Ex Wife's Collapse After Divorce novel Chapter 32

Chapter 32

The engine was still running.

Vivian sat in the black sedan across from Sophie’s apartment complex, fingers white-knuckled around the steering wheel.

She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there. Ten minutes. Twenty. Maybe an hour.

It didn’t matter.

The image was already burned into her skull – Ethan’s shoes at Sophie’s door, the dim hallway light, that woman’s voice dripping honey through the crack in the doorframe. Her husband. Her property. Spending the night in another woman’s home.

‘Ethan Carter, you cheating bastard.’

Her teeth ground together so hard her jaw ached. The rage wasn’t clean – it was tangled up with something uglier. Not heartbreak. Vivian Lockwood didn’t get her heart broken by a man she’d never respected.

This was theft.

Someone had taken what was hers. Someone she’d once called a friend.

Her phone buzzed on the passenger seat.

The screen lit up with a name that made her chest loosen by a fraction.

Damian Hale.

She snatched it up.

“Vivian!” Damian’s voice was warm, bright – the sound of someone who’d just stepped off a plane into sunshine. “Great news. Family stuff’s all sorted. I’m landing in Crestwood at ten this morning. Any chance you could pick me up?”

Vivian’s throat was raw. She swallowed, forced the tremor out of her voice.

“Of course. I’ll be there.”

“Perfect. And Vivian – I’ve got something good to tell you. Really good. I’ll save it for when I see you.”

“Okay. Ten o’clock. I’ll be there.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

The line went dead.

Vivian stared at the phone for a long moment. Then she put the car in drive, pulled away from the curb, and headed home.

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She needed a shower.

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Crestwood International Airport. 9:47 AM.

Vivian stood near the arrivals gate, Hermès bag hooked over one arm, posture perfect, face immaculate.

But the concealer could only do so much.

The bloodshot eyes gave her away. The slight hollowness in her cheeks. The way her gaze kept drifting – unfocused, distant – before snapping back to the present.

Her mind wouldn’t stop replaying it.

Ethan’s car in Sophie’s parking lot. The late hour. The closed door. An entire night behind that door.

‘My husband. In her apartment. All night.’

The fury coiled tighter in her stomach.

It wasn’t jealousy – not the way normal women felt jealous. Vivian had never loved Ethan the way a wife should love a husband. He was a fixture. A convenience. A man who cooked her meals and pressed her clothes and never once talked back.

But he was hers.

And Sophie Whitfield – that backstabbing, husband-kissing snake – had stolen him. Like snatching a toy right out of Vivian’s hands.

The indignity of it made her vision blur with rage.

“Vivian!”

She flinched.

–

Damian was already standing in front of her navy blazer, carry-on slung over one shoulder, smile wide and easy. She hadn’t even seen him approach.

His hand came up immediately, pressing against her forehead. Warm palm. Gentle pressure.

“You look terrible.” The smile faded into concern. “Are you sick?”

Vivian jerked back instinctively, heart hammering. Then she registered who it was – the soft eyes, the worry lines creasing his brow – and forced herself to relax.

“I’m fine.” She managed a smile. “Just couldn’t sleep last night. Insomnia.”

“The company?”

“Something like that.”

the familiar cologne,

2/3

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She didn’t want to say Ethan’s name. Not here. Not now. Not in front of the one person who actually

made her feel like she mattered.

Damian studied her face for a beat too long. Then his expression softened, and he reached out again

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