No Second Chances Ex-husband (Lauren and Ethan) novel Chapter 212

**TITLE: He Chased 212**

**LAUREN’S POV**

As my car rolled to a halt in front of Roman’s house, the tires barely made a sound against the gravel. Before the engine even had a chance to quiet, I was flinging the door open, urgency propelling me forward. I didn’t even think to slam it shut behind me; that thought was lost in the whirlwind of emotions swirling in my mind, a chaotic blend of fear and disbelief.

The atmosphere felt dense today, as if the very air was pressing against my chest, making each breath a struggle. I half-walked, half-ran toward the entrance, my heart racing so violently that I was certain Roman could hear it echoing in the silence. Fumbling with the handle, I finally managed to push the door open, stepping inside with a sense of desperation.

Roman was there, positioned near the couch, his keys dangling from his fingers. He seemed poised to leave, perhaps to grab something from the store. But as soon as I crossed the threshold into the living room, time seemed to freeze. His hand stilled mid-motion, keys suspended in the air, his gaze locking onto me with a mix of surprise and concern.

“Lauren,” he said, eyebrows lifting in mild astonishment as he straightened up. “You’re back sooner than I expected. I thought you’d be caught up in that school meeting for hours.”

“I had to come home. There’s an emergency,” I blurted out, urgency lacing my voice. I didn’t even pause to remove my shoes or catch my breath. There was no time for pleasantries or delays.

His brow furrowed, and the keys dropped onto the table with a soft clink. “What kind of emergency?” he asked, his tone shifting from casual to serious.

Instead of answering verbally, I reached into my purse, my hands trembling as I pulled out my phone. The cracked screen was a glaring reminder of the chaos I was feeling inside.

“What happened to your phone?” he asked, confusion mingling with concern. “Did you drop it?”

“The phone isn’t important right now,” I insisted, my voice rising with urgency. “Just look at what I’m about to show you.”

He leaned in as I held the phone up, the screen illuminated with the image I had received. I watched his expression closely, noting how his eyes narrowed in concentration, flicking back and forth between the photo and my anxious face.

After a few seconds of silence, he finally said, “Why are you showing me an old photo of yourself?”

I blinked, taken aback by his casual dismissal.

“That’s the emergency,” I replied, my voice firm. “This isn’t an old photo of me. It’s not me at all.”

His frown deepened, and he examined the screen again, disbelief creeping into his features. “What do you mean it’s not you? The woman in the picture looks just like you.” He let out a small laugh, as if he thought I was joking. “Come on, Lauren. Be serious.”

“But it’s not me!” I insisted, pointing at the image with a shaky finger. “Look at her hair! I’ve never cut my hair that way. Ever.”

He paused, the amusement fading from his face as he scrutinized the photo with newfound intensity. I could see the wheels turning in his mind as he began to grasp the gravity of the situation.

“Is this some kind of prank?” he asked, glancing around the room as if searching for hidden cameras. “Are you, Aria, and Tessa up to something again? Because if this is another joke…”

“This isn’t a trick,” I interrupted, my voice rising in frustration. “Do I look like I’m laughing? I received this from a random account on I*******m. I don’t know who they are or why they sent it to me.”

At that moment, the seriousness of the situation washed over him. His entire demeanor changed; his shoulders squared, and he gently took the phone from my trembling hands.

He stared at the image again, this time with the intensity of a detective piecing together a mystery. His lips parted slightly, disbelief dancing in his eyes. He then held the phone next to my head, comparing our features, scanning for similarities.

“Well,” he said slowly, lowering the phone, “it could be Al.”

He handed me my phone, and I swallowed hard, my fingers hovering over the screen as I typed the message.

“Who are you, and how did you get this photo?”

With a shaky breath, I pressed send.

“Sent,” I whispered, a knot tightening in my stomach.

“Alright,” Roman sighed, leaning back against the couch. “Now comes the hard part: waiting. If this is a spam account, it could take days or even weeks for them to respond, and the suspense would be…”

“The account replied,” I interrupted suddenly, my heart leaping.

“What?” he said, leaning forward, surprise evident in his voice. “That was fast.”

I opened the message, my heart racing as I read it aloud: “My name is Elizabeth, and this is my picture. Shocking, right?”

I stared at the words, my mind reeling, unable to process the implications.

“Elizabeth?” I repeated, disbelief coloring my tone. “And she claims that’s her photo? How is that even possible?”

Roman’s gaze remained fixed on the screen, his expression hardening as confusion washed over him. The room filled with an electric tension, the air thick with uncertainty as we both grappled with the reality of what this could mean.