Ex Wife's Collapse After Divorce

"Sorry, sir. Ms. Lockwood and her gentleman are hosting a celebration upstairs. We don't accept visitors without an appointment."

Ethan's fingers tightened around the gift box.

What? Her gentleman? Then who was he?

Three years of marriage, and he'd never once set foot inside Lockwood Industries. That was Vivian's rule. She said mixing personal life with business would invite gossip, would undermine her authority. He'd understood. He'd always understood and followed.

But today was their third anniversary. 

He'd spent two weeks picking the perfect gift — a limited-edition Cartier bracelet that had cost him every penny of his savings, and decided to make an exception to secretly come, so that she would receive an impressive surprise.

But now he stood in the lobby, and a security guard was telling him his wife was upstairs with her gentleman. 

Ethan swallowed hard. It doesn’t make sense.

"There must be a mistake," Ethan said. His voice came out steady, but his pulse hammered against his throat. "I'm Ms. Lockwood's husband."

The guard blinked. Looked him up and down — the plain jacket, the sneakers.

"Husband?" The guard's expression hovered somewhere between confusion and pity. "I've worked this building for two years. Never heard our CEO, Ms. Lockwood mention a husband. Especially someone like……"

Heat crawled up Ethan's neck and into his face. His jaw clenched.

He reached into his collar and pulled out a necklace — a thin platinum chain with a pendant engraved with a single word: Vivian.

This was the necklace custom-made for him. "You've given up so much for me. I wanna you always carry a piece of me," she'd whispered the night she clasped it around his neck.

Now, this necklace happens to be the token of their relationship.

The guard's eyes went wide.

He didn't know why this man had it. But the engraving, the platinum — it was unmistakably Ms. Lockwood's.

"I... please go ahead, sir." The guard stepped aside and gestured toward the elevator. "Thirty-second floor."

Ethan smiled. 'See? Just a misunderstanding.'

He Tucked the necklace back under his shirt and pressed the button for the thirty-second floor.

Three years. At Vivian’s request, he stayed home to take care of Vivian while she focused on her career. And every time Vivian's parents mocked him and her relatives humiliated him, calling him just a useless live-in son-in-law, Vivian would always stand up for him.

"He's my husband. Show some respect."

That’s why he loved her so much, to the extent he’d cut ties with his own mother.

Ethan stepped out, already picturing the look on Vivian's face when she saw him. Surprise first, then the smile that made everything worth it —

Laughter erupted from behind the frosted glass doors of the main conference hall.

He walked closer. The doors were cracked open, just enough.

And he saw them.

Vivian, in a red dress he'd never seen before, her arm linked through another man's. They raised their glasses, crossing at the wrists — a lovers' toast — while a room full of people cheered and whistled.

The man's face hit Ethan like a fist to the sternum.

Damian Hale.

Vivian's college ex. Her white moonlight. The one she said was ancient history. The one who'd come back to Crestwood a month ago and suddenly needed Vivian's attention for "critical business partnerships."

Every canceled dinner. Every postponed plan. Every apologetic text — "Damian needs me at the office, it's a huge deal, you understand, right?"

He’d understood. He'd always understood. But what on earth was going on now?

"Vivian, doesn't your husband get jealous when you do this?" someone called out from the crowd, glass raised, grinning.

Vivian laughed. Light, careless, like the question was absurd.

"Ethan?" She took a sip of champagne. "He's just a live-in husband. He can't help me with any of this." She gestured vaguely at the room, at the banners, at Damian beside her. "Even if Damian and I share a drink, it's business. Ethan doesn't get a say."

The words landed on Ethan's chest like a slab of concrete.

Because it was Vivian who'd asked him to stay home. Vivian who'd said, "I need you to take care of things at the house so I can focus on the company." Vivian who'd framed it as a sacrifice they were making together.

And now she was using it as proof he didn't matter.

