Two days before Christmas, Alina was cleaning out her husband Jimmy’s chaotic home office when she uncovered a hidden red gift box in his closet. At first she dared to hope—it might be her surprise. But the label shattered that hope: “LOVE YOU, JULIE!”—her name was not Julie. Inside lay the very diamond necklace she had quietly admired months ago. Broken-hearted, calm rather than weeping, she planned a revenge as cold as the morning air.
She recruited a college friend, Mark, who ran a workshop. With his tinkering hands and her dark humor, they rigged the box with a spring-loaded canister of paint—set to splash anything nearby when unwrapped. A few days later, Alina watched from the restaurant’s storefront as Jimmy, clumsily holding the box, presented it to Julie. The moment of triumph came: as Julie untied the ribbon, paint exploded—bright green. Julie shrieked, her designer dress and hair drenched, while Jimmy stood frozen with guilt and shock.
Back home, Jimmy stumbled in, dripping green mess. Alina feigned ignorance. She then casually handed him divorce papers. And, with a quiet, triumphant tone, she revealed the necklace she’d stashed—a reminder that betrayal had a cost. Jimmy’s excuses fell flat. Alina, now free, drove away, her resolve steeled by justice served.
