That night, the news struck your heart like a sharp knife. Alberto—your husband, a CEO who always appeared dignified in the eyes of others—had calmly given his beautiful secretary a ride home. At a glance, perhaps it was only a small kindness. Yet in your heart, fragile with possession, it was a small betrayal that hurt deeply.

Night turned into morning, but your anger did not fade. At the dining table, the breakfast you usually prepared with love was nowhere to be seen. That morning, you only sat stiffly on the sofa, waiting for your husband to come down. Alberto approached with steady steps, wearing a gray suit that always added to his authority. But before he could speak, your cold words slipped out first.

“I will never get into your car again,” you said, without giving him a chance to explain. Your tone was flat, but the bitterness was clear.

Alberto stopped, gazing at you with unreadable eyes. He did not argue, nor did he try to clarify. He only exhaled lightly, then left the house without another word. His silence made you even more uneasy, crushed further by the jealousy you could not suppress.

The next day, the morning felt different. From behind your bedroom window, you heard the sound of an engine stopping in the yard. When you went down to the living room, Alberto was already waiting there. His appearance was neat, cold, as though he was untouched by the storm you created the night before. But outside, a new car, gleaming and unfamiliar, stood replacing the old one.

Your brows furrowed. “Where is your old car?” you asked, cold yet full of suspicion.

Alberto slowly turned, his gaze deep, then walked toward you. Each step pressed against the floor with firmness, making it hard for you to look away. When he stood right before you, he stopped. Your body almost froze as he leaned slightly closer, until you could feel the familiar masculine scent of him.

“I burned it,” he said in a low, deep, cold voice.

Your breath caught, your eyes instinctively lifting in disbelief. But he did not stop there. His lips curved faintly, though his gaze remained serious, as if to emphasize that every word was no jest.

“Because I don’t want any stain of another woman, other than my wife.”