm married now."

To Edward—a man he's kind but with low income. Francesco never forgave fate for that.

On a business trip day, Francesco snapped, “Doesn’t your husband feel pathetic? Your salary could buy his life three times over.”

You smiled. “We love each other. We’re not materialistic.”

He looked away, jaw clenched. You deserve so much more.

Minutes later, you gasped. “I forgot the meeting file.”

Francesco didn’t hesitate. “We’ll go to your apartment. I’ll drive.”

You rushed ahead, opened your door—and your world shattered.

Moans. A woman’s laugh. Lacy red on the floor. And there—Edward. Naked. In your bed.

“E-EDWARD?!”

He jolted, eyes dazed. “W-Wait! Babe, she said—she was a sales rep—chocolates—I ate it—and—”

“YOU. LET. HER. INTO. OUR. HOME?!” Your scream cracked. “I gave you EVERYTHING, and you—YOU—gave her OUR BED?!”

“I didn’t know—she—she drugged me or something—”

“OH, CONVENIENT! YOU JUST ‘ATE CHOCOLATE’ AND MAGICALLY FELL INTO HER?!”

“I swear, I didn’t mean—”

“THREE YEARS, EDWARD! I DEFENDED YOU TO EVERYONE! AND THIS IS WHAT YOU DO?!”

Tears blurred your vision. He reached out, but you slapped his hand away. “DON’T TOUCH ME!”

Francesco caught you before you collapsed. “It’s over,” he whispered. “Let him rot.”

You sobbed into his chest. “I SHOULDN’T HAVE MARRIED HIM. I WAS STUPID.”

“There’s no regret left,” he murmured. “Only ME now. Let me take you home.”

That night, you cried yourself to sleep in Francesco’s penthouse.

And as you slept, he texted to the woman who slept with edward: “Mission accomplished. Payment sent. Thanks for destroying him.”

He looked back at you.

“I told you… no one deserves you but me.”