No Second Chances Ex-husband (Lauren and Ethan) novel Chapter 162

LAUREN’S POV

The car rolled to a stop in front of what could only be described as… a disappointment. I blinked several times, staring through the tinted window, waiting for my brain to catch up with what my eyes were seeing. When Roman told me about this event, I imagined something entirely different something extravagant, dripping in wealth and exclusivity. A towering skyscraper, maybe. A building that screamed power, like the Burj Khalifa or some high–end private estate tucked behind electric fences and armed guards.

But this?

The place sitting quietly before us looked like a tired old house, the kind you’d find in a forgotten neighborhood where the paint peeled off the walls, and the wooden stairs groaned from years of neglect. It reminded me painfully of the shared apartment I once lived in during college – creaky, small, and perpetually smelling like something was burnt in the kitchen. This house looked worse, honestly. The sight of it sent confusion swirling through me.

“This can’t be it,” I muttered, my brows furrowing as I scanned the area. The neighborhood was eerily quiet, almost too quiet. There wasn’t a single fancy car in sight. Not one limousine, not even a mid–range luxury vehicle. Nothing but empty road, cracked pavement, and an old mailbox leaning slightly to one side.

I turned toward Roman, who looked completely unfazed, as if stopping at a rundown building like this was perfectly normal. “Are you sure we’re in the right place?” I asked, unable to keep the disbelief from my voice.

He glanced at the structure once, then nodded with complete certainty. “Yeah, this is the place alright.”

Before I could ask another question, he gave his driver a small nod. Without hesitation, the driver shifted gears and drove off, the sound of the car fading into the distance until silence filled the air again.

I frowned. “Why did you tell him to leave?”

Roman started up the wooden stairs, his tone calm but firm. “Because billionaires might be attending this event, but none of them are stupid enough to announce it. Look around – no flashy cars, no bodyguards standing outside. Everyone’s keeping it low.” He paused and turned his gaze back toward me. “The invitation might say it’s an event, but don’t confuse it with a public one. The less attention this place gets, the better. If anyone parked their Rolls–Royces or Ferraris out here, the authorities would have come sniffing around a long time ago.

His words made sense, but they didn’t make the situation feel any less strange. A “black market auction,” he’d called it. The name alone already sounded risky. Now that we were here, standing before an ancient–looking house in what felt like the middle of nowhere, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d made a mistake agreeing to this.

The wooden stairs creaked under our feet as we climbed them. I could feel my heartbeat pick up slightly, the mix of curiosity and nervousness stirring in my chest. When we reached the front door, Roman knocked four times

slow and deliberate.

“Remember,” he said softly, his voice low and smooth, “stay calm, act natural, and do what we discussed at the office.”

I nodded, though inside, I didn’t feel calm at all. My palms were starting to sweat, and I rubbed them against my

1/3

CHAPTER 0162

+25 BONUS

gown discreetly.

The door opened with a creak, revealing an old man who looked like he’d stepped straight out of a countryside farm. He was wearing faded overalls and a straw hat, his wrinkled face holding a kind but tired expression. His voice cracked as he spoke, “Hi, how may I help you?”

For a moment, I almost laughed. This had to be some kind of joke. But Roman gave me a slight nod, reminding me of what he’d told me earlier that if we saw an old man dressed like a farmer, it meant we were at the right place. I took a breath, opened my phone, and displayed the digital invitation Roman had sent me.

The man’s smile faded immediately. His eyes shifted from friendly to sharp, all traces of warmth vanishing as his demeanor changed into something serious, professional even. He pulled out a small scanner and ran it across my screen. A faint beep followed.

“I hope you have a great time,” the old man said after a moment, his voice lower now, more formal.

Roman gave him a brief nod before stepping inside, and I followed closely behind.

The inside of the house was even more underwhelming – plain walls, old furniture, and a faint musty smell lingering in the air. There wasn’t a soul in sight. I half expected to find people mingling, sipping champagne, maybe even whispering deals under their breath, but the living room was completely empty.

“Where is everyone?” I whispered.

Roman didn’t answer. He just kept walking, heading toward what looked like a basement door tucked at the end of the hallway. The creak of the floorboards echoed beneath our feet as we descended the narrow staircase.

Halfway down, I noticed a man — tall, muscular, dressed in a black suit. He was standing beside the door, one hand pressed to his ear as he murmured something into his sleeve. A bodyguard, definitely.

As we approached, I remembered what Roman told me about this exact moment. I opened my calculator app and typed in the code that came with the invitation: 7737. My fingers trembled slightly as I showed it to him.

“He’s with me,” I said, lowering my phone after displaying the numbers.

The bodyguard’s eyes flickered between me and Roman. Then he gave a single nod and opened the door.

And that was when my breath caught in my throat.

The space before us wasn’t a basement. It wasn’t even close. It was an entirely different world.

The ceiling arched high above us like the inside of an underground cathedral. Golden chandeliers illuminated the massive space, reflecting light off polished marble floors. Dozens – no, hundreds of people moved elegantly around the room, all dressed in the finest suits and gowns money could buy. The air was thick with the scent of perfume, expensive wine, and something else power.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify