My Husband's Obsession Destroyed Our Marriage

My husband suffered from violent mania—at the sight of red, he lost control.

Since our marriage, I've only dared to wear red twice.

The first time, he snapped, beat me until my head split open, and I needed thirteen stitches.

The second time, I was three months pregnant. He hit me so hard I lost the baby.

From then on, I never dared to wear red again. I was so afraid of provoking him that I dressed in nothing but pure white, from my undergarments to my outer clothes.

The day I was discharged from the hospital after my miscarriage, I held my aching stomach as I walked past a restaurant—only to see my husband, who was supposed to be working overtime, sitting with a young female student.

His eyes glowed with admiration, brimming with affection.

They couldn't hold back their feelings, and soon they were wrapped in each other's arms, dancing clumsily to the music.

At that moment, my phone rang. The doctor's voice was filled with excitement.

"Mrs. Tomlinson, regarding your husband's condition—we've finally developed a treatment..."

I stared at the girl's flaming red dress, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. "No need. The problem has already been solved."

——

"What? That's impossible! We've been researching for so long, trying to pinpoint the cause of Mr. Tomlinson's episodes. Now, after countless discussions among experts, we've finally come up with a solution—"

But his voice faded into the background.

Upstairs, the girl tripped over his foot as they waltzed, laughing as she leaned into him.

Tears welled in my eyes as a quiet laugh escaped me.

Perhaps the real problem was simple—I should never have been sitting in the seat of Mrs. Tomlinson.

I didn't wait for their dance to end. I turned and went home.

Opening my wardrobe, I gazed at the row of red dresses hanging inside.

Before I married, red was my favorite color. But because Raymond couldn't bear to see it on me, I locked them away, letting them collect dust in the dark.

But this time... I no longer wanted to play along with his acting. I no longer wanted to be the punchline of his cruel joke.

When he returned home, the first sight that greeted him was me—sitting calmly at the table, dressed in a scarlet gown, sipping coffee.

His face twisted in rage. In an instant, he lunged at me and clamped his hands around my throat.

"Didn't I tell you? You are forbidden to wear this color!"

His fist rose, ready to strike, but stopped midair. His face contorted in anguish.

I remembered the last time he told me he loved me—how he swore he was trying his best to restrain his instincts, to keep from hurting me.

So I smiled faintly, meeting his eyes. "Raymond. Didn't you say you love me? Then show me—prove you can control yourself for me."

The veins on his hand bulged, his whole body trembling.

In the end, he smashed a glass bottle instead, letting the shards cut deep into his palm before storming out.

I watched his retreating figure, my gaze turning cold. "See? You can control yourself."

The last time I wore red, he beat me until I miscarried.

When he saw me lying pale and broken in the hospital bed, he frowned deeply.

"I told you, didn't I? From now on, just wear white. No red. Never wear red!"

"You know I can't control myself when I see that color—it's a trigger, you've always known that!"

Seeing me cry silently, he finally softened, pulling me into his arms.

"Don't cry. This is my psychological disorder. I know it's unfair to you. But as long as you don't wear red, nothing will ever happen between us."

And I swallowed my pain, nodding obediently.

But that was before Dorothy appeared.

She made me realize just how much of a fool I had been, how completely I'd been played.

While his private doctor tended to Raymond's wounds outside, I quietly packed my suitcase inside the bedroom.

Perhaps the sound startled him, because he pushed open the door and stepped in, slipping his arms around me from behind.

"Why are you packing again? Another business trip?"

A flurry of kisses landed along the hollow of my neck.

My whole body went rigid, but I didn't push him away—I let him pretend, let him pour out his false tenderness.

"There's still a few things to wrap up. I need to be there," I murmured.

There was no real need to go on a business trip. I only wanted to stop seeing Raymond for a while.

He undid the buttons of my blouse with a hand that was both impatient and practiced.

"Maddy." His voice was hoarse. "Hold me tight."

He wanted me. He wanted to pin my hands above my head like he always did. I didn't speak; I pulled my hands free instead, stiff and careful.

He sensed something was wrong and opened his eyes.

"Maddy, are you still angry?" he asked.

As I stayed silent, he sank to one knee like he was reciting some ritual, suddenly solemn, and took a small box from behind his back.

"Bought you something new. See if you like it."

Inside was a simple white dress. The sight of it turned my stomach with a deepseated disgust; everything about it felt fake. I set the box aside.

"Raymond," I said, steady. "Let's get a divorce."

