Ex Wife's Collapse After Divorce novel Chapter 26

Chapter 26

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By 3:30 PM, Ethan was standing outside Starfall Lounge, folder tucked under his arm, tie straightened, game face on.

‘Twelve million. Just keep your eyes on the number.’

He found the private room William had specified – Room 7, second floor. Muffled bass thumped through the door. He knocked twice, then pushed it open.

The karaoke screen blazed neon lyrics across the far wall. Bottles lined the coffee table – whiskey, red wine, beer, mixers. The air smelled like perfume and cigarette smoke.

Ethan’s gaze swept the room and locked onto Sophie Whitfield in under a second.

She sat dead center of the leather sofa, legs crossed, a glass of red wine dangling from her fingers. White fitted top, denim shorts, waves of chestnut hair spilling over her shoulders. Three years had sharpened her features – the baby fat was gone, replaced by something harder. More deliberate.

Around her sat seven others. Three faces triggered faint recognition – university classmates of Vivian’s, people he’d seen at dinners and gatherings years ago. The other four were strangers.

Sophie’s eyes found him.

She froze mid-sip.

“Ethan Carter?”

The room’s chatter dipped. Heads turned.

Ethan stepped forward, professional smile in place. “Ms. Whitfield, happy birthday. I’m here on behalf of Stellaris International Trading – I’d like to discuss the renewal of our partnership and address the issues with last month’s shipment-”

Sophie set her glass down. A slow, curling smile spread across her face.

“Hold on.” She tilted her head. “You’re working now? Like, an actual job?” Her eyes glittered. “Does Vivian know you’re out of the house?”

Laughter rippled through the room.

“Sophie, it’s your birthday since when do we talk business at a party?”

“Forget business, he’s cute. Is he single? I’ve been single for months-”

The voices piled on top of each other, teasing, prodding, circling him like sharks scenting blood.

Ethan’s smile didn’t waver. His fingers tightened around the folder behind his back.

“Ms. Whitfield,” he tried again, keeping his voice even. “If we could set aside a few minutes to discuss the contract-”

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“Sit down.” Sophie patted the cushion beside her. Not a request.

He sat.

Sophie reached for the bottles. She poured three drinks in quick succession – a shot of baijiu, a glass of red, a pint of beer – and lined them up in front of him.

“Today’s my birthday, Ethan.” Her tone was sweet. Almost friendly. The look in her eyes was neither. “You want to talk business? Fine. But first show me some sincerity.”

Ethan’s stomach tightened. “What kind of sincerity?”

Sophie’s smile widened. “Drink with me.”

Ethan blinked. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” Sophie snapped her fingers. A server materialized with two fresh glasses and a bottle of Rémy Martin XO. “You and me. Shot for shot. If you can keep up, we’ll talk numbers.”

The tension in his chest released.

‘She wants to outdrink me. That’s her power play.’

Sophie Whitfield was legendary in their college circle for her alcohol tolerance. She’d once put three fraternity brothers under the table at a homecoming afterparty and walked out in a straight line.

But nobody at this table knew what Ethan had been through in the past.

Carter Holdings hadn’t just trained him in finance and negotiation. The old man – his grandfather – had insisted every heir survive the banquet circuit. Russian vodka with arms dealers. Baijiu with provincial officials. Scotch with London bankers.

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