Chapter 2

Fiona Barrington was back. She had always been the one Ethan truly loved. And Clara? She was just a substitute—a convenient stand-in to provoke Fiona’s pride and lure her back. Everything Ethan did was for Fiona. Now that the real one had returned, wasn’t it time for the replacement to bow out? No point sticking around for more humiliation, right? Clara lowered her head with a faint, almost mocking smile. But that smile somehow made her chest tighten. She knew she shouldn’t care—really shouldn’t—and yet, a dull ache lingered. The worst part was Ethan—just standing there, watching her in total silence. His gaze alone made her skin prickle. “What do you want?” he finally said, his voice eerily calm, as though they were discussing the weather and not the end of their marriage. But Clara could tell—he wasn’t opposed to the idea. Not at all. She smiled brightly, as if it were no big deal. If anything, she looked… relieved. “Just cover my mother’s medical expenses,” she said lightly. It wasn't an unreasonable request. Theirs had always been a transaction—he needed a shield; she needed money. Ethan’s eyes darkened slightly, thoughtful. To be fair, over the past three years, Clara had played her role flawlessly. No fuss, no unnecessary demands. Even his family adored her. And she never overstepped. If Clara was a tool in his game, then so was he. After a moment of silence, he said, “I’ll transfer the villa to your name. You can stay—I’ll move out. I’ll also write you a check for 50 million to cover your mother’s treatment.” He made it sound trivial, almost careless. “Thank you, darling.” Clara’s smile reached her eyes. That one word—darling—oddly soothed his temper. But before the feeling could settle, she handed him a folder. Instantly, his expression tightened. Inside was the divorce agreement. “I’ve already signed. I’m not taking anything with me. Take a look—if it’s acceptable, have your lawyer finalize it,” she said, pushing the document toward him. Ethan skimmed through it. She had drafted it herself, yet every clause favored him. She’d even included a confidentiality agreement, swearing never to disclose her identity as his ex-wife. It was as if she felt nothing toward the title of Mrs. Blackwood—like an employee tired of her job, turning in her resignation without a second thought. That brief sense of control he’d felt vanished, replaced by pure irritation. “Fine,” Ethan said flatly. He agreed without another word. A divorce was inevitable—yes. But it should have been on his terms, not Clara beating him to it. So he seized back the lead in the very next breath. “My lawyer, Nathaniel, will be in touch.” Clara nodded politely. “Revise the agreement to include what I just offered. And for the next three months, my family must not know we’re divorced,” he added coolly. Clara frowned, slightly taken aback. She hadn’t expected additional conditions. But when she thought of how kindly his family had treated her, she eventually agreed. Ethan didn’t say another word. He turned and walked into the shower. The water started running, followed by the sharp slam of the bathroom door. Clara shrugged. She truly had no idea what she’d done to set him off this time. If it doesn’t make sense, don’t dwell on it. That night, like every other night over the past three years, Ethan didn’t stay at the villa. Once again, Clara Walton was left alone in that cold, empty house. The next day, she moved out. Ethan was away on a business trip when the housekeeper called to inform him Clara was gone. She hadn’t left a single thing behind except what she’d brought with her—the place was spotless. As if she couldn’t wait to leave. Not a trace of sentimentality remained. The housekeeper went on and on about how thorough Clara had been. Rubbing his forehead, Ethan felt a headache coming on. His mind echoed with one name—Clara. Eventually, he simply hung up. … One month later, River City General Hospital. Clara stared down at the paper in her hands. The words “Pregnancy Confirmed” seemed to burn through the page. Her head spun. She never expected… that she would end up pregnant. With Ethan’s child. The irony wasn’t lost on her. They’d been married three years, and Ethan had always been careful. They both knew theirs was a marriage of convenience—emotional complications were messy enough; a child would make everything worse. So nothing had ever happened. Until that one night. The night Ethan found out Fiona Barrington was engaged—he’d lost control. And she had let her guard down. The memory only frustrated her more. She kept staring at those two glaring words on the report. The doctor beside her didn’t even look up. “If you don’t want the child, it’s better to take care of it soon. The longer you wait, the more complicated it becomes.” That snapped her back to reality. Clara’s face remained calm, her voice steady. “I’m not keeping it. Doctor, when is the earliest I can schedule the procedure?” The doctor flipped through her file emotionlessly. “Earliest appointment is in a week. We’re fully booked till then.” He sighed. “You young people—did no one ever teach you about protection?” He continued muttering under his breath, but Clara didn’t argue. She simply nodded politely. Then she stood and followed the nurse out to schedule the appointment. With the appointment card in hand, she walked out of the hospital without looking back. She’d only taken the morning off—she still had to return to work that afternoon. When you’re an ordinary office worker, you can’t afford to take time off lightly. … That evening, Clara stepped out of a black Toyota—a ride from a coworker. She stood for a moment, her hair tied in a loose fishtail braid, and waved goodbye to the driver. Something the driver said made her laugh—a bright, genuine sound. Once the car drove off, she turned toward her apartment building. But she froze right at the entrance. There, leaning against the doorframe as if he owned the place, was Ethan. Dressed sharply as always—black slacks, a crisp white shirt buttoned meticulously to the top. Cold, restrained, and utterly unapproachable. A cigarette dangled casually between his fingers, smoke curling around him, but it did nothing to soften his intimidating aura. If anything, it made him seem more dangerous. He wasn’t wearing his glasses. And when Ethan took off his glasses, it usually meant he wasn’t in the mood to play nice. On pure instinct, Clara didn’t step closer. She kept her distance. She had no idea why Ethan was here—and she wasn’t about to find out the hard way.