Chapter 3 - The Ultimatum
"Claire, look," Ethan began, his voice dropping into a desperate, pleading tone. "I made a mistake. It meant nothing—Chloe is just a distraction, she's someone who didn't demand anything from me while I was stressed about work and the baby. It didn't mean I stopped loving you or Emma!"
"Save the pathetic clichés for your divorce lawyer," Claire replied, her voice remaining unnervingly composed. "You didn't just have a distraction, Ethan. You systematically lied, manipulated, and humiliated me while I was healing from major abdominal surgery, caring for our newborn, and trusting you to protect our family."
"We can go to counseling!" Ethan urged frantically, pacing across the hardwood floor of the living room. "We can fix this! Don't blow up our family over a stupid affair! Think of Emma—she needs her father!"
"Emma needs a father who respects her mother, not a man who treats his home like a hotel and his wife like an inconvenient roommate," Claire said firmly. "My father already knows everything, Ethan."
The blood drained completely from Ethan’s face. The room seemed to spin. "A-Arthur knows?"
"I called him an hour before I left the house," Claire answered simply. "He sent his corporate security team to escort me and Emma to a private residence, and he has already instructed his legal team to initiate emergency divorce and asset-freezing proceedings."
No. Not Arthur Vance.
Ethan knew what Arthur was capable of. Decades ago, Arthur had systematically dismantled business rivals and unfaithful partners with the cold efficiency of a corporate shark. If Arthur Vance was backing Claire’s divorce, Ethan wasn't just going to lose an argument—he was going to be completely obliterated.
"Claire, please," Ethan begged, his knees feeling weak. "Don't let your father destroy me. We can settle this privately! You want the house? Take it. You want the bank accounts? They're yours! Just don't let Arthur ruin my career!"
"Your career was built on the foundation of my family’s trust, Ethan, and you torched it yourself," Claire said quietly. "Tomorrow morning at nine o'clock, my father’s head divorce attorney, Victoria Vance, will be serving you with the formal papers at your office. I suggest you are packed and out of the Westchester house by the end of the week, because the property deed is being transferred back into my sole ownership."
Before Ethan could utter another desperate plea, the line clicked dead.
He stared at his phone screen in absolute horror as the call disconnected. The apartment felt suffocatingly hot. He threw his phone against the living room sofa, where it bounced off the cushions and clattered onto the rug.
For a few minutes, Ethan stood frozen in the middle of the immaculate room, his mind racing wildly. He needed to fix this. If he couldn't reach Claire, maybe he could reach Chloe. Maybe she had connections, or maybe he could pack a bag, grab his passport, and get out of the country before Arthur’s legal pincer movement closed around him.
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He bolted toward the foyer, grabbed his car keys off the console table—ignoring the Cartier shopping bags that seemed to mock him from the tabletop—and rushed out the front door.
He didn't realize that across the street, parked discreetly beneath the shadows of a towering oak tree, a black sedan sat idling. Inside the car, a private investigator hired by Arthur Vance clicked off a high-resolution camera, having captured every single frame of Ethan’s frantic panic.
