Ex Wife's Collapse After Divorce novel Chapter 46

Chapter 46

The private karaoke suite was massive – leather couches, neon mood lighting, a sixty-five-inch screen dominating one wall. Ryan had booked the premium room and ordered a spread of cocktails and beer.

Sophie ordered five more rounds before anyone else could speak.

“Sophie, everyone already drank at dinner. Maybe we should ease up -”

“Ryan, darling, you don’t have to drink. We will.”

She hooked her arm through Ethan’s and swept into the room, pulling him onto the center couch directly

in front of the screen.

The singing started.

Sophie commandeered the tablet and queued song after song. Seven tracks total. Six of them were love

duets.

Every single duet, she dragged Ethan to the front.

The first song – she stood close, swaying into his shoulder. By the third, she was leaning her head against his arm during the bridge. By the fifth, she was gazing up at him with an expression so convincing that even people who knew this was a performance started to wonder.

And then there was Ethan’s voice.

The room went quiet the instant he opened his mouth on the first ballad.

Rich. Controlled. Professional-grade tone that filled every corner of the suite without effort. He’d trained with a vocal coach for a year in his younger days, and it showed – every note landed with surgical precision, every run was effortless.

By the second song, classmates were pulling out their phones to record.

By the fourth, the entire room was cheering after every chorus.

Damian had scrolled through the song menu three times. He’d queued two tracks – a classic rock number and a pop ballad he’d practiced in the shower for weeks. He’d planned to impress.

Ethan hit a high note on the fifth duet that sent actual chills through the room.

Damian stared at the screen. Then, quietly, he reached for the tablet and deleted both his selections.

He sank back into the corner of the leather couch.

Vivian sat beside him. Neither of them sang. Neither of them was asked to sing. The two of them occupied the far end of the suite like afterthoughts – wallflowers at their own reunion, watching Ethan and Sophie own the room.

Every time Sophie finished a song, she’d bow dramatically, blow a kiss to the audience, then collapse

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against Ethan’s side in exaggerated exhaustion. The classmates howled. Whistled. Raised their glasses.

Vivian’s fingers dug into the leather armrest until her knuckles went white.

By 11 PM, Ethan decided it was time to head home. He suddenly realized that Aurora still hadn’t replied to his text about coming home late.

That wasn’t like her. Usually, she would reply in a heartbeat, playfully telling him to stay safe and promising to wait up for him.

He set down his glass and stood. “I’m heading out.”

Sophie lunged. Both arms locked around his right arm, cheeks flushed crimson from alcohol, lower lip jutting out in a dramatic pout.

“No! One more song. Just one more and I’ll let you go. Please? Pleeease?”

Ethan looked at Sophie’s pouting. He weighed the time it would take to simply agree to another song against the time he’d lose trying to shake her off if he said no. Then, he let out a sigh.

“Just one.”

“Yay!”

Sophie stumbled over to the song tablet, fingers swiping with drunken determination. She found what she wanted in seconds. Tapped it. Grabbed a microphone and shoved it into Ethan’s hand.

The title appeared on the big screen in bold white letters:

“Cheater, Cheater”

The suite went dead silent.

Everyone knew the song. A novelty track that had gone viral – crude, catchy, and absolutely merciless. The chorus was a sing-along anthem about a spouse who’d been stepping out, and it left zero room for

interpretation.

Sophie shoved the mic into Ethan’s hand and dropped onto the couch, arms folded behind her head, looking immensely pleased with herself.

Nobody whistled this time. Nobody banged a bottle.

The backing track kicked in – twangy guitar, a drumbeat like a ticking clock.

Ethan looked at the lyrics scrolling across the screen. Then, without a flicker of hesitation, he lifted the

mic.

Low. Steady. Almost conversational. Like he was reading someone’s obituary.

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