My Husband’s Ex-Girlfriend Is Sleeping in Our Marriage Bed Chapter 07

My Husband’s Ex-Girlfriend Is Sleeping in Our Marriage Bed Chapter 07

He saw the words on the paper, and his expression finally cracked.

“Are you serious, Sloane?”

“More serious than I’ve ever been.’

“You’re divorcing me just because Vivian came back?” Julian asked, sounding incredulous,

I looked at him, finding the whole situation suddenly absurd.

“Just because?”

I leaned back in my chair, a slow smile spreading across my face.

“Julian, you still think Vivian is the problem. She isn’t. You are.”

I tapped the desk for emphasis.

“You’re the one who gave her a key to this house. You’re the one who let her walk all over me. You’re the one who chose

to ‘understand’ her every single time.”

I pushed the settlement papers toward him again.

“You can play Savior to her all you want, but you don’t get to use my marriage as your charity project.”

His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the document.

“I’m not signing this.”

“Fine. Then I’ll see you in court,”

I stood up and grabbed my bag, my voice sharp and decisive.

“You know me, Julian. I’m a lawyer. I’m not afraid of a messy divorce.”

I didn’t sleep at the house that night.

I checked into a hotel near my firm instead.

Before bed, Tess sent me a clip from the security feed in our living room.

In the video, Vivian was kneeling in front of Leo, coaching him.

“What do you call Julian when you see him?” she whispered.

“Daddy,” the boy chirped.

“Good boy. There will be a lot of people at the party. You just call him that, and he’ll hold you. Grandma will love you,

too.”

I stared at the screen until my eyes burned.

Any lingering guilt I felt for the kid vanished instantly.

Using a child as a weapon is the lowest thing a person can do.

Over the next few days, I stayed away.

I lived out of the hotel, went to work, appeared in court, and ate my meals in peace.

I also began a cold, methodical inventory of our marital assets.

Joint accounts, hedge funds, insurance policies, real estate, stocks, the cars.

I even had my assistant pull the title and insurance records for the car Julian had “lent” to Vivian.

Tess watched me work with a look of concern. “Are you even sad?”

I didn’t look up from the papers I was signing.

“Does being sad pay the bills?”

She stayed silent for a moment. “You’re still hurting, Sloane. I can tell.”

My pen paused for a fraction of a second.

She was right. I wasn’t made of stone,

But a man like Julian didn’t deserve another minute of my grief.

Around noon on the third day, Julian called while I was in a mediation room at the courthouse.

I declined it.

He called again, And again.

I finally picked up on the fourth try. “What do you want?”

He sounded exhausted. “When are you coming home?”

“Is that how you talk to your ex-wife?”

“Sloane,” he groaned. “Don’t do this.”

I watched the people passing by the glass doors of the mediation room and laughed,

“How should I say it then? ‘Hey Julian, how are your mistress and her kid settling in? Is the master bedroom sunny

enough for them?”

The line went quiet for a few seconds.

“Vivian moved out today,” he said finally.

I wasn’t surprised.

She wanted a throne, not a fight.

After the disaster at the birthday gala, Grandma Rose had made her stance clear. No matter how much Mrs. Vance

wanted to protect Vivian, she wouldn’t dare keep her around the estate.

But her moving out changed nothing.

To me, the person who really needed to leave was Julian.

“Oh. Good for her,” I said flatly.

“Come home. We need to talk.”

“No thanks. Have you finished reading the settlement?”

“I told you, I’m not signing it!” he snapped.

“Then I’ll see you in front of a judge.”

I hung up.

I ran into him at 8:00 PM outside my office.

He was wearing a black shirt, no tie, standing by his car in the wind. He was holding the thermos I’d left at the house.

For a split second, I felt a pang of nostalgia.

Whenever I worked late, he used to pick me up just like this.

My heart used to melt the moment I stepped out of the elevator and saw him waiting.

But once you’re broken beyond repair, memories are just ghosts.

He walked toward me quickly. “We need to talk.”

“I’m busy.”

“Sloane.”