After Alex Acevedo bought an outrageously expensive diamond at auction, everyone in Harbor City settled in to watch me humiliate myself.
Because every time he threw money around like it meant nothing, it meant he had a new lover.
The White Diamond was to smooth over a sex scandal. The Blue Diamond, an "accidental slip-up." The Pink Diamond, catching him in bed with someone else.
But this time was different—he'd bid on a rare Red Diamond.
The whole city was betting he'd come home and divorce me.
Instead, Alex professed his love from across the ocean, saying this diamond represented his sincerity. From now on, he would return to our family and love only me.
Everyone congratulated me. The playboy had finally come back.
So I released our signed divorce agreement and left Harbor City alone.
——
"Gentler, baby."
When the video call connected, his hoarse rebuke came through before the picture did.
The camera shifted—bare chest, headboard, chestnut hair wrapped around his waist.
My throat closed. "Alex, where are you?"
The call cut off. He didn't call back for half an hour.
When he did, he was dressed, sitting by the balcony, expression calm and unbothered.
"Darling, I'm still at the hotel. Forgot to turn off the TV earlier."
"I'll bring the diamond home tomorrow. I love you—happy seventh anniversary."
In the sunlight, the Red Diamond blazed in his palm. Behind him, the TV played coverage of his grand declaration.
The warmth in his eyes blended with his voice on screen as he repeated his confession.
"Darling, I couldn't think of a better anniversary gift. Are you satisfied?"
For a moment, I forgot he'd just climbed out of another woman's bed.
Hope flickered back to life.
When he saw my tears, he smiled—teasing, indulgent.
From our wedding day until tomorrow, seven years. His playboy reputation, the parade of women—none of that had changed.
But "returning to the family"? That was new.
I asked carefully, "Alex, I really will take this seriously."
"The whole city heard it. They'll take it seriously too."
Something flickered in his gaze. He lowered his head, lit a cigarette, smiled lazily.
"When we got married, I told you—within seven years, either we divorce and I leave with nothing, or I buy a Red Diamond and settle down. Live a real life with you."
"I said it. I'll do it."
I was so happy I couldn't speak. I just nodded, dazed.
I looked down at the pregnancy test in my hand, heart swelling with anticipation.
"I have a gift for you too."
"Dad."
When I hung up, a child's muffled voice drifted from the receiver.
I froze, struck like lightning.
I reached to call back, but a flash of light stabbed my eyes.
I looked up. The jewelry cabinet in front of me—taller than I was—displayed diamonds arranged by color.
Seventeen White Diamond bracelets. Three Blue Diamond brooches. Two strings of Pink Diamond necklaces.
These were the gifts Alex gave me during our seven-year marriage.
Seventeen sex scandals. Three "accidental slip-ups." Two nights catching him in bed at Victoria Harbor.
Compensation for the damage.
Every time he messed up, he'd bring the jewelry home, kneel before me with reddened eyes, arms locked around my waist.
Over and over, he'd say he was sorry.
Over and over, he'd beg me to stay.
"Grace, I'm sorry. I'll change. I really will."
"It's an illness. I can't control myself. Only you can cure me. Only with you am I truly happy."
