Ex Wife's Collapse After Divorce novel Chapter 2

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.

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