Theater: NovelMaster | Language: English | NEW
Synopsis
Tags: Ex's Wedding, Hypocritical Tears, Vengeance, Face-Slapping
At his ex’s wedding, my husband cried.
In the six years we’d been married, it was the first time I had ever seen him shed a tear.
He hadn’t even cried at my father’s funeral.
Back then, he just gave me two cold words: “My condolences.”
I couldn’t count how many times we’d fought over his icy indifference, with him always dismissing me as “too dramatic.”
After the reception, I watched him lying dead drunk on the bed, constantly murmuring her name in his sleep.
I let out a bitter scoff. His tears had never belonged to me.
As I tucked him in, his phone screen lit up on the nightstand with a notification:
“If I hadn't left back then... would the man standing at the altar today have been you?”
Ha. A true match made in heaven.
I didn't wake him up. I quietly took a picture of the screen and forwarded it directly to the groom.
After sending the photo, I set Ethan’s phone back on the pillow.
The faint glow flickered in the dim room, then died.
He was fast asleep, his brow furrowed, his lips still moving faintly as if he couldn't let go of that name even in his dreams.
Victoria Brooks.
In the six years I’d known him, those two words had been a thorn buried deep in the flesh of my marriage.
I thought time would rot it away. Instead, it took root, sprouted, and grew into a massive tree blocking out the sun.
I stood by the bed, watching him for a long time.
This was the man I had once married with so much hope and joy.
I turned, walked out of the bedroom, closed the door, and stepped onto the balcony.
The night wind was biting, whipping my dress around my legs.
At the wedding earlier today, I had sat quietly in the guest section, watching Victoria walk down the aisle toward Liam Campbell in her pristine white gown.
Ethan was right beside me. His eyes turned red.
He turned his head, thinking I wouldn't notice. But the ballroom chandeliers were so bright, exposing the dampness at the corners of his eyes.
Six years.
On the day of my father’s funeral, Ethan had stood beside me in a sharp, crisp suit, his expression completely blank.
The chapel was filled with weeping. I knelt in front of the casket, my knees numb, my whole body shaking.
He looked down at me, his lips barely parting to spit out two words: “My condolences.”
Just two words. No hug. No comfort. Not an ounce of warmth.
Yet today, because Victoria was marrying someone else, he broke down and cried.
I stood on the balcony through the entire night.
At dawn, my phone buzzed.
It was a reply from Liam Campbell. Just two words: “Thank you.”
I stared at the screen, suddenly overcome by the sheer absurdity of it all.
The groom was thanking me for sending him proof of his bride’s late-night flirtation with another man.
What a twisted joke.
I deleted the chat, pocketed my phone, and went back inside to change.
Ethan still wasn’t awake. He had rolled over onto his side, one arm dangling off the edge of the mattress.
By the time I walked out of the walk-in closet, he stirred, his eyelids fluttering open into a squint.
“What time is it?” His voice was hoarse, rough like sandpaper from the hangover.
“Eight-thirty.”
“God, my head hurts...” He rubbed his temples and reached for his phone on the nightstand.
I didn’t say a word. I walked to the vanity and started applying my lipstick.
He unlocked his phone. In the mirror’s reflection, I watched his face morph.
First confusion, then shock, and finally, pure rage.
“Chloe.” He called my name, his tone as cold as winter glass. “Did you touch my phone?”
I put down the lipstick and turned to face him.
“I did.”
He sat bolt upright, clutching the phone so hard his knuckles turned white. “You sent that chat to Liam Campbell?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” His voice suddenly skyrocketed. “Victoria just got married yesterday! Do you realize what kind of mess you’ve made for her? How is she supposed to face anyone now?”
I almost laughed out loud.
He got wasted crying over another woman, that woman texted him a shameless late-night confession on her wedding night, and all he cared about was *her* reputation.
“Did you ever stop to think if she cared about her own vows when she hit send?”
Ethan froze, then his scowl deepened. “She was just reminiscing! Was it really necessary to blow it out of proportion like this?”
Just reminiscing.
*If I hadn't left back then, would the man at the altar today have been you?*
He called that reminiscing.
Looking at him, a wave of profound exhaustion washed over me.
I had never won a single argument with this man.
Not because he was ever right, but because he genuinely believed he was never wrong.
“Ethan,” I said quietly. “Let’s get a divorce.”He froze, clearly not expecting those words from my mouth.
In his mind, I was supposed to cry, scream, and demand an explanation about his relationship with Victoria.
