The Loser Programmer Husband is a Quadrillionaire

Chapter 2

Ethan's hand was already reaching for the laptop lid when the screen flashed. A new message popped up at the top of the chat window, and his eyes caught it before his brain could tell him to look away.

John Carvesh had sent an address. Below it, one line.

"Same spot tonight. 8 PM."

Ethan's blood went cold. He stared at the screen, watching the tiny typing bubble appear at the bottom. Three seconds later, Clara's reply came through.

"Okay."

No hesitation. No questions. Just okay, like she had done this a hundred times before.

Ethan grabbed the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles cracked. He pulled out his phone and typed the address into the map. The result loaded, and something inside his chest snapped clean in half.

It was a hotel. A five star hotel on the other side of the city.

Their usual spot.

He checked the time. 7:02 PM. Less than an hour.

Ethan did not remember grabbing his keys. He did not remember walking to the car or starting the engine. The next thing he knew, he was speeding through traffic with both hands white on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached.

He arrived at the hotel at 7:41 PM and parked across the street where the shadows swallowed his car whole. Then he waited.

At 7:56, a black Mercedes pulled up to the hotel entrance. The valet opened the passenger door first, and Clara stepped out in a fitted dress Ethan had never seen before. Then John Carvesh came around from the driver's side, his hand finding the small of Clara's back like it belonged there.

Clara laughed at something John whispered near her ear, and Ethan's vision went red.

He lifted his phone and started taking pictures. One after another. The hand on her back. The way she leaned into him. The way John opened the door for her like she was his woman and not someone else's wife.

Evidence. I need evidence first.

They disappeared through the revolving doors. Ethan shoved the phone into his pocket and followed thirty seconds behind.

The lobby was enormous, all marble floors and golden chandeliers. Ethan expected them to turn right toward the guest room elevators, but they didn't. Instead, they stepped into the elevator on the left side, and the digital display above it climbed to the fourteenth floor. The restaurant floor.

Ethan took the next elevator up. When the doors opened, he saw them already being led to a table near the window. Candles. Red wine. Flowers. The kind of setup that had nothing to do with business.

He asked the hostess for a table and was seated directly behind Clara, close enough to hear every word.

John pulled Clara's chair out for her and pushed it in gently before taking his own seat across from her. He poured the wine himself, filling her glass first with a smile that made Ethan want to break the bottle over his head.

"So," John swirled his own glass, his voice smooth and unhurried. "Have you made up your mind yet? I don't like waiting, Clara."

Clara looked down at the table. "John, I already gave you my answer. I'm grateful for what you've done for the company. But my heart isn't for sale."

"Nobody said it was for sale." John's mouth curved into a slow smile. "I'm just offering you a life that actually fits you."

"My life fits me fine." Clara's voice was quiet but steady. "I still love my husband. Whatever we're going through, I want to fix it, not run from it."

Ethan's fingers froze around the menu he was pretending to read. Something cracked inside his chest, but he couldn't tell if it was relief or something worse.

John let out a slow breath and leaned forward, resting both elbows on the table. "Clara, look at me. I'm worth four billion dollars. Six countries, six properties. I could buy your husband's entire life and still have change left over."

Clara's lips pressed together, but she didn't speak.

"You run the biggest company in this city, and you go home every night to a man who probably still splits the dinner bill." John reached across the table and placed his hand over hers. "Tell me honestly. Doesn't that ever embarrass you?"

Clara stared at his hand on hers. She didn't pull away immediately, and that half second of hesitation was all it took.

Ethan stood up.

The chair scraped against the floor loud enough to turn heads at three different tables. Clara's face went pale the instant she saw him. John blinked, and for just a moment, something like fear flickered behind his eyes before he smoothed it over with a calm, practiced smile.

"Ethan?" Clara's mouth fell open, her whole body going stiff in the chair. "Did you follow me here?"

"Wow.. this is how you do business meetings, letting a man's hand on you." Ethan's voice was low and cold, barely above a whisper. "Funny how comfortable you both look. Like you've done this before."

Clara yanked her hand away from John's and stood up so fast her napkin fell to the floor. "It's not what it looks like. John is a client. We're closing a major deal, that's all."

"A deal." Ethan repeated the word like it tasted rotten. "Is that what they're calling it now."

"Ethan, please, you're making a scene." Clara's eyes darted around the restaurant, her cheeks flushing red.

"SHUT THE FUCK!!!!!!” his hands went through his hair roughly. 

She was shocked.

“Go home, Clara." Ethan's voice dropped even lower. "Now. Before I say something I can't take back."

Clara opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her mind was spinning behind her eyes. The deal with John's company was worth hundreds of millions. If she walked out now, she could lose everything she had spent months building. But she couldn't say that to Ethan. Not here. Not like this.

She hesitated, and that was her second mistake.

Ethan saw her glance back at John, and the last thread holding him together snapped. She doesn't want to leave him. She would rather stay with this man than come home with me.

John stood up slowly, buttoning his suit jacket with one hand. "Take it easy, friend. Nobody's forcing the lady to do anything." He smiled, the kind of smile rich men give when they know they're standing on higher ground. "Maybe she'd rather finish her dinner in peace."

"You think because you've got a black card, you can put your hands on another man's wife?" Ethan stepped closer, his voice shaking now. "You think your money makes you untouchable in front of me?"

"I think," John straightened his cufflinks without breaking eye contact, "a woman like Clara was built for someone who can keep up with her. Not a man who codes for a paycheck and calls it a career."

Ethan didn't say another word.

THUMPPP!!!!!1

His right foot connected with John's chest so fast that nobody at the surrounding tables even had time to gasp.

“AAHHH YOU BASTARD,”

 John flew backward, his chair crashing beneath him, his body hitting the marble floor with a sound that silenced the entire restaurant. Wine glasses shattered. The candle rolled off the table and died on the ground.

John lay there wheezing, clutching his ribs, his perfect suit jacket twisted and stained with red wine.

“What are you doing?” Clara yelled at him.

Ethan grabbed Clara's wrist and pulled her toward the elevator without looking back. Clara stumbled after him, too stunned to resist, her heels clicking frantically against the floor.