Ex Wife's Collapse After Divorce novel Chapter 79

Chapter 79

+15 Bonus

She stood in the doorway, and she looked as though the floor had dropped out from under her.

Earlier that evening her father had cornered her-Augustus, of all people, subdued and heavy and full of words she hadn’t wanted to hear. He’d talked for a long time. She hadn’t listened to a syllable of it, had only endured it, counting the minutes until she could get away.

And when she finally escaped that miserable conversation, she’d found Ethan’s message waiting on her phone.

Something came up. I’ve gone home ahead.

It had startled her-but only a little. She’d assumed it was some small thing. Business. A headache.

Anything ordinary.

She had not expected to walk into her own home and find him packing his life into boxes by the door.

Ethan didn’t turn around. He kept his back to her, and said nothing.

“Is this because of Julian?” The words tumbled out, quick and pleading. “Did he say something to you?

Whatever it was, don’t listen to him-he’s a spoiled, useless boy, Ethan, he’s nothing, nothing he says is worth-” She started toward him. “Don’t. Don’t just stand there, talk to me-”

Ethan stepped back.

It was a small movement. A single step, putting distance between them.

But it stopped her cold.

She stood frozen in the middle of her own living room, staring at him as if she’d never seen him before.

“I’ve gotten tired of living here,” he said, low. “That’s all. I wanted a change.”

For a moment she said nothing. Then she let out a soft, broken sound that wasn’t quite a laugh.

“My young master,” she said, and her voice shook, “is a terrible liar.”

His jaw tightened.

“Tell me the truth.” She didn’t move closer, but she didn’t look away either. “I know this has something to do with Julian. Don’t insult me by pretending it doesn’t.”

He’d walked into a corner and he knew it. So he did the only thing left-he raised his voice, put an edge

into it, made himself sharp.

“Fine. He got the wrong idea. About you and me. He decided there was something between us and he threatened to make trouble over it-for you. I live here. As long as I do, that trouble lands on your doorstep.”

He shifted the box in his arms. “So I’m moving out. It’s simpler for everyone.”

1/3

+15 Bonus

Aurora stared at him, and the disbelief on her face only deepened.

“You,” she said slowly, “are the heir of the Carter family.”

“And you’re standing in front of me,” she went on, “expecting me to believe that you-Carter’s heir-would pick up and run from some nobody rich boy, from a no-name family in a small city, because he threw a threat around at a party?” Her voice climbed, raw with hurt. “Do you hear yourself?” 1

Something in him snapped taut, and he seized it, because it was the fastest road to the thing he’d come

here to do.

“Yes.” It came out too loud, too raw. “That’s exactly what I expect you to believe. The Blackwood heir is a nobody. He doesn’t matter to me. And neither-” his throat worked “-neither does anyone at his level. Neither do you.”

The room went silent.

“What,” she whispered, “did you just say?”

Ethan swallowed. Every word felt like glass in his throat.

“You and me,” he said. “I’m your young master. You’re my personal assistant. When I make a decision, your job is to obey. Not to argue.” He forced himself to meet her eyes. “The line between us is very clear. Don’t cross it. It’s better for both of us.”

She stood frozen. And then-slowly, devastatingly-her eyes glistened.

Ethan looked away. He couldn’t watch.

He grabbed his bags and moved past her toward the door. His footsteps were too loud in the silence.

Behind him, Aurora didn’t move.

She stood there for a long time after the door closed. The house settled around her, too quiet, too empty.

Then she lifted one hand and wiped her eyes.

A short laugh escaped her-bitter, disbelieving.

“My lord,” she murmured to the empty room. “So cruel.”

But in the very next breath, something in her face shifted.

The wounded softness drew back, and her eyes lifted-sharp now, clear-toward the door he’d walked

out of.

“He’s still,” she said quietly, “not very good at lying.”

The performance had been too deliberate. Too eager to push her away. If he truly felt nothing-if he truly didn’t care-he would have been calm. Dismissive. Indifferent.

Instead, he’d been shaking. His voice had cracked. And the moment before he’d walked out, she’d seen

2/3

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify