Ex Wife's Collapse After Divorce novel Chapter 44

Chapter 44

The silence was exactly what Sophie had been hoping for. Ethan could feel her grip tighten on his arm – not from nerves, but from barely contained delight.

“Sorry we’re late, everyone!” Sophie’s voice rang out, bright and cheerful, as if she hadn’t just detonated a bomb in the room.

She scanned the seating arrangement in half a second. Plenty of open chairs. She chose the two directly beside Vivian.

“Here looks great,” she said, pulling Ethan into the seat next to his wife.

Ethan sat. Vivian on his left. Sophie on his right. Damian one seat further, on Vivian’s other side.

The symmetry was almost poetic.

Sophie didn’t waste a single second. She kept her hand looped through Ethan’s arm, leaning into him, her perfume cutting through the room’s neutral scent like a declaration of war.

Ryan Torres cleared his throat from across the table. “So should we order?”

“Oh, have you not ordered yet?” Sophie snatched the leather-bound menu before anyone else could reach it. She flipped it open with practiced authority. “Perfect. Ethan loves spicy food – let’s see… the Cajun crawfish platter, the blackened ribeye with jalapeño butter, and-” She glanced at Ethan. “You want the fire-roasted shrimp or the pepper-crusted lamb chops?”

“Either’s fine.”

“Both, then.” Sophie smiled at the room. “Anyone else want to add anything, or should I just handle it?”

The table stared.

Sophie had waltzed in, claimed the man, claimed the menu, and was now claiming the evening. Every dish she ordered was a neon sign screaming I know what he likes. I know him better than you do.

Vivian’s hand curled into a fist beneath the tablecloth.

“Sophie.” Vivian’s voice cut through the room like a blade on glass. “Ethan is my husband. And you’re sitting here, in front of me, hanging all over him. Do you think that’s appropriate?”

The table went rigid.

Sophie set the menu down. Slowly. She looked at Vivian with an expression of exaggerated innocence.

“Appropriate?” She tilted her head. Then her gaze slid past Vivian to the man sitting on her other side. You brought your ex-boyfriend to a class reunion while your husband sits right here. And you want to lecture me about appropriate?”

Damian’s jaw clenched. “I’m a classmate. I have every right to be here.”

1/3

+15 Bonus

Sophie turned to him with a smile that could cut paper.

“A classmate.” She tasted the word like it was sour. “Right. The kind of classmate whose hand was on

the back of her chair when we walked in. The kind of classmate she brought instead of her actual husband.” She leaned forward. “Honey, I graduated from the same school. I know the difference between

a classmate and a date.”

Damian’s face darkened.

“All right, all right -” Ryan Torres half-rose from his seat, hands up, sweat visible on his temples. “We’re all old friends here. Let’s just enjoy the evening, yeah? The food’s coming. Let’s not -”

“Ryan’s right.” Sophie settled back into her chair with a carefree shrug. “Let’s eat.”

The first course arrived. Soup, salad, the usual five-star procession.

Damian moved immediately. He lifted the ladle from the tureen of roasted chicken consommé and poured a careful portion into Vivian’s bowl.

“You’ve been working too hard,” he said, voice soft with practiced tenderness. “You need to take care of yourself.”

Vivian accepted the bowl without looking at Ethan.

Sophie watched the exchange with the sharp attention of a hawk spotting a field mouse.

The Cajun crawfish platter arrived seconds later, steaming and glistening with spice.

Sophie’s fingers moved fast. She cracked a crawfish tail, peeled the shell clean, and held the bright-red morsel up to Ethan’s lips.

“Open up,” she said. “You’ll love these.”

Every eye at the table locked onto Ethan.

He looked at Sophie. She arched an eyebrow – a silent don’t you dare back out now.

Ethan leaned forward and took the crawfish from her fingers. Chewed. Swallowed.

“Not bad,” he said.

Sophie beamed. She popped another crawfish and started peeling it, fingers glistening with spice and butter, utterly unbothered by the audience.

“I should learn to make these,” she said, her voice pitched just loud enough to carry. “I’ll cook them for you at home next time. Whenever you want.”

“Sure.”

Ethan’s reply was casual. Easy. As if this were the most natural arrangement in the world.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify