Chapter 3

The next morning, Ethan woke me up.

There was no gentle good morning kiss. He stood by the bed, tightening his tie, his brow still furrowed, carrying last night's irritation into today.

"Get up and get ready. Before you donate bone marrow, I'm taking you to that charity gala—the one you've always wanted to go to. That's fair, right?"

I sat up, still groggy.

Ethan saw I wasn't moving and assumed I was still upset about yesterday.

He sighed and pulled a document from his briefcase, tossing it onto the nightstand.

"Sign this before we head to the gala."

I glanced at it: divorce papers.

Ethan's tone was matter-of-fact, almost patronizing. "Leah's emotions are unstable. The doctor says she needs to stay happy before surgery. She's always wanted to be with me. Of course... this is just to make sure the surgery goes well."

When I didn't respond, he softened his voice, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching for my hand. I quietly avoided him.

His hand hovered awkwardly before he pulled it back, his tone turning stiff. "Erin, don't be difficult. This is just a formality. After you donate the marrow and Leah's surgery is successful, we can get remarried anytime. I'm taking you to the gala, so you should compromise a little, right?"

Same old story.

The familiar logic: I give you a treat, but first you have to take a hit.

The Erin who would have sobbed over this paper is gone.

Now, I just looked at the contract, thinking the terms weren't detailed enough.

"Where's the pen?" I asked.

Ethan was caught off guard. He'd prepared a whole speech to soothe or guilt-trip me, but it all got stuck in his throat.

"You're not... going to read the terms?"

"No need." I picked up the pen and signed Erin Ward across the page, quickly and cleanly. "Let's just get this over with."

On the way to the gala, Ethan kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror.

The venue was packed with the city's elite—top lawyers and business leaders.

We'd barely been inside when Ethan's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting. Leah's special ringtone.

"Leah's upset, she's been crying." Ethan hung up, tugging at his tie in frustration. "I need to call her back and calm her down. Just wait here, don't wander off, and don't embarrass me."

He shoved a glass of champagne into my hand and headed for the VIP lounge.

I stood among the crowd, holding the cold glass, watching him hurry away.

I felt strangely detached.

I remembered eight years ago.

Back then, I was in the college debate club, and Ethan was a star debater from another school.

In the finals, he was sharp and relentless, leaving me speechless.

But after the match, that confident boy crossed the room and shyly asked for my number.

At the time, I'd just been found by the Beckett family—sensitive, insecure, out of place in this glamorous world.

Ethan took my hand and helped me fit in.

He used to search the city for me when I didn't reply to his texts, or stand in line for hours to buy a limited-edition vinyl just because I liked it.

But then he met Leah.

That fragile, pale sister who always needed someone to care for her.

Somewhere along the way, I became the one who just "waited."

I waited outside concerts with two wasted tickets, waited at anniversary dinners until the staff closed up, waited countless nights with a light on for him to come back from Leah's hospital room.

My whole life felt like waiting.

Waiting for my parents to give me a little of the love they gave my sister, waiting for my husband to look at me the way he looked at her, waiting for my son to depend on me the way he clung to his aunt.

But this time, I wasn't going to wait.

I set the untouched champagne on a passing waiter's tray and walked toward the main doors.

Ethan's assistant was stationed at the entrance. She saw me leaving and hurried to stop me. "Ma'am? Mr. Ward asked you to wait inside..."

"No need." I pulled my coat tighter and pushed open the heavy doors. The cold air rushed in, but it felt exhilarating.

"Tell him I'm done waiting."

That capsule had cut out every trace of "expectation" left in me.

I walked far enough to look back at the glittering ballroom, feeling lighter than ever.

Half an hour later, Ethan came out of the VIP lounge, his face dark after finally calming Leah down.

He looked around, searching for my familiar figure.

"Where's Erin?" he asked his assistant. "Did she go to the restroom? Is she hiding somewhere, crying?"

The assistant looked awkward, unsure how to answer.

"Ma'am... already left."

"Left?" Ethan's voice shot up, incredulous. "She just stormed out? Is she crying somewhere?"

That's how he imagined Erin would react.

Hysterical from being ignored, sobbing until he offered her a crumb, then she'd come running back.

The assistant hesitated, then told the truth.

"No, sir. When she left... she wasn't crying, she actually..."

"Actually what?"

"She actually looked relieved. Like... she was finally free."

Ethan froze, his champagne glass trembling and spilling a few drops onto the expensive carpet.

Impossible, he thought.

Erin couldn't feel relieved. She couldn't live without him, could she?

A chill crawled up his spine, stronger than the anxiety he'd felt in the car last night.

For the first time, he realized things were slipping completely out of his control.