Ex Wife's Collapse After Divorce novel Chapter 36

Chapter 36

Ethan stared at Aurora. His jaw worked. A muscle twitched near his temple.

‘She’s doing it again.’

The wounded-bird act. The same routine she’d pulled a dozen times before – the lowered eyes, the soft voice, the perfectly timed quiver of the lip.

He knew it was manipulation.

He also knew it wasn’t entirely fake. That was the worst part. Somewhere underneath the performance,

the loneliness was real.

“…Fine.” The word came out like it physically cost him something. “I’ll eat with you. Starting tonight.”

Aurora’s head snapped up.

The vulnerability vanished like morning fog. Her eyes sparkled. Her lips curved into a grin so triumphant, so openly smug, that Ethan felt his eye twitch.

“Really? Tonight? You promise?”

“I just said -”

“A man’s word is his bond, Young Master. No take-backs.”

She was practically glowing. Radiant. The cold-faced CEO of Stellaris International Trading was sitting in

a company cafeteria beaming like she’d just won the lottery.

Ethan exhaled through his nose. ‘Played. Again.’

Ding.

His phone buzzed against the table.

Ethan glanced down. The notification preview showed a text message.

From Sophie Whitfield.

His stomach dropped.

“Dinner tonight. You and me. Don’t even think about saying no.”

Ethan’s temples throbbed. He typed back immediately, fingers sharp against the glass:

“I’ve told you before. Nothing outside of work. Don’t contact me about personal matters again.”

Three dots appeared. Then:

“Is that really how you want to play this, Ethan? That cold?”

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Before he could respond, a second message arrived. An image.

His blood turned to ice.

A photo. Dim lighting. A hotel room. Two figures on a bed – one unmistakably him, unconscious, shirt half-open. And Sophie, curled against him, her arm draped across his chest, her face tilted toward the camera with a sleepy, satisfied smile.

The photo from that night.

Ethan’s expression locked down. Every trace of warmth, every hint of the easy laughter from moments agogone. Replaced by something hard and cold.

He stood abruptly, chair scraping back. His hand closed around the phone, screen pressed flat against his thigh.

“Excuse me.” His voice was level. Controlled. “I need to take a call.”

He turned and walked toward the cafeteria exit, shoulders rigid, pace just fast enough to signal urgency without drawing more attention than he’d already drawn.

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