No Second Chances Ex-husband (Lauren and Ethan) novel Chapter 157

ETHAN’S POV

“Sir, there’s a hospital just in front, would you like me to stop there so you can get your arm checked?” my driver asked from the rear–view mirror as I sat rigid in the back seat, every bump in the road setting off a fresh flare of pain.

“No, my doctor is already on his way to my house, just take me there,” I managed to say, my voice tight around the words. The pain was a white–hot line through my arm, sharp enough that it made me grit my teeth. It felt like someone had twisted bone and tendon together and then just kept twisting.

“But sir, would you be able to hold on?” the driver asked again, concern finally breaking through his professional tone.

“Drive!” I barked, and the single syllable came out more like a groan. The car lurched forward as he obeyed, and the city blurred by the window–lights, buildings, a smear of color. I clung to the seat for balance while focusing on steadying my breath. Each inhale felt like a calculation: breathe slowly, don’t let the pain yank control.

Fuck.

This was not how today was supposed to go.

The plan had been simple on paper. Cassandra gave me Lauren’s address, I invited myself over under the pretense of a casual, persuasive business pitch. Get her to see sense, pull her back into Black Corporation, promise influence, money, a position whatever it takes. Bring her back, salvage what we could of the company’s collapse. Nothing dramatic, just a man reassembling his assets.

But life never follows the tidy lines you draw.

That bastard Roman had beaten me there. He’d already been inside her house. The image of him standing in my way, taking what I thought belonged in my orbit, set something in me on fire. My pride, that ugly ticker that never learns, flared hotter than the pain in my arm. I had trained, pushed, built, clawed, and he always seemed to have that infuriating calm like the world was his by default.

Seeing him protect her, possess her in that quiet, irritating way unraveled whatever pretense I’d come with. I didn’t have a plan for that. I reacted. I let anger think for me. And now the price was my arm.

I peered down at my sleeve where the muscles around my arm had already swollen, and then watched with a cold little internal laugh as my fingers twitched experimentally. They moved, painfully, but they moved. A broken bone was not a dead hand. It was an inconvenience. A handicap. A leverage point. I would treat it like one.

I knew I was going to be in an arm cast for a while, and it was going to be my temporary chain. Meetings would be tougher. I’d have to rely on deputies, take calls with one hand, and sign with a stamp if the surgeon’s estimate held. That hit my pride and, more crucially, the bottom line. Money would leak while I limped. Investors hated uncertainty. Competitors smelled blood in the water. Black Corporation could bleed out a lot faster than I could staunch it.

But that would not be the endgame.

He thinks he can break my hand and get away with it? No.

That thought hardened into a plan in my head, even as the car accelerated and the cityscape crawled past. Roman had just reminded me how desperate he was for respect. He had always been the type to take other people’s victory and smile like it was owed. He’d taken opportunities that were never his when he wanted them. He’d been annoying, yes, but he’d also been useful to humiliate. This time, though, he’d gone too far.

I flexed my fingers again despite the flare of pain; adrenaline made them tremble, but they obeyed. I imagined the boardroom, the clauses, the shareholders‘ meetings, things I could control even with one good arm. I let my mind catalogue moves: legal routes, media positioning, hiring the right counsel. There were hundreds of levers to throw. He would feel the pressure I could bring to bear. He would see the world tilt if I made it so. He would never know what hit him until it was already too late.

1/2

CHAPTER 0157

+25 BONUS

He’ll never see what hits him next.

And Lauren, God, Lauren, she was another problem I was only beginning to enjoy unraveling. She had a child. A fucking child. She’d kept it from me. From me. The word sent hot bile to the back of my throat. I had made mistakes, foolish, too–loud ones but I had never expected to be denied a right so obvious as a father’s claim. If she thought a secret meant she could keep him away from me forever, she was deluding herself.

Allowing that child to grow up without a father without me was an insult I would not tolerate. The thought of that little girl, smiling into the world with my blood in her veins and someone else standing in my way was a picture that hardened into determination.

I scoffed softly, a sound that tasted like gravel. The audacity. The secrecy. The betrayal. If she truly believed she could keep me at bay, she had another thing coming.

I could see it now: the court filings, the interrogation of records, the paternity tests. I would drag this into the light and make every tribunal, every board, and every appreciative eyes–on–the–news outlet watch me reclaim what was mine. It would be a spectacle, a recalibration. The city loved a comeback, and I would engineer the best one.

Of course, I couldn’t do any of that at the moment. Right now, I had to keep this between me and the people who mattered, the ones who could execute. Secrets were valuable until you needed to weaponize them. For now, I would nurse my arm, play the injured but unbowed husband to Sophia, and let rumor and advantage conspire in my favor.

I wouldn’t dare tell Sophia about what happened today though, she can’t know for now.

I’d just tell her the story I’d already prepared in my head: a hit–and–run, a minor incident that left me with an unfortunate but believable injury. She was possessive in her own way, lavish in demands but practical when pushed. She would fuss, rage a little, then settle into the role of caretaker because that gave her power, too. I’d steer the narrative so that her fury would be directed away from me and onto the phantom ambusher in front of the car. In time, I would bring the truth home but only on my terms.

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