The Wife He Forgot to Love Chapter 07

The Wife He Forgot to Love Chapter 07

Quinn told me Ethan had rejected the settlement. If I wanted out, I’d have to file for divorce in court.

“Filing would take longer, and we’d need evidence of irreconcilable differences,” she said.

I nodded. “Let’s do it.”

I started gathering screenshots of tabloid articles, keeping records of our cold-war exchanges, and even had a private investigator document his public appearances with Vivian.

Meanwhile, Vivian’s side was also feeling the heat.

Rumors swirled about her transfer to a new team in the upcoming season. Her PR team was working overtime to spin the “golden partnership” angle to salvage her image—but the negative press about her involvement in a broken marriage was spreading like wildfire.

Word was, her team had reached out to Ethan, hoping he’d do a joint interview with her as old friends and partners to shut down the rumors.

For the first time, Ethan didn’t say yes right away.

He came to see me on a chilly autumn evening outside my rented apartment.

The wind carried a bite. He stood there in a thin trench coat, looking haggard.

“Eve, let’s talk.”

“If it’s about the divorce, talk to my lawyer.”

I slung my bass over my shoulder, ready to head upstairs.

“It’s not about the divorce.”

He stopped me, his eyes pleading, almost desperate.

“It’s about Vivian. Her team wants me to do a joint statement to clear things up.”

I understood immediately.

So this is what his hesitation was about. He came to me—still for her.

“So?” I looked at him.

“Do you need my permission? Go ahead. Would my answer change anything in the end?” My voice dripped with sarcasm.

Ethan winced. “That’s not what I meant. I just didn’t want you to misunderstand again.”

“Misunderstand?” I laughed.

“Ethan, what’s between us stopped being a ‘misunderstanding’ a long time ago.”

I looked him dead in the eye, enunciating every syllable:

“If you want to help her, go ahead. Don’t ask me anymore. Just like you always have.”

“But Ethan, remember this—every time you charge in to save her, you’re burning up whatever goodwill we have left between us.”

“After you’re done fixing her crisis, we’ll be free to get divorced.”

With that, I walked around him and strode into the building without looking back.

Not a single glance.

The response I got before Ethan’s came was a private message from Vivian.

It was long, and though it was worded politely, it carried an unmistakable air of condescension and a thinly veiled challenge.

“Ms. Nightingale, hello. Sorry to intrude. This is Vivian.”

“About the recent rumors online—I’m sure they’ve caused you distress as well, and I’m sorry for that. But I think some misunderstandings need to be cleared up.”

“Ethan and I go way back. We’ve shared dreams and the hard realities of chasing them. Our bond transcends a lot of things—not something outsiders can easily understand.”

“He appreciates my talent, and I’ll always be grateful for his unwavering support. But between us, it’s truly just a pure friendship, and musical partners.”

“He chose to marry you—he must have had his reasons. I hope you won’t let some unfounded gossip make you doubt your relationship and do something rash. Building a family isn’t easy.”

“Also, regarding my recent matches—Ethan has given me invaluable advice, even personally coming to coach me through every game. That means the world to me.”

“It’s also, in a way, a record of the youth we shared together. I hope you can view it with an open mind.”

After that, she started sending me sporadic messages, reminiscing about their past.

I never replied. I calmly screenshotted every message, filed them away, and labeled them.

These would be solid evidence in court—proof of her interference in my marriage.