Ex Wife's Collapse After Divorce novel Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Ethan took the elevator down and began walking through the complex.

He knew Vivian’s patterns better than she knew them herself.

Three years of marriage. Every fight with her father ended the same way she’d storm out, declare she was leaving forever, then hide somewhere within the community walls and cry until someone came to find her.

She never actually left.

He found her in under three minutes.

She was crouched behind the flower bed near Building C, hugging her knees, phone pressed to her ear. Her shoulders shook with quiet sobs.

Ethan slowed his steps.

He was about to call out to her

time to go home – when her voice drifted toward him.

Soft. Gentle.

Nothing like the shrieking fury from five minutes ago.

“Damian, don’t worry about it. I’ll handle the company side – you just focus on your family’s situation.”

A pause. A sniffle.

“The funding gap? How much do we need?” Her voice dropped even lower, intimate. “I can talk to Dad’s finance team. They owe me a favor. We’ll get it sorted, okay? Don’t stress.”

Another pause. Then a small laugh – warm, almost girlish.

“Of course I care. Why wouldn’t I? You’d do the same for me.”

Ethan stopped walking.

He stood in the shadow of the hedge, completely still.

Five minutes ago, she’d been slapped by her own mother for being cruel to her husband. She’d run out with tears streaming down her face, supposedly devastated.

And the first person she called wasn’t a friend. Wasn’t her mother. Wasn’t even a therapist.

It was Damian Hale.

And she wasn’t crying anymore. She was cooing into the phone like a woman comforting her lover, promising him money and resources that belonged to her family’s company.

Ethan’s jaw tightened. Then relaxed.

A cold smile tugged at the corner of his mouth

‘Well. If she’s got the energy to play sugar mama, she’s clearly fine.’

He pulled out his phone and typed a message to Eleanor.

Found her. She’s safe. Don’t worry, get some rest.

1/4

+158414

He hit send.

Then he turned and walked away without a backward glance.

The night air hit him as he stepped through the community gates.

He was already pulling up a rideshare app when a horn blared — short, sharp.

His head snapped up.

–

The red Ferrari sat at the curb, engine purring. The window slid down, and Aurora leaned across the center console, one eyebrow raised.

“Get in, handsome.”

Ethan blinked. “You’ve been here this whole time?”

“Obviously.” She tilted her head, a smile tugging at her lips. “Did you think I’d just drop you off and disappear?”

Something warm cracked through the tightness in his chest.

“Mm.” She tilted her head. “Get in. You still owe me dinner, and I’m starving.”

Ethan walked toward the car. “It’s almost ten. What do you want me to make at this hour?”

Aurora’s lips curled.

“Noodles.” She paused, just long enough. “Nice… hot… noodles. Think you can handle that?”

The way she said it – low, slow, with that deliberate pause – left very little to the imagination. Ethan stopped mid-step.

Aurora held his gaze. Not a trace of embarrassment on her face. Just that infuriating half-smile.

He shook his head, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

“Get in the car, Ethan. Before I change my mind and leave you here.”

He got in. The pressure that had been sitting on his chest all evening — Eleanor’s tears, Reginald’s contempt, Vivian’s phone call – cracked, just slightly. Enough to let him breathe.

Aurora pulled away from the curb. The engine roared.

Vivian ended the call with Damian and wiped her face.

She felt better. Damian always made her feel better. He listened. He cared. He didn’t make her feel like she was the problem.

Not like Ethan.

She stood, smoothed her dress, and walked back toward the parking garage. If Ethan had come looking for her and given up, fine. She didn’t need him.

She pulled her Audi out of the garage and turned toward the main gate.

She’d go for a drive. Clear her head. She wasn’t ready to face her mother yet – not with the ghost of that slap still

2:4

+15 Bonita

burning on her cheek.

The gate arm lifted. She rolled forward onto the boulevard.

And saw it.

A red Ferrari. Parked under the streetlamp just outside the community entrance.

And Ethan – her Ethan, her husband of five years – bending down, sliding into the passenger seat, which means he didn’t enter this car as an Uber driver, but under some other identity.

A woman behind the wheel. Dark hair, sharp jawline, the kind of face that belonged on a magazine cover.

The Ferrari’s taillights flared once, then vanished down the boulevard.

Vivian’s foot slammed the brake.

Her heart stopped.

He was sitting in the passenger seat of another woman’s car. A car worth more than everything he’d ever owned. And the driver — Vivian caught only a glimpse of the profile – was young, beautiful, and smiling at him like he was the only person in the world.

The Ferrari disappeared around the corner.

She grabbed her phone. Dialed Ethan’s number.

One ring. Two rings. The line went dead.

Call declined.

She called again.

Declined.

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