Chapter 4
“Sophia...” Ethan took a step forward.
“Tomorrow at nine, City Hall.” I didn‘t turn around, pulling my suitcase to the door—changing shoes, opening the door, all in one smooth motion.
The hallway lights brightened then dimmed.
While waiting for the elevator, I could still hear voices from inside:
“Not bad! She was even more cooperative than when I asked her to get married!”
Laughter mixed with voices exploded dully behind the door.
I stood by the elevator, listening to this unfamiliar story.
The reflection in the mirror looked calmer than I’d imagined.
Not until I got in the taxi did my phone vibrate.
A message from Ethan:
About the house, I‘ll explain...
Be good. Find a place to stay for now. I’ll pick you up in a few days.
I stared at the screen for a few seconds, then flipped my phone face-down on my lap.
Outside the car window, streetlights retreated one by one.
Pick me up in a few days?
As if I‘d just gone out to buy groceries and would be back soon.
I leaned against the seat and closed my eyes.
No need, Ethan. You don’t need to pick me up.
The next morning at nine, outside City Hall.
When I arrived, Ethan was already waiting.
He was leaning against his car door. When he saw me get out, he stubbed out his cigarette and walked over.
“Where did you stay last night?” he asked.
“My grandfather‘s place.”
He nodded.
His gaze lingered on my face for a moment, then he suddenly reached out as if to touch my hair. I tilted my head away.
His hand hung in midair for a second before he pulled it back.
“Sophia,” he lowered his voice, his tone carrying a certain confident gentleness, “you saved face for me in front of Xavier and Mason. I appreciate that.”
“As for the house...” he paused, “Vivian needed property in the city to get residency. I figured it was just putting her name on it. You married down anyway, so I thought you wouldn’t care about these things. That‘s why I didn’t tell you.”
I looked into his eyes without speaking.
Wouldn‘t care?
He gave my marital home to another woman.
And brushed it off with “you’re wealthy, you won‘t care”?
He didn’t think I wouldn‘t care.
He simply didn’t care whether I cared or not.
“Anyway, you do have the right to live there!”
“After the divorce, stay somewhere else for a while,” he continued arranging, “Once I‘ve handled things on my end, I’ll bring you back.”
I almost laughed out loud.
Even now, he still thought all of this was me playing along with his act.
“Let‘s go,” I didn’t respond to his words, turning toward City Hall. “Let‘s handle the paperwork.”
His footsteps quickly followed.
The process went faster than expected.
Signing, fingerprints, submitting photos.
The clerk finally pressed down the steel stamp with a soft click.
The divorce certificate in my hand was thin, a small booklet similar to the marriage certificate, just a different color.
Ethan glanced at his phone, his brow furrowing.
“I need to take a call,” he told me. “Wait here for me. I’ll give you a ride back in a bit.”
He walked a few steps away and answered the phone.
His voice was very low, but two words still drifted over: “Vivian...”
I stood there, quietly watching his back.
After hanging up, he quickly returned, looking somewhat urgent:
“Something came up. Head back on your own. I‘ll contact you later.”
After he walked out the main entrance, I slowly turned and headed toward the marriage registration window at the other end.