99 Houses for His Love One for My Freedom novel Chapter 3

Chapter 3

By the time I made it back to the villa, my clothes were soaked through, my hair clinging to my face like a curtain of regret. I then took a long, hot shower.

When I finally emerged, wrapped in a towel and barely feeling human again, Ethan was standing in the living room.

He hesitated a beat, then said something I didn’t expect.

“Still… thanks for stepping in back there.”

He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“I mean, we’re technically still under wraps… It wouldn’t have looked good for Tiffany if the truth came out

on camera.”

A pause.

“I’ll make it right eventually. I’ll find the right moment to tell people about us.”

I didn’t bother reminding him there’d be no “us” left to reveal.

This marriage was already dead. Better to bury it clean.

For both our sakes.

Suddenly, he remembered to play concerned husband.

“But what were you even doing there?”

I stared at him, silent for a long while.

Long enough that he started to look uncomfortable under the weight of my gaze.

Then I answered, coolly, “Lucas told me to go.”

Realization flickered across his face. The fireworks.

The ones he’d promised me. The ones he forgot the minute Tiffany came back into his life.

“Shit… I’m sorry. I was going to take you next week, but I’ve got to travel. Maybe next month? I swear I’ll take you.”

I gave him a small shake of the head. “We’ll see.”

That seemed to satisfy him. He even pulled me into a light hug, like he still thought that counted for

something.

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But all I felt in that embrace… was cold.

Not physically—but soul–deep. I couldn’t remember the last time his arms felt like home.

After that, Ethan left for his so–called business trip.

Of course, he brought Tiffany along.

Between boardroom meetings and contract signings, they dined under fairy lights at rooftop bistros, toured private exhibits in neighboring states, and even stopped by one of those divey little seafood shacks he

always used to scoff at when I suggested them.

“A CEO doesn’t eat at places like that,” he once told me. “It’s beneath the image.”

But apparently, for Tiffany, he was happy to be just a man in love. No titles. No image to uphold.

Just her.

Countdown: 3 days.

Ethan finally came back.

He walked into the villa, noting the spotless interior like it was the first time he realized someone actually

maintained it.

His voice was oddly gentle. “Babe… you’ve done a lot. Thank you.”

I couldn’t even remember the last time he called me that.

He paused. “I was thinking of taking you to the fireworks show the day after tomorrow, but they’ve banned private fireworks recently…”

I heard it for what it was–a carefully worded excuse. Most likely, Tiffany had told him she didn’t want him

going.

“That’s fine,” I said simply.

He blinked, surprised I didn’t argue.

“You… don’t mind?”

If this had been a year ago, or even a few months ago, I’d have lost it, yelling and demanding answers, asking why everything you promise me turns into vapor the second she shows up.

But now? Now I just didn’t care,

“They’re just fireworks, Ethan. It’s not a big deal.”

Just like you.

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You’re not a big deal anymore.

A long silence fell between us before he spoke again.

“Well… how about we go check out that villa in Marina Heights then?” he offered. “There’s supposed to be a

candlelight display over the water that night. You’d be able to see it perfectly from there.”

I glanced at my phone. The calendar reminded me what day that was.

Valentine’s Day.

The same day our divorce would be finalized.

Would he really show up? On a night like that?

Doubtful.

He was just trying to buy time. That’s all.

I looked up and asked, “Don’t you need to be with Tiffany?”

His face tightened, then cracked with something between guilt and arrogance.

“I’ve been with her long enough. Maybe it’s time I spent a night with you.”

Even he seemed embarrassed by how ridiculous that sounded. He dropped his gaze, fidgeting like a schoolboy who just flunked a lie.

I didn’t call him out on it.

What was the point?

Instead, I just nodded along–like I was still willing to play the part one last time.

After all, that day wouldn’t just be Valentine’s Day.

It would be the day our marriage officially ended.

A poetic kind of symmetry.

Chapter 3