Then he’d impatiently brush it off, claim I was overthinking, accuse me of causing a scene, and as always, I would swallow the humiliation and keep playing the good wife.
Not this time.
“What did you say?” He swung his legs out of bed, shoved his feet into his slippers, and strode toward me.
“I want a divorce.”
“Chloe, stop acting crazy,” he sneered, frowning. “Over one stupid text? Are you really making a scene over this?”
One stupid text?
To him, years of emotional neglect, cold indifference, and disrespect boiled down to “one text.”
“Ethan, do you remember what you told me at my dad’s funeral?”
His expression tightened.
“‘My condolences.’”
“The second you said it, you walked off to take a phone call. Who was it from? Victoria Brooks. She had just landed back in the country, hadn't she?”
“You stood outside that chapel for twenty minutes. When you came back, your eyes were red. I was stupid enough to think you were grieving for me. Only later did I realize you were crying tears of joy because she was back.”
His mouth opened, but nothing came out.
“I was a fool back then, thinking you actually had a heart.”
I glanced at our framed wedding photo on the dresser. We looked perfect together, like a fairytale couple.
Except it was all staged. The photographer told us to smile, so we smiled.
“When did you start seeing her behind my back?” I asked.
“Chloe—”
“The day she landed? Or even before that?”
He stayed silent for several long seconds, then muttered, “We never crossed the line.”
Never crossed the line.
“A married man getting black-out drunk at another woman’s wedding, sobbing her name, while she texts him romantic ‘what-ifs’ on her wedding night—and you call that not crossing the line?”
“It was her wedding day! She was probably just emotional—”
“Ethan!” I snapped, my sudden raise in volume making him flinch.
I took a deep breath, forcing down the rage bubbling inside me.
“Can you stop making excuses for her? Just once... could you stand on my side and think about me?”
He stared at me, his jaw clamped shut.
Then, he dropped a sentence that turned my heart to ice.
“Chloe, I know you’re stressed, but Victoria is an old friend. Don’t make this ugly.”
An old friend. Ugly.
He was afraid of losing face.
This man had lived his entire life wrapped up in his precious vanity.
I nodded, stepped around him, and walked toward the bedroom door.
“Where are you going?”
“To the study. To draft the divorce settlement.”
“Chloe!”
I didn’t stop.
Behind me came the sound of a kicked slipper, but his footsteps never followed.
I walked into the study, locked the door, and sat at my desk.
The laptop screen lit up. I opened a blank document, my fingers hovering over the keys for a long moment.
When I said the word *divorce*, I thought I’d feel terrified.
Yet sitting here, I felt an eerie sense of peace. Like I was finally solving a math problem I should have finished years ago.
I typed the header: *Divorce Agreement*.
Right then, my phone rang. It was my mother.
“Chloe, Ethan’s father called earlier. He said you two had a fight?”
My mother-in-law never dealt with me directly; she always preferred pulling my mother’s strings.
“Mom, we didn’t just fight. I’m divorcing him.”
Silence fell over the line, followed by my mother’s panicked shrieks:
“Are you out of your mind?! Do you know what kind of family the Vances are? If you leave him, where will you live? How will you support yourself? Leo is going to college next year—who’s going to pay for his SAT prep and tuition?!”
All anyone ever cared about was where I’d live, what I’d eat, and who would pay the bills.
Not a single person asked if I was hurting.“Mom, I—”
“Listen to me! Couples fight all the time. Just swallow your pride and let it go. Victoria Brooks is already married—what harm could she possibly do now? Stop scaring yourself!”
I closed my eyes, pulled the phone away from my ear, and set it on the desk, letting her voice fade into distant static.
Outside, birds were chirping merrily.
I remembered the day I got married. My mother had held my hand, saying, “Ethan is a fine young man. Treat him well and keep your head down.”
Back then, I thought keeping my head down was the secret to a good life.
Now I knew: some lives couldn't be saved, no matter how hard you tried.
I hung up and continued writing the agreement.
When I reached the section for asset division, I paused.
Throughout our three years of marriage, the Vance family had deposited an allowance into my card every month. But I hadn’t touched a single dime of it; it was all sitting in a separate savings account.
Deep down, I had always prepared for this day.
The door clicked open.
Ethan stood in the doorway, freshly showered, wearing a tailored shirt, his hair styled back into his usual polished executive look.
He held a mug of warm water and set it on the desk.
“Drink some water first.”
I didn’t touch it.
He pulled up a chair beside me, glanced at the words on the screen, and fell quiet for a moment.
“Chloe, I’m not signing this.”
