I Found His Marriage Certificate In His Suit Pocket Chapter 01

I Found His Marriage Certificate In His Suit Pocket Chapter 01

As I pressed Ethan Cole’s suit, I fished a marriage license out of his pocket.

In the red-bordered photo on the license, the girl beside him smiled shyly and serenely.

My whole body shaking, I slammed the license down in front of him.

Ethan glanced at it calmly, his fingertip lightly poking the girl’s face in the photo:

“You know Mia Reed, actually.”

“She tried to kill herself last year after getting rejected from grad school—I saved her, and we exchanged numbers. She wouldn’t have come to me if she had nowhere else to turn.”

“Her family’s terrible—they favor her brother over her, forcing her to drop out of grad school and marry for a dowry. I’m a professor; I couldn’t just stand by and watch her ruin her life. I had to give her a hand.”

Ethan said it all so casually, like it was just a small favor he’d done in passing.

The marriage license on the table glared at me in harsh red.

I stared at it, and suddenly I laughed until tears came.

I’d waited eight long years for this piece of paper, for Ethan to say those three words: Let’s get married.

I never thought a young girl could get it with just a plea.

*******

“I’m moving out tonight.”

A sharp pain squeezed my heart, and I turned to leave, my soul cold and empty.

But Ethan, always so composed, lost his cool. He grabbed me and pulled me into his arms.

Ethan was a reserved man, obsessed with his research. Intimate moments like this were rare for us.

He looked down at me, and I could even feel the warm brush of his breath against my nose:

“I’m sorry I didn’t explain, love. I didn’t mean to make you misunderstand.”

“Sophie, I only married Mia to help her. There’s nothing between us— I haven’t even touched her hand.”

I had “We’re done” on the tip of my tongue, but when I met Ethan’s earnest eyes, I swallowed the words.

Eight years of love. I couldn’t bear to throw it all away just like that.

I fought a final battle in my heart and decided to give him one last chance:

“Fine. I believe you.”

“You’ve helped her now. It’s over. Go get a divorce from Mia, and do it fast.”

Ethan’s brow furrowed, and he let go of me without a word.

“I can’t divorce her right now.”

“If we split up now, her parents will drag her back home and bleed her dry. Here’s what I’m thinking—we wait until Mia graduates from grad school and gets a job, until she’s strong enough to escape her family. Then we’ll divorce. It’s the only way to keep her safe.”

Mia hadn’t even gotten into grad school yet. It would take at least three or four years for her to graduate.

Ethan wanted to be Mia’s husband for four years?

Then what was I?

My throat tightened, and a wave of nausea washed over me:

“What about me? Do you expect me to be your mistress?”

Ethan looked at me, clearly displeased, his brows knitting tighter:

“It’s just a fake marriage, Sophie. You’re the one I love. How can you demean yourself by calling yourself a mistress? That’s not who you are.”

“Can’t you be reasonable? I remember how kind and compassionate you were in college. Why have you become so petty, so unreasonable, like all those shallow women?”

Watching Ethan stand there, looking so self-righteous and moral, I suddenly found it hilarious.

There were a hundred ways to help Mia Reed. Ethan had chosen the craziest one—marrying her.

Had he even thought about me, his girlfriend of eight years, when he made that decision?

Who was the unreasonable one here?

I slowly slid the bracelet off my wrist.

Ethan rarely bought me gifts, and this bracelet was one of the few.

We were both broke college students back then. I’d seen it in a jewelry store window—sparkling, dazzling, and it had stolen my heart.

I’d loved it more than anything, but it cost $1,200.

Ethan had scoffed, calling it a waste of money, a scam for fools.

But behind my back, he’d signed up as a clinical trial volunteer for a pharmaceutical company, earning $1,500 to buy it for me.

In my heart, that bracelet was Ethan’s get-out-of-jail-free card.

Because of it, I’d forgiven his lack of romance. I’d forgiven his obsession with research over our relationship. I’d forgiven him for never proposing, even after eight years.

But I could never forgive him for marrying another woman.

Even the sturdiest get-out-of-jail-free card shatters in the end.

I clenched the bracelet in my palm, and a single tear fell onto the back of my hand.

“Ethan, we—”

The doorbell rang, cutting me off.