Chapter 3 I'm Treated as an Outsider in My Own Home

Katelyn's POV

By the time the sun dipped below the trees and the house lights started to glow, I heard the front door open.

Ethan was back.

His voice came through the hallway, casual as ever. "Lucas? Where's your mom?"

I stayed upstairs.

"She went upstairs," Lucas said quietly. "She looked upset."

I didn't make my way down to greet him like I usually would. Instead, I gave myself the luxury of brushing my hair methodically at the dressing table-not because I cared how I looked, but because it gave me something to do with my hands.

A minute later, the door opened behind me.

Ethan walked in, slow like he was testing the air. I caught his reflection in the mirror. He scanned the room, then looked at me. I didn't turn around.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, resting his hands on his knees.

Normally, by now, there'd be a full dinner waiting for him downstairs. I'd have poured his tea, laid out clean towels, maybe even drawn a bath if the day had been long.

But today, I did none of that.

I stayed quiet.

He rubbed his forehead, his movements slower than usual. He looked tired-but not in a way that made me feel sorry for him. Just in a way that showed up when someone had used all their energy somewhere else.

Eventually, he got up and headed into the bathroom.

I heard the water running. Fifteen minutes passed. Then the sound of the shower shutting off.

When he came back out, he grabbed a towel and dried his hair, standing near the door.

"I'm sorry I couldn't make it today," he said, voice low. "About your mom."

I glanced at him through the mirror.

He wasn't even looking at me when he said it.

And his tone-flat. Like he was checking something off a list.

I looked at him steadily through the mirror and said calmly.

"I want a divorce."

Ethan froze.

He lowered the towel in his hands and stared at me like he wasn't sure he'd heard me right.

"You're kidding," he said after a second.

I turned slightly toward him. "Do I look like I'm kidding?"

He stepped forward, half-laughing under his breath. "Didn't you just say a few days ago that you wanted to work? Now you're making a fuss about divorce?"

"You don't see the connection?" I asked quietly.

He shook his head. "So what's this really about? You're tired of being a rich man's wife? Is it that boring for you?"

I stood up from the dressing table.

"You think I should be grateful," I said, looking him in the eye.

"You should be," he said. "Do you know how many people out there would trade places with you in a heartbeat? You live in comfort, everything's taken care of, and all you have to do is-what? Sit around and complain when things don't go your way?"

I gave a small, humorless laugh. "Right. Because that's what this is to you-me complaining. There's no other CEO's wife who has to ask her husband's secretary just to get on the phone with him. Or who has to explain herself every time she wants to buy something. I once had to ask you for money just to get bread, Ethan. Bread."

He stared at me like I'd slapped him.

"If you leave," he said slowly, "what kind of life do you think you'll have? You think you'll be happy? You think the world's going to roll out a red carpet for a single mom who walked out on her marriage?"

"It might be hard," I said, my voice steady. "But I won't regret it."

I turned away and walked to the closet. I grabbed a suitcase and started unzipping it.

But before I could reach for anything else, he stepped in front of me and blocked the path.

I looked up, expecting him to argue again, but he didn't say anything right away. He just stood there, eyes locked on mine, arms stiff at his sides.

Neither of us moved.

The silence stretched.

Then, finally, Ethan spoke-his voice lower, more controlled.

"This is about Scarlett, isn't it?" he said. "You're mad because I went to pick her up."

I stayed quiet, my hands still resting on the suitcase.

He stepped closer. "Why don't you just say it? Just admit it. You've always hated that she and I had something real. You came into my life and took it away."

I lifted my eyes to his. "I didn't take anything. You made your choices."

He didn't answer right away.

But something in his expression changed.

The man standing in front of me wasn't composed anymore. His jaw clenched hard, and his eyes darkened-not with sadness or frustration, but something raw, unfiltered. It was like watching a mask fall away. The polite, camera-ready Ethan-the one who knew exactly when to smile, when to say the right line-was gone.

What stood there now was someone I didn't recognize.

And before I could move, he surged forward and kissed me.

It wasn't a kiss-it was a collision.

His hand gripped my arm tight, pulling me toward him like he could bend the air between us to his will. His mouth was rough, urgent, full of something he didn't want to say out loud. It was aggressive, like he was trying to erase everything between us-our silence, my anger, the truth-with just the pressure of his lips.

I yanked myself back, breath caught somewhere in my throat. "You bastard."

He stared at me, unbothered, eyes still locked on mine. "Yeah. I am."

His eyes locked on mine. "And right now, I'm about to do something only a bastard would do."

Before I could respond, he grabbed my face and kissed me again. Hard.

My hands pushed against his chest, but his hold didn't loosen. His mouth pressed to mine with rough insistence, the kind that ignored resistance and erased space. My body stiffened, shocked by the sudden closeness.

A rush of heat climbed up my neck, fast and unexpected. I froze.

I didn't lean in, but I didn't pull away fast enough either.

My breath caught. My pulse jumped. For a second, the room felt smaller, the air heavier.

His grip, his warmth, the sheer force of it-it overwhelmed my senses before I could think clearly. I wasn't sure what startled me more: the kiss, or the way my body reacted to it without asking my permission.