His phone buzzed at that moment, several messages flooding in. He glanced down without thinking, and his face softened, full of the kind of indulgence he'd never shown toward me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the contact name: "Dory." He was exchanging cheerful, intimate messages as if they'd known each other forever.

Only after he finished reading did he look up.

"Hmm? What did you say just now?"

It hit me like a punch into cotton. On his phone's lock screen was the video of Dorothy in that red dress, dancing. Whenever he saw that image, his expression went slack with adoration — an expression I had never once received from him.

...

When that girl, Dorothy, showed up holding a pregnancy test, I didn't hesitate. I slapped her across the face.

She hadn't expected it. She screamed and clawed at me.

"You bitch, Madeline! How dare you hit me? Wait until Raymond finds out—he won't let you get away with this!"

Hearing the commotion, Raymond barreled in, face suddenly ashen. He saw me gripping Dorothy's hair, forcing her against the wall.

"Madeline!" he barked, desperate, and yanked me back.

Rather than anger, a strange amusement spread across my face as I turned to him. "Hubby, this girl is a fraud—she's saying she's pregnant with your child. How could that be? For the money she once took, I'll teach her a lesson."

I swung my fist toward her stomach, but someone grabbed my wrist midair.

"Don't make a scene, Madeline." Raymond rubbed his temples, annoyed.

"You're stopping me?" I scoffed. Image was everything to him, his every posture calibrated for public display. This was the first time he'd stopped me without caring who watched.

"Raymond, what do you mean?" I pressed. "Is she telling the truth? Is that child really yours?"

I expected him to stutter, to invent a dozen excuses. Instead, he looked at me and frankly admitted it.

"Yes." He held my gaze. "The child is mine."

I threw the hardest, angriest slap I had left at his face. He didn't flinch; the handprint burned on his cheek, and for a long moment he didn't turn back toward me.

"Maddy—the night was a mistake." His voice was low and pained. "I thought she was you."

He swallowed and tried to explain, as if that made the betrayal smaller. "But the doctor said she can't terminate the pregnancy. If she aborts, she may never be able to have children again. I can't do that to her."

The words landed like another blow. He could find compassion for a stranger but not for me.

Raymond planted himself between Dorothy and me like a shield—his posture said everything. He would protect her, and that settled his position.

I thought back to the first time I'd questioned him, to the explanation he gave me then.

"Dorothy's just one of my students. She recently graduated and has been asking for career advice."

Aside from running a company, Raymond also taught as a guest professor at a university. A professor helping a student was normal enough. But I had seen the résumé he'd hidden under his desk. He'd already brought Dorothy into the company.

If it were merely a mentorstudent relationship, I could have let it be. But then I remembered seeing Dorothy in that red dress—dancing with him, pressing her lips to his. At that moment, I wanted to snap every branch from the trees along the road.

"Maddy, weren't you supposed to be on a business trip?" he asked, brow furrowed as he tried to calm everything down. "Let's go home and talk this over."

I shrugged him off coldly and stared at Dorothy's scarlet dress. "You always said red makes you lose control. Are you blind? Don't you see her? She's in bright red."

"Raymond, do you remember what happened the last time I wore a red dress?" I asked. "I'd just found out I was pregnant and wanted to wear red to celebrate. You grabbed me—you hit me so hard I miscarried and ended up in the hospital. Have you forgotten?"

He looked at me, eyes heavy with exhaustion and helplessness. "I've said I'm sorry."

"Madeline, are you still holding onto this? How long are you going to make a scene?" His voice was narrow, irritated.

"Make a scene?" The word tasted bitter, and I laughed without humor. "That was a life we lost. Don't tell me I shouldn't make a scene."

"Either you send this woman to the hospital to terminate the pregnancy," I said, voice steady, "or you use your own life to pay for it."

Dorothy, hiding behind him, began to sob and grab his sleeve. "Raymond—please! I don't want to terminate the pregnancy!"

Raymond held her hand and soothed her. "I'm here. Don't be afraid."

His stance never wavered—no one could touch Dorothy while he stood there.

"I said she couldn't have an abortion," he solemnly said, then dropped to one knee as if trying to coax me. "I give you my life. Do whatever you want—okay, Maddy?"

Once again, it was that same hypocritical act of selfsacrifice, staged for others to see. I swallowed my disgust and forced a bright smile.

"All right." I reached for the vase beside me.

Dorothy’s terrified screams rang out as I hurled it toward Raymond.

“Don’t hurt Raymond!"

The vase hit her in the back first—she stumbled and fell against him. Blood drained from his face, inch by inch.

"Dory—" he cried, panic shredding his voice as he scooped her up in his arms. "Don't worry. I'll get a doctor!"

