Ex Wife's Collapse After Divorce

Chapter two

The front door opened at 6:47 AM. 

Vivian stumbled into view, one arm slung around Damian Hale's neck. Her red dress from the party was wrinkled, the zipper half-undone at the back. Damian's collar was open three buttons too many, and there was a smudge of that same lipstick on his jaw.

They reeked of champagne and something worse.

Ethan looked at them from the couch and said nothing.

Vivian blinked when she saw him. For half a second, something crossed her face — not guilt, not quite. More like mild inconvenience, the way you feel when you find a dish you forgot to wash.

"Oh. You're up this early." She shrugged off her coat and held it out toward him without looking. "Hang this up."

Not why are you sitting in the dark. Not I can explain. Not even good morning, something she used to say.

Hang this up.

Like he was the coat rack now.

Damian leaned against the doorframe, one hand still resting on the small of Vivian's back. He looked at Ethan with the expression of a man sizing up furniture — mild interest, zero respect.

"Hey, bro." Damian smiled. Warm. Friendly. The kind of smile that made you want to check your pockets. "Sorry for bringing her back so late. We had a few too many at the after-party. I would've just gotten her a hotel, but I figured — you know — her husband would worry."

He pressed the word husband like a bruise.

Ethan didn't move.

Vivian's arm was still extended, the coat dangling from her fingers. She waited three seconds. Five.

"Ethan." Her voice sharpened. "Did you hear me?"

"I heard you."

"Then take my coat."

He looked at her. Really looked at her — the smeared makeup, the wrinkled dress, the man standing behind her with his shirt undone and her lipstick on his skin.

The feeling of disgust rose up from the depths of his heart.

"I'm not your simp," Ethan said coldly. "And I'm not his." He tilted his chin toward Damian. "Hang it up yourself."

Silence.

Vivian blinked. Her mouth opened, then closed. She looked at Ethan as if he'd suddenly started speaking a foreign language.

"What did you just say to me?"

"I said hang it up yourself." Ethan's voice was flat. Calm. Like he was reading a weather report. “Or ask your gentleman over there. He seems eager to help."

Vivian's face flushed, not from the alcohol. "Ethan Carter, what the hell has gotten into you? Damian was kind enough to bring me home, and this is how you act?"

"Kind enough." Ethan repeated the words slowly, tasting each one. "Is that what we're calling it now? When a man brings another man's wife home at seven in the morning, clothes half off, reeking of each other. That's kindness?"

The room went dead silent.

Damian's innocent mask flickered, but just for a fraction of a second before sliding back into place. He stepped forward, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed.

"Hey, let's all calm down." His voice was smooth, measured. "Ethan, I get it. It looks bad. But Vivian and I are just business partners. There's no need to get insecure." 

He paused, letting the word hang. Insecure. "I mean, I understand. If I were in your position, I mean no job, no income, completely dependent on my wife, I'd probably be on edge too."

Ethan's fingers curled into fists against his thighs.

"But that's no excuse to disrespect Vivian," Damian continued, his tone hardening beneath the velvet. "She works eighty-hour weeks to keep this household running while you sit at home. The least you could do is show some gratitude." 

He cocked his head. "Maybe start with an apology?"

Vivian's eyes glistened. She turned to Damian, her lower lip trembling.

"See?" Her voice cracked. "This is what I deal with. He doesn't understand me. He never has." A tear slid down her cheek. "You're the only one who actually gets it, Damian."

Damian's expression softened on cue. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Vivian's ear, his thumb grazing her cheekbone.

Slow. Deliberate. His eyes locked onto Ethan the entire time.

And smiled.

That look. That smug, triumphant, daring look, like he was saying ‘try me’.

Ethan’s vision tunneled.

Vivian caught the look on his face and something flickered — a flash of unease and guilt.

Whatever she was trying to do, she never intended to humiliate Ethan by being openly intimate with another man right in front of him. This is too dissolute.

And... It felt like Ethan was being pushed too hard right now.

She gave Damian a slight push. "Damian, maybe we should —"

"It's fine." Damian only pressed closer, then suddenly pressed a kiss to her temple. "He should know where things stand."

Ethan’s pupils constricted sharply. He felt the floor disappear beneath his feet.

A kiss? In front of him? Seriously?!

Something inside him snapped completely.

Ethan was off the sofa before his brain registered the decision. Two steps closed the distance. His right fist connected with Damian's jaw with every ounce of three years of swallowed rage behind it.

The crack echoed off the walls.

Damian's head snapped sideways. His body followed — legs buckling, arms flailing — and he hit the hardwood floor like a bag of wet cement. Blood sprayed from his split lip across the white tiles.

"Ethan!" Vivian screamed. She dropped to her knees beside Damian, hands shaking. "What the hell is wrong with you?! How could you hit someone?!"

Ethan stood over them both, his chest heaved.

There it was.

Not a single second of hesitation. Not one glance back at him. She went straight to Damian, hands shaking, voice breaking, and Ethan felt something in his chest go very, very quiet.

"Interesting," Ethan said quietly. "You're comforting him. Not me."

Vivian's head snapped up. "You are unhinged. He's hurt!"

"And I'm not? Did you defend me when he kissed you? Or you actually enjoyed it??"

The question hung in the air like smoke.

Vivian opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"You're impossible," she spat. "You're absolutely impossible. Damian was just being kind to me, and you — you're like a lunatic —"

Ethan laughed.

"Disgusting……" he chewed the word like ashes, “ Think of whatever you want. I’m done with you.”

Ethan picked up his jacket from the back of the couch.

"Ethan—" Vivian's voice followed him toward the door. "Don't you walk out. Don't you dare walk out right now, we are not done—"

The door slammed shut behind him.

Ethan headed down to the first floor and pushed open the lobby doors, wanting to go outside to cool the rage inside his chest.

Then he stopped.

A black Maybach idled at the curb. Behind it, two black SUVs. Two men in dark suits stood flanking it — not drivers, not assistants. The posture was wrong for that. They stood like people who were paid to make problems disappear.

Leaning against the Maybach, arms crossed, was a woman.

Ethan recognized her instantly. Every businessperson in Crestwood did. Her face had been on the cover of Fortune Asia twice. She ran the largest enterprise in the city — the company his mother had just handed him on paper.

Aurora Sinclair. CEO of Stellaris International Trading.

The woman Vivian had spent six months desperately trying to secure a meeting with. The woman whose assistant had declined every call, every email, every invitation Lockwood Industries had sent.

Aurora Sinclair straightened, walked toward him, and stopped at the bottom of the steps.

Then she lowered her head, with hidden excitement.

"Good morning, Young Master. We've been expecting you."