I Swapped His Fake Gift for a Real Life novel Chapter 2

Chapter 2

“So now you’re panicking?”

“I tried talking sense into you earlier, but you wouldn’t listen. I’m still furious, and nothing you say is going to change that. I’ve got work tonight, so I’m not coming home. Take this time to reflect on what you did wrong.”

Ethan’s voice was sharp and icy–and just before the line cut, I caught Zoey Shaw’s voice in the background.

“Ethan, which dress should I wear for the birthday party tonight?”

The call ended with a click.

It wasn’t my birthday. Or Ethan’s.

It was hers.

So much for work. He’d just needed a convenient excuse to celebrate her big day.

And this was the man who, because of childhood trauma, never celebrated birthdays. Not even once. I’d stopped

celebrating mine too–for him.

But for her? He made an exception.

I let out a bitter laugh.

Love really was the ultimate cure. It heals his past, rewrote his rules, gave him reasons to smile again.

Too bad, after seven years of marriage, I was neither his love nor his cure.

Shaking it off, I gathered my team and met with the new company. We finalized the contract terms, and as we wrapped up, my team turned to me, voices filled with concern.

“Boss, take our advice–men like Ethan, who plays favorites like it’s a sport, are nothing but bad news.

I gave a tired smile.

I remembered how he’d looked when we first met: shy, awkward, wearing a plain white tee, barely able to string two

words together.

Now, he lied with ease, charmed with polish, and hurt without hesitation.

And maybe… I’d helped make him that way.

Back then, I loved him. Every mistake he made, every misstep–I’d forgive it all with a single apology. A few soft words. and my heart would melt.

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But he took my forgiveness as permission. Assumed I had no limits.

And when apologies stopped working? He switched to punishment. If I didn’t cave, he’d make me pay.

It got worse over time, until finally, he crossed a line I couldn’t come back from.

I’d handed him chance after chance to hurt me–still clinging to the hope that maybe, one day, he’d change.

Stupid. Naive.

I shook my head, forcing the thoughts away.

“Tonight’s on me,” I said, raising my voice. “We’re drinking’til we’re wasted!”

The team erupted with cheers.

We drank, sang, danced, and stumbled our way through the night until the sun came up. I made it home half–dazed and fully exhausted, fumbling with my keys–only to walk in and find Ethan, the man who sworn he wouldn’t return, sitting

on the couch.

Waiting.

He caught a whiff of the alcohol and recoiled instantly.

“I’ve told you–I can’t stand women who drink. And you come home like this? What, just trying to piss me off?*

I laughed, low and humorless.

Because of that one sentence-“I hate women who drink“-I’d stayed sober for seven years. And what did that get me?

Not long ago, Zoey had sent me a smug little video. She was tipsy, voice trembling, eyes wide with fake tears.

“I’m sorry, Ethan… I know you hate women who drink. I won’t do it again, I promise.”

He had cupped her face like she was the most precious thing on earth.

“Silly girl,” he said. “Drink if you want. I don’t hate the booze–I just hate cleaning up after people.”

Then, when she threw up, he caught it in his bare hands.

“But if it’s you, I’ll do it.”

The memory made bile rise in my throat. I smacked his hand away.

“Didn’t you say you weren’t coming back?”

He scowled and tossed a blanket at me.

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“I was worried about you being here alone. And look at you–out partying, didn’t even think to call me. Meanwhile, I brought home your favorite food.”

I looked at the takeout containers–he wasn’t lying. Everything I used to love was there.

But I didn’t touch a bite.

That was his pattern: hit you, then offer a treat like nothing happened.

I wasn’t falling for it again.

Ethan didn’t notice my silence. He thought, like always, that a peace offering would be enough. He softened his tone, like

a salesman closing a deal.

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