Chapter 1

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.”