My Ex-Wife wanted Money, The Apocalypse wanted Everything

Chapter 4

Victoria Bennett Carter sat on the edge of Derek Hayes’s bed that night, her phone still warm in her hand from the call she had just ended.

The apartment was small but clean. Derek kept it that way because he kept everything in his life neat, organized, and under control. Including her.

“He knows about Noah.” She said it quietly, staring at the floor.

Derek leaned against the headboard, shirtless, scrolling through his phone like she had just told him the weather forecast. “So what? You knew this day was coming eventually.”

“He has a DNA report, Derek.” Her voice tightened. “He’s threatening to send it to everyone. My parents. Ryan’s investors. Everyone.”

Derek finally looked up. Not with concern, but with mild annoyance, the way a man looks at a problem that has interrupted his evening. “Then give him what he wants. Sign the papers, get the divorce, and move on.”

“Just like that?” Victoria turned to face him, her eyes searching his face for something. Worry. Protectiveness. Anything.

“Just like that.” He set his phone down and reached for her hand, pulling her closer with a lazy smile. “You were always going to leave him eventually, Victoria. He just made it easier.”

Victoria let herself be pulled in. She rested her head against his chest and felt the tension in her shoulders slowly release. This was where she had always felt safe. Not in Ethan’s arms, never in Ethan’s arms, but here, with the man she had actually chosen.

She thought about how it had all started. Nine years ago, she had been twenty three, pregnant, and terrified. Derek had made it very clear that he was not ready to be a father. He was not ready for the scandal, the responsibility, or the financial burden. He loved her, he said, but a baby would ruin both of them.

So Victoria had done what she always did. She found a solution.

Ethan Carter had been that solution. An orphan with no family to ask uncomfortable questions. A man so desperate for love and belonging that he would have married a stranger if she smiled at him the right way. Victoria had smiled at him exactly the right way, and within three months, they were married. Ethan had believed Noah was premature. He had never once questioned the timeline.

For nine years, the arrangement had worked perfectly. Ethan earned the money. Ethan raised the child. Ethan took care of her parents. And Victoria kept Derek close, always within reach, always “just a friend,” while her obedient husband worked himself into the ground to provide for a family that was never really his.

“He’ll crawl back.” She murmured against Derek’s skin. “He always does.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Derek’s fingers traced lazy circles on her shoulder.

“Then I’ll take everything in the divorce.” She closed her eyes. “The house, the savings, child support. He won’t have a dime left.”

Derek kissed the top of her head. “That’s my girl.”

The next morning, Victoria arrived at the county clerk’s office at five minutes past eight, deliberately late.

Ethan was already there, sitting on a bench near the entrance with a manila folder on his lap. He wore the same clothes from yesterday. His face was calm, almost peaceful, like a man who had already made every decision he needed to make and was simply waiting for the world to catch up.

Victoria walked toward him, her heels clicking against the tile floor. She had dressed carefully this morning. A fitted blazer, tasteful jewelry, light makeup. She wanted to look like the reasonable party. The composed one. The victim.

“Ethan.” She stopped in front of him, her voice measured and cool. Not angry. Not warm. Just the flat, functional tone she always used with him when there were no witnesses to impress. “Before we go in there, I think we should talk about this like adults.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” He stood up, tucking the folder under his arm.

“There’s plenty to talk about.” She tilted her head slightly, the way she did when she was about to make something sound more complicated than it actually was. “We have shared assets. We have a child. We have a mortgage, savings accounts, retirement funds. This isn’t something you just rush through in a morning, Ethan. These things take months. Sometimes years.”

Ethan looked at her. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he spoke, and every word came out clean and simple, like he had rehearsed this conversation a thousand times.

“You can have the house. You can have the savings. All of it.”

Victoria blinked. Whatever she had been expecting, it was not that.

“I don’t want custody of Noah.” He continued, his voice completely even. “And I won’t be paying child support. The DNA report makes that clear.”

