No Second Chances Ex-husband (Lauren and Ethan) novel Chapter 190

CHAPTER 0190

LAUREN’S POV

Once I finished my meal, I leaned back quietly, my gaze fixed on the empty plates before me. Though the maids had long since left, the faint aroma of pancakes and syrup still lingered softly in the air, wrapping the room in a comforting, nostalgic scent.

I exhaled softly, pushing the tray aside without much thought. The plush carpet beneath my feet absorbed my footsteps as I made my way toward the bathroom. The large mirror above the sink reflected a version of myself I barely recognized—tired eyes, pale complexion, and a weariness that ran deeper than mere exhaustion. I studied my reflection for a few moments longer before reaching out to turn on the shower.

The warm water cascaded over me, washing away layers of dirt, fatigue, and perhaps a small portion of the emotional pain that had clung to me since yesterday. As the droplets slid down my skin, my mind wandered uncontrollably—flashes of Arla’s radiant smile, the sound of her laughter echoing in my ears, and the way her tiny hands would reach out eagerly for a hug whenever she saw me.

Where could she be now? Was she safe? Was she crying in my absence?

By the time I finally switched off the water and stepped out, a heavy cloud of worry had settled back over my thoughts. I grabbed a towel and began drying myself slowly, my movements almost automatic, as if my body was going through the motions while my mind was elsewhere. I was about to reach for the same clothes I’d worn the day before when my eyes drifted toward the wardrobe standing tall against the far wall, its doors closed as if silently inviting me to open them.

Curiosity stirred inside me. Last night, I hadn’t bothered to look inside—it had felt like too much effort when I was so drained. But now, something about that closed wardrobe seemed to call out to me. Maybe it was a quiet hope that Roman had thought of everything, that he’d prepared something for me. I glanced once more at my wrinkled clothes lying on the bed before finally giving in and walking over to the wardrobe.

The doors creaked softly as I pulled them open, and my breath caught in my throat. Inside, rows upon rows of exquisite dresses were hung neatly, arranged by color and style—each one elegant, luxurious, and untouched.

Roman must have done this.

I reached out, letting my fingers brush lightly over the fabrics, feeling how incredibly soft and expensive they were. The price tags still hung on the garments, and as I flipped one over, I confirmed my suspicions.

$107,000.

Another read $99,000.

And yet another, $115,000.

Each price was more staggering than the last, and my chest tightened at the thought of how much Roman must have spent. Over a million dollars, easily. But he hadn’t shopped for these himself—we’d both been too busy yesterday, chasing every lead about Arla’s disappearance. He must have sent someone else to handle it. Still, the fact that he’d thought of me, that he cared enough to make sure I had something to wear, brought a strange mix of gratitude and guilt that tightened my throat.

I let my hand drift over a few more pieces before settling on something simpler—a cream-colored blouse paired with a plain black skirt. Compared to the others, it was modest, almost ordinary, but that’s exactly why I liked it. It felt more like the person I was. I quickly changed into the outfit, smoothing the fabric over my skin, then took one last glance at myself in the mirror before heading downstairs.

The moment my feet touched the bottom step, I stopped in my tracks.

Yesterday, the living room had been spacious—open, elegant, and serene. But now, it had transformed into something unrecognizable. Computers, monitors, and tangled cables covered nearly every surface. The low hum of voices mixed with the rapid clatter of typing filled the air. Men in suits moved purposefully, some with earpieces, others with holstered weapons at their sides. The glow of the screens cast a cold, electric light across their faces, turning what had once been a peaceful space into a bustling command center.

I blinked, trying to process the sudden change. This was no longer just a home; it had become a war room.

My eyes scanned the room until they landed on Roman, standing in a corner engaged in conversation with a man. His expression was tense, his posture stiff, but when his gaze flicked toward me, it softened for a brief moment before he turned back to the discussion. Though I couldn’t hear their words, the serious look on his face told me it was about Arla.

From the kitchen, Tessa appeared, carrying a glass of water. Upon seeing me, she hurried over, her steps quick but careful.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify