Chapter 3

His face went entirely pale.

Without another glance, I hailed a cab and left.

Back at my apartment, I tossed my keys on the entryway table and collapsed onto the couch.

My phone finally went quiet.

Ethan had apparently given up. His last message had arrived five minutes ago: [Cool off for a couple of days. We'll talk then.]

Talk in a couple of days.

He probably thought this was just a temporary burst of temper. He thought that once I calmed down, I would crawl back, believing our five-year history couldn't be dismantled by a single piece of real estate.

After all, during our five years together, I had never genuinely picked a fight with him. Whenever we disagreed, he would make a half-hearted gesture, and I would always take the olive branch.

He assumed this time would be no different.

My phone buzzed again.

This time, it was a voice memo from the sales agent: "Ms. Vance, the agreement is registered in our system. Whenever you're free tomorrow, please stop by with your mortgage paperwork... Oh, wait, silly me, you're paying all cash! You just need to come in and sign the final deed and transfer documents."

I texted back a simple "Sounds good."

When I went back to sign the final contracts the next afternoon, I deliberately chose three o'clock.

Foot traffic was light at that hour, and I had no desire to bump into anyone.

Unfortunately, luck wasn't on my side.

The moment I stepped into the lobby, I saw Ethan sitting in the lounge area. A messy stack of documents was spread out before him next to a cup of cold tea.

It looked like he had been waiting for hours.

Spotting me, he shot up, his expression a chaotic mix of three different melodramas playing at once.

"Chloe."

I ignored him and walked straight to the reception desk.

He hurried after me, his voice hushed. "Do you really have to be like this?"

The receptionist recognized me immediately and handed over a thick folder with a warm smile.

"Ms. Vance, here is your finalized contract. Please take a look, and feel free to ask if you have any questions."

Ethan’s eyes bore into the contract, his throat bobbing nervously.

"You actually bought it? Where on earth did you get that kind of cash?"

I didn't answer and flipped through the pages.

Frustrated, he slammed his hand down on the paperwork. "Chloe! I asked you a question!"

The receptionist gasped, startled, and took half a step back.

I looked up into Ethan’s face.

In five years, it felt like the first time I was truly seeing him clearly.

High brow bone, straight nose, a smile that usually curled up at the edges, giving him the appearance of a gentle soul.

Now, that same face was twisted with anxiety, suspicion, and a thin veil of greedy calculation.

"Ethan," I peeled his fingers off the contract one by one. "In what capacity are you questioning me?"

He froze.

"My ex-boyfriend?" I paused deliberately. "Or Tiffany's fiancé?"

His face went livid. His lips parted, but no sound came out.

Just then, the sharp click of high heels echoed from the entrance.

Tiffany walked in carrying two iced coffees. Taking in the confrontation, she raised an eyebrow.

"Ethan, why are you still here?" She handed him a cup and shot me a disdainful glance.

Ethan took the cup without drinking, clutching it until his knuckles turned white.

He stared at me, something dark and turbulent churning in his eyes.

"Chloe, I'm going to ask you one more time. A three-million-dollar condo—where did you get that money?"

Hearing that, Tiffany scoffed maliciously. "Ethan, don't you get it yet? You were with her for five years. Don't you know her salary? God only knows where that money came from."

She turned to me, the beauty mark by her lip lifting into a sneer.

"Chloe, don't take this the wrong way, but these days, when a pretty young girl suddenly comes into millions, there are only so many ways she got it. Am I wrong?"

The insinuation was vile, yet Ethan didn't utter a word in my defense.

He watched me, his anxiety slowly curdling into something else.

Suspicion.

And a flicker of pure disgust.

"Chloe," his voice dropped low. "I am so disappointed in you."

I laughed out loud, laughing so hard my stomach ached.

"Ethan, does your conscience not pinch you when you say that?" I snapped the folder shut. "You're disappointed in me? I am thoroughly disgusted by you."

"You—!"

Before he could finish, the private executive elevator doors slid open. A middle-aged man in a sharp black suit hurried out.

The moment he spotted me, his expression transformed. He practically jogged across the marble floor.

"Ms. Vance! How wonderful to see you! Why didn't you let us know you were coming? I would have personally picked you up!"