“You’re giving up everything?” She could not hide the surprise in her voice. Her eyebrows lifted, and for just a second, something flickered behind her eyes. Not guilt. Not gratitude. Suspicion.

But it passed quickly, replaced by the quiet satisfaction of a woman who had just gotten exactly what she wanted without having to fight for it.

She had always known Ethan was weak. This only confirmed it. A real man would have fought. A real man would have made her suffer through months of litigation. But Ethan was doing what Ethan always did. He was rolling over.

“If that’s what you want.” She smoothed her blazer and adjusted her purse strap, already composing herself for the clerks inside. “Let’s get this over with.”

What Victoria did not know, what she could not possibly have known, was that Ethan was not being weak. He was being surgical.

Every asset he was surrendering was worth less than nothing compared to what he was about to acquire. The house was mortgaged. The savings account held barely enough to cover three months of living expenses. He was handing her the crumbs so that when the real fortune arrived, she would have no legal claim to a single cent of it.

With both sides agreeing and the DNA evidence proving Noah was not his biological son, their nine year marriage was dissolved in less than two hours. The clerk processed the paperwork with the efficient boredom of someone who had seen a hundred marriages end the same way. Victoria signed without reading most of it. Ethan signed everything.

They walked out of the courthouse through separate doors.

Ethan drove directly to a gas station on the other side of town. He parked, walked inside, and stood in front of the lottery terminal for a full minute, staring at the screen.

In his previous life, the winning numbers for the August 12th Mega Millions drawing had been seared into his memory. Not because he had played them. He had never played the lottery in his life. But because the numbers had been plastered across every news channel, every newspaper, every gas station window for weeks after the drawing. Five hundred million dollars, and nobody had claimed the ticket. The story had run for months before the apocalypse wiped it from relevance.

Ethan punched in the numbers. 7, 14, 22, 38, 51. Mega Ball: 10.

“How many tickets with these numbers?” The clerk asked, barely looking up from her magazine.

“One hundred.”

The clerk finally looked at him. “One hundred? Same numbers?”

“Same numbers.” Ethan pulled out his wallet and counted the bills onto the counter.

The clerk shrugged, printed the tickets, and handed them over in a thick stack. Ethan slipped them into the manila folder, got back in his car, and drove to the Grandview Hotel downtown.

He checked into a suite on the fourteenth floor, ordered room service, and sat on the bed with the television remote in one hand and one hundred identical lottery tickets spread across the white comforter.

At exactly 11:00 p.m., the drawing began.

The announcer’s voice filled the room, bright and cheerful, completely unaware that someone watching already knew exactly what was about to happen.

“First number tonight… seven!”

Ethan did not move.

“Fourteen!”

His eyes stayed fixed on the screen.

“Twenty two! Thirty eight! Fifty one!”

The announcer paused for effect, milking the moment the way they always did.

“And tonight’s Mega Ball is… ten!”

The studio audience erupted. Confetti cannons fired. The announcer was already talking about the historic jackpot, five hundred million dollars, the third largest in state history.

Ethan picked up one of the hundred tickets from the bed and held it up next to the screen. Every number matched. He set it down, picked up another. Same numbers. Then another. And another.

One hundred winning tickets. Five hundred million dollars.

He did not celebrate. He did not shout or laugh or cry. He simply gathered the tickets back into the folder, placed the folder inside the hotel safe, and locked it.

Then he sat on the edge of the bed, picked up his phone, and dialed a number he had found earlier that afternoon.

It rang twice before a woman’s voice answered, polished and professional. “Whitfield Luxury Estates, this is Catherine. How may I help you?”

“My name is Ethan Carter. I’d like to purchase a property.”

“Of course, Mr. Carter. Did you have a particular neighborhood in mind?”

“Maple Grove. Estate Number Eight.”

There was a brief pause on the other end. He could hear the soft click of a keyboard. “Mr. Carter, I should let you know that Estate Number Eight is located directly across the street from a private residence belonging to the Bennett family. Some of our previous clients have found the proximity to be…”

“That is exactly why I want it.”