Trick Him Into Divorce, Then Flee With His Unknow Kid novel Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Chapter 9 A Password of Shame

Rose stared at the message, her mind going blank for several long seconds.

She had not expected Margaret to take this so seriously, nor had she imagined that arranging a new match for her had already progressed this far.

It felt as though events had accelerated beyond her control, like a cart rolling downhill with no one left to steer it.

She called back.

"Grandma, I really don’t have the headspace for this right now."

She pressed her fingers against her throbbing temple, trying to steady herself.

Even knowing that Margaret meant well, the weight of that concern felt overwhelming, almost suffocating.

"But I’ve already arranged the meeting," Margaret replied, her tone gentle yet firm, leaving little room for refusal. "Just think of it as meeting a new friend. It never hurts to widen your circle. We can talk about everything else later, all right?"

Rose opened her mouth, but before she could respond—

"Eight o’clock tonight. Dress appropriately."

Margaret, as if anticipating further objections, cut her off and ended the call decisively.

Rose stood there, phone still in hand, unsure whether to laugh or sigh.

She understood Margaret’s intentions—she wanted to see her settled, wanted to pave the way for her future before this marriage was fully put to rest.

Still, good intentions could sometimes come on too strong, and this felt like being pushed into deep water before she had learned how to swim.

She glanced at the time. Six-thirty.

After a moment’s hesitation, she picked up her coat again.

If she refused outright, explaining herself later would only become more complicated; if she went, she could at least make things clear face to face—that she had neither the desire nor the intention to meet anyone new.

---

The meeting was arranged at Skyview Club, one of New York’s most exclusive venues, a place whose reputation rivaled the finest private entertainment clubs in the country.

Her electronic ticket indicated the fifth floor, which housed private dining suites and performance lounges.

After confirming the room number, Rose paused at the door, checked it once more, and knocked.

No response.

Either no one had heard, or they had not arrived yet. Without overthinking it, she gently pushed the door open.

The moment her eyes fell on the scene inside, she froze.

Someone was already there.

Ryan stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, one hand casually tucked into his pocket, his tall silhouette outlined by the glow of the city lights beyond the glass.

Samantha faced him, standing on her toes as she adjusted his tie. Then their eyes met, and she leaned in, pressing her lips to his.

Seeing it with her own eyes still struck Rose like a blow, leaving her mind blank for a few seconds.

Seven years of marriage, whatever feelings had once existed, could not simply vanish overnight, no matter how often she told herself her heart was already dead.

Instinctively, she moved to close the door.

Before she could, a small pair of hands shoved her hard.

"You bad witch! Why are you spying on my sister?"

Rose looked down.

A boy of five or six stood in front of her, round and sturdy like a little cannonball, his face full of the unchecked arrogance of a child who had never been told no.

His voice carried, loud and shrill, and the people inside immediately noticed. The door was pushed fully open.

Ryan remained composed, his gaze settling on Rose’s pale face.

"What are you doing here?"

There was no anger in his tone, no embarrassment, not even a trace of surprise, as though he were merely an uninvolved observer in this confrontation.

The door to the adjacent suite opened as well.

A man leaned lazily against the frame, raising an eyebrow—it was James Taylor, Ryan’s longtime friend, closer to him than most family.

"Don’t tell me you followed us here," James said with a grin that sounded like teasing, though the implication was clear enough.

Samantha stood beside Ryan and drew the boy toward her.

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