He shot me a cold glare—pure, unyielding hatred. In that instant I understood: Raymond would never let me go.

But I had planned for this.

Hidden nearby, a reporter had been waiting—camera rolling, every moment captured. Tonight, the footage would go out as an exclusive.

Raymond, why must you always take whatever you desire, only to toss it aside when it no longer pleases you?

I am not an object.

This time, I would make sure you learn the price of your mistakes.

Sure enough, two hours later the headline trended everywhere:

#Raymond Tomlinson Two Timing—his betrayal splashed across the feed, a spectacle for the world to see.

At that very moment, my phone lit up with Raymond's furious call.

"Madeline! The trending news—you arranged it, didn't you? Delete it immediately!"

I said nothing. I simply hung up without a second of hesitation.

When his messages came flooding like bullets, I blocked him with one tap.

Still, they kept popping up on the screen, notification after notification.

Raymond: [Madeline, what are you trying to do? Do you realize how much damage this is causing the company? The stock price is already plummeting!]

[Maddy, I know you're angry, but can't we talk this through properly?]

[If that's what it takes, I'll apologize...]

Expressionless, I powered off the phone, set it face down on the table, and lifted my gaze to the lawyer across from me.

"Let's continue." I pulled out the old document I'd hidden away at the bottom of my drawer and slid it across the table.

"Please take a look. Is this divorce agreement still valid?"

Years ago, before our marriage meant anything, Raymond had personally signed this blank agreement.

At that time, his words had been icecold. "If you ever want to leave, just sign this. You'll always have the freedom to walk away."

I had thought it was a gesture of security, of trust.

Later, as our relationship deepened, he changed. The coldhearted CEO cooked for me three times a day. He fussed over me endlessly—whether I was too cold, too hot, too tired. I believed it. I believed that kind of love could last a lifetime.

So I tucked the paper away, never once thinking of using it.

Until Dorothy appeared.

Other than his violent hatred for red, Raymond had treated me well enough. Even when I lost our child to his outburst, I forced myself to forgive. I could endure pain.

But I could never endure being made a fool.

The lawyer examined the agreement carefully, then nodded.

"Miss Alvares, this agreement is still valid. As long as you sign, it takes effect immediately."

I took the pen, signed my name, and pushed the paper back across the desk. "I want the divorce finalized—as quickly as possible."

When I walked out of the café, rain had begun to drizzle. A black car honked sharply in front of me.

It was Raymond's car. He rolled the window down, revealing his stern face.

"Get in."

I didn't pause, didn't even look at him, and kept walking past.

"Madeline!" He jumped out, grabbed my arm. "Are you still going to make a scene?"

My palm cracked against his cheek before I even thought about it. "Don't touch me. You disgust me."

He froze, staring at me with eyes that had gone cold, his gaze dropping to my flaming red dress. His brows twisted tightly together.

"Why must you oppose me in everything?"

"Maddy, wasn't our relationship always good before? Can't we go back to that?" His voice frayed, heavy with frustration. "Dory was lucky it was only superficial injuries. The baby's fine. But if something had happened—"

"If What then?" I cut him off. My voice was like ice. "If she'd lost the child, would you have killed me instead?"

"Madeline!" His shout was ragged. "How did you become like this?"

"How did I become like this?" My laugh was sharp and bitter. "Tell me, Raymond—did I change? Or was it you?"

His eyes, when they met mine, were full of exhaustion, full of disgust.

"Don't forget," I said, turning away. "It was you who betrayed me first."

I didn't want to waste another word. I walked off.

But he refused to let go, still chasing me down.

"That reporter—you set her up. Call her! Tell her to delete the video!"

So that was why he had come.

"Dory saw the article," he said, his tone accusatory, almost urgent. "She was so shaken she tried to throw herself off the building. It took me a long time to calm her down!"

"Madeline, can't you stop being so selfish?" Raymond continued in annoyance.

"Don't drag others down just because of your own grudges."

How noble. How selfless. How considerate of others.

"Selfish?" I turned, lips curling into a cold smile. "I'm not only going to be selfish—I'm going to destroy everything you hold dear."

Raymond's expression shifted instantly.

"Maddy, don't touch her," he said urgently.

"I swear, that night was an accident. As long as she gives birth to the child, I'll make sure she stays far away from our lives."

His panic exposed his weakness.

A dull ache pressed against my chest, yet my smile stayed in place. "And what if I refuse?"

I didn't just want a divorce. I wasn't going to let Raymond slip away as if all these years of my youth, my energy, my sacrifices had been worthless.

I wanted it all back—every last piece he owed me.