I tilted my head, looking at him.
“I know you’re mad, and I handled things poorly. But marriage isn’t a game. We have three years of history. You don’t need to—”
“Three years of history?” I cut him off. “Ethan, how many days in those three years were you actually home? Overtime, business trips, networking... out of 365 days, you were gone for 300. When my dad was in the hospital for two months, how many times did you visit?”
He stayed silent.
“Twice,” I answered for him. “The first time, you stayed for forty minutes before leaving to take a call. The second time, you stayed for fifteen because Victoria invited you to dinner.”
“And I had to beg you on my knees just to get you to show up those two times.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Chloe, I have a demanding career—”
“Right. You were busy.” I gave a cold laugh. “So busy that you raced to the airport the minute Victoria landed. So busy that you helped her move and hunt for apartments. You even knew the name of her rescue dog. But you were too busy to ever remember the anniversary of my father’s death.”
Ethan’s face went pale.
“Who told you all that?”
“Did someone need to tell me?” I turned back to the screen. “You thought your little games were invisible? Ethan, I’m not blind.”
The room fell dead silent.
He stood up, walked over to the window, and turned his back on me.
“I’m not getting a divorce,” his voice hardened. “Take a few days to cool off.”
He walked out and pulled the door shut behind him.
I stared at the closed door, a smirk tugging at my lips.
Cool off? Keeping cool was the one thing I excelled at.
For three years, I had coolly watched him play the dutiful husband, coolly watched him lose his composure around Victoria, and coolly told myself during sleepless nights to just bear it a little longer.
I had endured for so long that I didn't even remember how to cry.For the next three days, Ethan didn't come home.
He probably thought giving me the silent treatment would force me to fold, just like before.
Whenever we fought, he would disappear for a couple of days, come back with a bouquet of flowers, tell me to “stop being dramatic,” and the slate would be wiped clean.
Not this time.
The day after he left, I visited a family law firm.
My attorney was Amanda Miller. I sat down and laid out the facts.
After listening, she flipped through the paperwork I had brought, her brows knitting together.
“Mrs. Vance, this evidence is very weak. A flirtatious late-night text and a husband tearing up at a wedding do not constitute legal proof of infidelity.”
“I know,” I replied evenly. “I’m not here to sue him for adultery. I’m here to understand asset division.”
Amanda looked up. “Three years of marriage. Any children?”
“None.”
“Pre-marital assets?”
“He has two properties in his name—the house we live in, which was bought by his parents, and a luxury condo he purchased outright before we married. I don’t own any real estate.”
“What about marital assets?”
“I’ve never had access to his main accounts. Our household expenses came from an account his parents funded, about three thousand dollars a month. I never spent a penny of it. It’s all untouched in savings.”
Amanda’s pen stopped. She stared at me across the desk.
“You didn't spend a single cent?”
“No.”
“Why?”
I hesitated, then said, “Because I knew it wasn't his money. It was charity from his family. I didn't want to owe them a thing.”
Amanda leaned back against her chair, studying me intently.
“Mrs. Vance, I’ve handled divorce cases for over a decade. Women like you are rare. Most people fight tooth and nail to squeeze out every penny. You didn't take a dime.”
“I don’t want their money.”
“Then what do you want?”
“A clean break.”
She nodded, jotting down a few notes.
“I’ll need time to investigate Mr. Vance’s financial records. If he has been funneling or hiding marital assets, we can fight for a larger settlement.”
“In the meantime, I recommend gathering whatever evidence of infidelity you can find. Even circumstantial proof gives us leverage at the negotiating table.”
Leaving the firm, I waited at a crosswalk.
My phone chimed with a SnapChat notification.
It was from Tara, my college roommate and the only real friend I had kept in touch with over the years.
*Chloe, I heard you went to Victoria’s wedding? Did Ethan really cry?*
*Yeah.*
*Are you okay?*
*I’m fine.*
*Stop acting tough. Lunch on me today? Let’s grab sushi.*
I typed back: *Sure.*
We met at a high-end Japanese restaurant downtown. Tara had already arrived and stood up the moment she saw me.
“You’ve lost so much weight!”
“Just haven’t had much of an appetite.”
She pulled me into a booth, ordered our food, and then leaned in, lowering her voice. “Don’t get mad at me, but I have to tell you something.”
“Go ahead.”
“A couple of days ago, I ran into Victoria downtown. She was shopping with Ethan.”
Chapters (4)
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Watch & Promotions
- Search this code in the NovelMaster app:
536459Open NovelMaster → Search code → Find the title