Roses to Me and Ruin to You

The year I graduated from high school, my dad brought home a woman and a child with a rose on my mom's birthday.

When the child offered my mom the rose, my mom gladly accepted it, only to end her life after spending her 39th birthday.

…

When I got married, I told my husband, Alistair Yates, that a rose was enough to end our marriage if he wanted a divorce.

Then, he tried to reassure me that our house would not have anything related to roses.

…

Five years later, during one of the Yates Group's tender, one of our partners had a rose pinned to her chest.

When he saw this, Alistair immediately kicked her out of the company and blacklisted her.

That day, I realized that marriage could actually be blissful.

Yet, six months after that, I completed my new drug research. The entire corridor was full of roses when I came out of the lab.

The person who had been kicked out of the company?

She was standing beside Alistair with a bright smile.

I looked at him coldly, but he casually said, "Maria prepared all these for you. She's your sister and she wants to make amends with you."

It took me two seconds to stare at Alistair before I turned to leave.

What sister? I never had one.

And from today, I no longer need a husband.

The Beginning

I zoned out in front of my mother's tombstone for three hours.

Today was her birthday—and also the tenth anniversary of her death.

Red roses were the symbol of my parents' love.

Yet ten years ago today, my father watched with his own eyes as Maria Granger handed a red rose to my mother—an act that shattered her spirit completely.

Red roses became my taboo.

And ten years later, on this very day, my husband brought the woman who caused my mother's death, carrying those same red roses, and dealt me a fatal blow.

Fireworks bloomed in the distance like a rain of light. That was Alistair Yates' celebration banquet, held to mark the successful development of a new drug.

I had led the research team—six months of relentless effort and 180 days of sleepless nights, yet at this moment, it all felt like Maria's victory proclamation.

After saying goodbye to my mother, I stood up and left.

That was when Alistair's call came through.

On the phone, the man's voice was thick with alcohol. "The celebration's almost over. You're the head of R&D—how can you not be here?"

I stayed silent.

In the past, I would've instinctively acted coy, but tonight, I didn't know what to say to him.

His voice rose sharply. "Winnie, I'm talking to you! Where did you run off to?!"

"The cemetery."

He fell silent—as if he had finally remembered that today was the anniversary of my mother's death.

As if he had finally recalled that, for the sake of this new drug, I had given up celebrating my own