His eyes grew cold.

"Then you'll have to go away for a while," he said at last.

Go away.

He meant sending me abroad, to a strange place where I could "calm down."

But how was that any different from a prison sentence?

"You have no right to interfere with my freedom," I spat. "Raymond, I'm not your pet."

I was about to leave the house in a red dress when his hand caught my arm.

"Change your clothes before you go out."

"I told you, you're not allowed to wear red."

A wave of stubbornness rose up in me. "And why can't I?"

He said it without shame, "Only Dory can wear red."

"When she wears it, it soothes my condition. Haven't you noticed how much better I've been?"

I laughed bitterly, nearly choking on the disgust.

"You're amazing. With acting skills like that, you should be winning film awards instead of lying to me."

He really thought I'd still believe that ridiculous excuse? But I had already seen the truth on the house surveillance footage.

In the dead of night, while I was asleep, he pinned Dorothy on the sofa, kissing her.

He held her close and whispered, "My child can only come from your womb. Madeline doesn't deserve to keep any of mine."

"She's had enough already. I've married her—that's all she gets."

So that was it.

The "red color triggers my episodes" story was just a lie.

Even the "accident" that cost me my child... all part of his carefully laid plans.

I didn't waste another word on Raymond. I returned to the villa, began packing, and dialed a number I'd memorized long ago.

"I've decided. I'm leaving the country. Come pick me up."

The call ended.

But before I could finish packing, an uninvited guest appeared.

Since that day when Dorothy "heroically" shielded him from a flying vase and got injured, she had conveniently moved into the Tomlinson family villa.

Now, belly rounded, wearing my nightgown, she stood in front of me with a smug smile.

"Madeline, don't you think you're a pathetic excuse for a woman?"

"You couldn't keep your husband, you couldn't keep your child—why don't you just die?"

"If you're smart, you'll step down and give me my rightful place as Mrs. Tomlinson."

"Otherwise, staying in that position will only make you a joke."

I didn't lose control like last time. I walked to the window. Outside, the sunlight was bright and sharp.

"Dorothy," I said quietly, "you really think being pregnant gives you the upper hand?"

"How about you take a look at this?"

I handed her a document—an invitro fertilization record.

"You've been deceived by Raymond." I smiled. "You think you're some kind of great love story? In reality, you're just a tool."

Then I spoke the words that made her face drain of color. "The child in your belly is mine."

Dorothy's face turned pale in an instant.

"No... you're lying to me!"

"Raymond would never treat me like that. He loves me—he really loves me..."

The little girl looked like she was about to shatter into pieces.

However, I felt a surge of satisfaction and deliberately poured oil on the fire.

Pulling out a recorder, I pressed play.

Raymond's deep, magnetic voice flowed from the device. "Maddy, don't worry. As soon as the child is born safely, I'll send Dorothy away. She'll never appear in front of us again."

Dorothy's entire world collapsed.

Her earlier arrogance, her smug confidence—gone without a trace.

"I'm going to ask Raymond myself! I need to hear it from him—why would he lie to me?"

She ran off in tears.

The butler approached cautiously, concern written all over his face.

"Madam, aren't you afraid that by deceiving Miss Vargas like this, Sir Raymond will cause trouble for you when he finds out?"

I laughed softly, catching my own reflection in the mirror.

A face so calm, yet shadowed with a quiet, deathlike resolve. "If I were still afraid of him... Then I wouldn't be Madeline."

In this lifetime, I had only been struck twice.

The first time—Raymond beat me for wearing a red dress, sending me to the hospital with thirteen stitches.

The second—when I miscarried.

It happened because I was foolish enough to believe in love.

But I swore long ago—there would never be a third time.

Sure enough, that very day, Dorothy ran out of the house crying, and soon after, she began bleeding heavily.

The doctor later said her emotions had been too agitated, triggering complications. The child could not be saved.

But only I knew the real reason.

At that moment, Raymond was in the middle of a board meeting.

As soon as he heard the news, he abandoned everything and rushed straight to the hospital.

And me? I remained in the villa, watching the surveillance footage quietly, smiling to myself.

Then I dialed a familiar number.

"The time has come. Pick me up."

This time, it was my turn to give Raymond a "surprise."

The moment Raymond heard of Dorothy's miscarriage, he lost control.

He couldn't understand—under the nanny's careful watch, how could this have happened?

While he was tearing through the hospital in a frenzy, his phone rang and a strange number flashed on the screen.

"Mr. Tomlinson, the divorce certificate has been issued. Shall I deliver it to you or to Miss Alvares?"