No Second Chances Ex-husband (Lauren and Ethan) novel Chapter 116

I saw the way her reaction shifted the very moment the words left my lips. Her expression faltered, almost like I had pierced through a layer of armor she had carefully built around herself.

Her lips parted as though she might reply, but nothing came out. Her gaze flickered away from me for too long, her eyes retreating inward as if she had suddenly been transported far from this room, to a place where only she could go.

It felt like I had struck a nerve.

But… had 1? My question hadn’t been malicious. It hadn’t even been invasive in my eyes. Asking about a child’s father was, to me, a simple, harmless inquiry. Yet here she was, sitting across from me in silence, her whole. body language guarded, braced.

Why?

A sudden unease began crawling under my skin. Could it be… the father was dead? Was she a widow, still grieving silently, carrying the weight alone? My chest tightened at the thought. If that was the case, I had crossed a line I never meant to. I never wanted to cause her pain.

“Lauren?” My voice cut through the quiet, careful, and low. The sound seemed to snap her out of whatever memory or thought she was drowning in. Her head lifted slightly, her eyes locking back onto mine, and I saw that flicker of tension before she smoothed it away.

“Is something wrong?” I asked softly. “Did I… did I say something I shouldn’t have?”

Her answer came too quickly, too practiced. “No, you didn’t.”

But before I could press her, her hand rose to her temple again, pressing gently against her skin as though to soothe some invisible ache. It wasn’t the first time today, earlier too, she’d complained about the pain.

“It’s just…” she continued, her voice tight, “the head pain seems to be getting worse the more I move around.

and chat.”

Head pain. Right. Of course. She was redirecting. I should have seen it coming

“Oh. Yeah.” I nodded, forcing a small smile to cover the frustration curling inside me. “Sorry about that.”

My hands tightened into fists against my knees before I forced them to relax again, unclenching slowly, deliberately, so she wouldn’t notice. It wasn’t the headache itself that bothered me. It wasn’t even her silence. No, the source of my frustration was deeper.

She was avoiding answering my questions

Avoiding anything that touched her personal life. She wove around questions about her marriage, her past, her daughter’s father like a dancer avoiding the edges of a flamme. Every attempt I made to draw closer, every attempt to peel back a single layer, she sidestepped with such practiced skill it was almost impressive.

And I knew, without her saying it, that this this sudden mention of her worsening headache wasn’t merely a

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symptom. It was her way of politely telling me to leave.

I looked around her living room briefly, and it struck me then: this was my first time here, in her space, and she hadn’t even offered me a glass of water. Not that I was thirsty, but it was telling. She hadn’t wanted me here in the first place. She only let me in because of her daughter. And now that her daughter was gone, she was subtly closing the door on the conversation too.

I sighed quietly, the weight of resignation settling onto me. If I stayed, it would only make things worse. Better I leave on my own than push her into telling me to.

“Well then,” I began, forcing my tone to remain light. “It seems you need more rest. And that can’t happen while I’m here.” I stood, smoothing my suit jacket. “So I’ll come back another time. Maybe when you’re feeling much better.”

She mirrored me, standing as well. Her face carried a hint of guilt as she said, “I’m sorry you have to leave so

soon.”

“It’s alright,” I reassured, brushing it off with a small wave of my hand. “Just get some rest. And tell Aria that when I come next time, I’ll bring her a gift.”

Her lips curved into the faintest smile. “Alright.”

I nodded once, already moving toward the door. She walked with me, silent, composed, and when we reached it I glanced at her one last time.

“If this continues, or gets worse, don’t hesitate to call in another leave,” I said softly.

She only gave a small nod in response. Then she shut the door gently behind me.

I lingered for half a second, staring at the closed door, her name slipping past my lips in a whisper I didn’t mean to let out. “Lauren Darrow.”

The name tasted complicated like regret, like longing, like a puzzle I couldn’t solve.

I turned, stepping off her porch and into the open air of her compound. My car sat waiting. I slid into the back seat, the leather cool against my palms, and gave a short nod to my driver. The engine hummed to life as the gate closed behind us.

But my thoughts were still inside that house.

I leaned back, pulling in a slow breath, and let the truth solidify in my chest: I wasn’t going to let this go. I wasn’t going to let her go. She could dodge questions, she could build walls, she could use every polite excuse in the book to keep me at arm’s length but I wasn’t giving up.

“I’ll break that shield you’ve built around yourself,” I murmured under my breath. My driver probably didn’t

even hear me.

Still, before I could even think about being close friends with her, I needed to know the truth. Why had she become this guarded? Was she currently in a relationship? Was that the reason she has been cold to me from the

start?

I reached to my side, picking up my laptop that sat on the leather seat beside me. Flipping it open, I wasted not

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time pulling up a browser. My fingers hovered over the keys for a moment, then began to type her name. Lauren

Darrow.

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