Chapter 12

After the party, Vivian went with Ethan to a Western restaurant for dinner. Seeing the desserts, her eyes glittered—she was sure he would propose. She quietly ate all four small desserts, expecting a ring to appear. No ring. Stuffed and stiff‑smiled, she looked up to find Ethan staring at his phone, eyes vacant, brows knit, worry tightening his face.

She called his name a few times before he came back to himself. Something felt off. The less Grace contacted him, the more he seemed to want her back—classic male vice, wanting the best of both worlds.

She seized his hand, voice going small and sweet. “Ethan, since you’re divorced, let’s get married.”

He jerked as if stung and yanked his hand away. Divorce? That had been a game to make her happy. He had never planned to marry her. After so much intimacy, the glamour had worn off. Vivian—gorgeous and bold—suited the role of mistress. Even if he remarried someday, it would never be to a woman like her. The goddess in his memory, gentle and pure, had been reworked by the years into someone else entirely.

He didn’t answer the proposal. “Full? Let’s go,” he said blandly.

Vivian stared. “You don’t want to marry me—or you don’t want to marry me now? I want to be your wife. Believe me, I’ll be a good one.”

A good wife? Grace was a good wife. All those years, he could hardly fault her. She’d given up her dreams for the family, shed her heiress’s edges, swallowed every grievance, and took quiet, constant care of him and their daughter. Sophie, too—cute, considerate, well‑mannered—was proof of Grace’s raising.

Thinking of Sophie set a cat’s paw scratching inside his chest—scratch, scratch. He tried calling Grace; he found he’d been blocked. Ins, payments—everywhere blocked. He couldn’t reach her. They no longer lived in the old house. Sophie had even been withdrawn from preschool. Panic gnawed him. He stared at his phone, hoping Grace would suddenly come to her senses and call.

At the party he’d heard the murmurs. Maybe he had gone too far. He realized, with abrupt clarity, that Grace was the woman who loved him most in this world—and the ones he truly missed were his wife and daughter. The thought tore through him like a hurricane. He needed to see them.

After dinner, Vivian tugged his arm. “Ethan, let’s not go home. How about that themed hotel?” She pressed herself to him, ample breast brushing his arm.

He pulled away, irritated. “No. If you’re not going back, I am. I’ve got other things to do.” He wanted to search for Grace and Sophie.

Vivian’s smile collapsed. Malice lit the downcast eyes. Grace again—she must be scheming. Still, Vivian was confident—and unwilling to let go. Ethan was her best option; she would not let him go easily.

When she looked up, tears trembled on her lashes. “Ethan, don’t you like me anymore? You’re so cold… it scares me. If I don’t have you, Daisy and I can’t live.”

Can’t live? Grace and Sophie did just fine without him. Why couldn’t Vivian? What he’d once read as devotion now felt fake. The memory of Grace’s breakdown stabbed him with a dull ache and worry. The woman before him, all coy artifice, only made his skin crawl.

He drew a long breath. “Vivian Moore, I will never marry you. Give up the idea.”

She froze, her expression shattering. “Why? Didn’t you say you divorced for me? Now you say you’ll never marry me—were you toying with my feelings?” Her voice sharpened to a screech.

Ethan sneered. This had always been a game—together when it was fun, apart when it wasn’t. He had never promised marriage. She had been a goddess he had felt compelled to “win,” but once he had, the thrill dulled. Now he was even a little sick of it.

“I divorced to please you,” he said. “But I never said I’d marry you—that was your fantasy. And you’re not at a loss either, are you? I’ve given you money you’d never make in a lifetime. If you stop clinging, I’ll consider further compensation. My wife can only be Grace. No one else.” His tone was flat, implacable.