Part 1The Husband’s Tactics

On my mother's 39th birthday—the year I graduated high school—my father came home with his mistress, her son, and a single red rose.

My mother took the rose from the boy. That night, she slit her wrists in the bathtub.

So on our wedding day, I told my wife Rina, “If you ever want a divorce, just give me a red rose.”

She held me tight. “Don’t worry, Jim. There will never be a single flower in our house.”

She kept her word. Five years later, during a partner pitch, she noticed the man wore a rose boutonnière. She threw him out and blacklisted his firm instantly.

That day, I believed our marriage was a sanctuary.

Until six months later, when I finished my pharmaceutical research and stepped out of the lab.

The corridor was a blood-red river of roses.

Beside Rina stood the same man she’d expelled, smirking.

My face went cold. Rina waved a hand.

“It’s a surprise from Miles—for you,” she said lightly. “He’s your half-brother, Jim. He’s here to make amends.”

I stared at her for two hollow seconds, then turned and walked away.

I never had a brother.

And from that day on, I no longer had a wife.

* * *

I stood before my mother's grave for three hours. Today was her birthday, and the tenth anniversary of her death.

Red roses. They were once the symbol of my parents' love.

Ten years ago, my father stood by and watched as Miles Croft placed that rose in my mother’s hand, shattering the last fragments of her spirit.

The red rose. My trigger. My taboo.

And today, ten years later, my own wife brought my mother's killer back into my life, armed with the very symbol of my pain, to deliver the final, fatal blow.

In the distance, a shower of fireworks lit up the evening sky. It was the celebration party Rina had thrown for the successful development of the new drug.

My team and I had poured half a year into it—180 days of sleepless nights and skipped meals.

And now, this moment felt like nothing more than a victory lap for Miles.

I said my goodbyes to my mother and turned to leave. Just then, my phone rang. It was Rina.

Her voice was thick with champagne. "The party's almost over, where are you? It looks bad, you know, the head of R&D not even showing up."

I said nothing.

Any other time, I would have feigned annoyance, let her coax me with sweet words, and then waited happily for her to come pick me up.

But tonight, the words wouldn't come.

Rina’s voice sharpened. "Jim Ward, I'm talking to you! Where the hell did you go?!"

"The cemetery."

Silence. A beat of it, as if the cogs in her wine-soaked brain were slowly turning. It seemed she finally remembered what day it was.

Maybe she also remembered that I'd given up my own birthday celebration for this project. That I’d canceled our anniversary dinner.

My only request had been for her to come with me today, to visit my mother.

The silence stretched for another two seconds before she finally spoke, her voice strained.

"I… I was just so excited today. I forgot."

"Wait for me there," she added quickly.

I hung up and walked away.

But by the time I reached the parking lot, a text from her buzzed on my phone:

Jim, it’s too late tonight. Let's do it next time.

Miles is drunk, I have to get him home first.

Don't worry, I promise I'll make it up to you.

I felt no surprise.

Of course Miles would find a way to keep her occupied tonight. His manipulations were obvious.

I could see them.

And Rina, a veteran of the cutthroat business world, could certainly see them too.

But Rina didn't care.

Because she enjoyed it.

Because she didn't give a damn about how I felt.

It didn't matter anymore.

From now on, I wouldn't have to care about her, either.