"So now that Damian's back for good," another voice chimed in — male, smug, half-drunk — "when are you ditching the placeholder? I mean, we all know Ethan was just filling the void after Damian left. All these years of coaxing him were nothing more than a way to keep yourself comfortable."

The room went quiet. Not silent — but that particular hush that falls when everyone wants to hear the answer.

Vivian hesitated.

For one second, Ethan's heart clung to that hesitation like a desperate drowning man clinging to driftwood. 

"Well... he did serve that purpose." Vivian paused. "But Ethan is obedient and compliant, so..."

She trailed off with a shrug, as if the sentence didn't need finishing. As if his entire existence could be summarized in a half-hearted so.

Obedient and compliant. 

Ethan's chest cracked and his hand went numb.

The gift box slipped from his fingers and hit the marble floor but no one inside heard. The room bursted into laughter.

He didn't say anything, just letting out a bitter smile, turned around and was swallowed by the night.

Memories came at him like shrapnel.

Her laugh when he made her favorite braised pork. Her hand finding his under the dinner table when her father berated him. The necklace she'd clasped around his neck herself, whispering, "So everyone knows you're mine."

All of it. Every tender moment. Every quiet night on the couch. Every time she'd said I love you and he'd believed her with his entire stupid, trusting heart.

But every frame was a lie!

He was just a placeholder who kept the seat warm until the real thing came back!

As he walked back to the home he had shared with Vivian for the past three years, his fists clenched at his sides until his knuckles went white.

'When did I become this? When did I become someone who begs for scraps and calls it love?'

The old Ethan Carter wouldn't have stood in that hallway and walked away quietly. The old Ethan Carter wouldn't have spent three years cooking meals for people who spat on his dignity!

He stopped walking.

Something inside him hurt. But it was the right kind of hurt.

He took a deep breath, then pulled out his phone and dialed a number he hadn't called in three years. The phone rang three times before his mom answered.

“Ethan?” Margaret's voice carried a hint of surprise. 

"Hello, mom." His throat tightened, but he tried his best to stay calm. "You’re right. I wanna return to home and take on my responsibilities as the family heir."

Silence. One beat. Two. 

“You were right about Vivian. I was just a tool to provide pleasure for her. I shouldn't have argued with you over her and run away from home. I’ve thought it all through.”

He heard her let out a sign of relief.

“Ethan, you finally come to your senses.” Margaret's tone carried a hint of comfort, then excitement, “I’ve been waiting for this moment for too long.”

“All these years, I've been quietly keeping an eye on you. I know every humiliation laid on you and each lie you trusted. Do you have any idea how much it pained me to know all of these?” 

“I wanted so badly to tell you that Vivian and her family don't deserve the love of a Carter heir, but I was so afraid my son would misunderstand me, like he did!"

“Mom…” Ethan’s chest tightened, “I’m sorry. I never imagined……”

“Don’t apologize here. The Ethan Carter I know never just apologizes with words. He proves it.”

Her words hardened. "Do you know how much money I've quietly funneled into Lockwood Industries over the past three years? Propping up that woman's company behind the scenes? I've lost a fortune, Ethan. A fortune I spent because my idiot son married into that family and I refused to let him starve."

Ethan closed his eyes.

"Stellaris International Trading," Margaret continued. "The largest enterprise in Crestwood City. I'm transferring full ownership to you. Effective immediately."

His eyes snapped open.

"Hear me clearly." She said firmly. "You will use this company to recover every cent I lost on that woman. Every single one. Until you do — don't call me Mom."

The words landed like a hammer. A sudden flush of heat rushed through Ethan’s entire body. He took a deep breath to calm himself down. 

“I will do as you wish.”

“Good. Now you sound like my son.” Margaret’s tone finally held a hint of satisfaction, “ I'll arrange for the person in charge of Sterling Company to contact you.”

The line went dead.

Ethan lowered his phone, finally feeling at peace. Gazing out at the void beyond the window, a strong sensation welled up in his chest. 

Once this wedding anniversary was over, he would experience a true rebirth.