Ex Husband Obsession

unaccustomed

John glanced at her for a moment, then turned and left without another word, leaving Sophia standing there with a frozen smile on her face.

*He’s petty alright. Can’t even take a little hit.*

Sophia returned to the place John had given her—the one she’d been staying in for the past few days. The design was exquisite, modern and tasteful, but it felt cold and lifeless. She put all the packed food from lunch into the fridge, then went straight to her room.

Lying on the bed, she pulled out the divorce certificate and stared at it.

When they had taken their wedding photos years ago, neither of them had smiled. Both wore long, reluctant faces. Today, in the divorce photo, she had smiled brightly—almost radiantly.

But no one knew the truth: she had actually been happy when they were married. That quiet happiness had only ever been matched by how much she now hated letting it go.

She pressed the crimson paper over her face, hiding the tears that finally spilled out, as if covering them could somehow make the sadness disappear. She stayed like that, motionless on the bed, until the afternoon slipped away.

Later, she texted Zack: *Are you busy?*

He called her almost immediately.

“Did you two really get divorced?” he asked, sounding stunned.

Sophia looked down at the still-warm divorce certificate. “Yeah, we did. It’s still warm to the touch. Want a photo?”

“No need for that,” Zack sighed. “I’ve never even seen you guys fight. Why did this happen?”

Sophia gave a small smile. “I didn’t propose it. You should ask your boss.”

“I ain’t that brave,” Zack replied quickly.

John had always been aloof and intimidating. Even after years of working for him, Zack still felt a healthy fear of his employer. Sophia, on the other hand—even though she had been John’s wife and technically on the same level—had always been easy to talk to. Zack could gossip with her, tease her, throw the occasional witty remark her way. She never minded.

Sophia sighed. “I called because I have something to ask. John told me to call you whenever I needed help.”

Zack didn’t hesitate. “Sure. Tell me what you need.”

“I want to go on a trip. Can you pick a spot for me? Book the flight tickets and hotel as soon as possible. Duration? I don’t care. Right now I have nothing but time… and money. John gave me loads of it just so he could get divorced.”

Zack paused. “Anywhere is fine?”

“No,” she said firmly. “Make sure it’s pretty. And filled with hunks. You’re not throwing me into the wilds.”

Zack laughed. “Got it. I’ll take a look and make the arrangements.”

Sophia wasn’t in the mood to chat, so she hung up after that. She spaced out for a while, then wandered out to the living room. She wasn’t hungry—lunch had filled her up and then some—but the silence felt heavy.

Ever the optimistic girl, she tried to brainstorm ways people usually let loose after a divorce. Nothing came to mind. She had no relatives, no close friends, no one to pour her heart out to. Left with no other option, she Googled it.

The search results gave her tons of suggestions.

She clicked the first link. One piece of advice stood out: *Get drunk.*

That sounded fine. At least it was better than a one-night stand. Even though the divorce hurt, she wasn’t going to fall apart that badly. Nobody was worth that.

That night, Sophia did her makeup with care—smoky eyes, bold lips. During her time living in the Constance residence, many people had looked down on her. She was an ordinary girl married in for superstitious reasons, so she had always kept herself restrained and careful.

Now, the dramatic makeup made her feel reborn.

She chose a slightly sexy dress, checked herself in the mirror, and smiled. Satisfied, she hailed a ride and headed to the biggest bar in town.

The bar was massive, spread across multiple levels with different sections. The common area had a lively dance floor packed with people. Sophia scanned the space and spotted the quieter business section in one corner.

*Everything there is about business. Boring with a capital B.*

She found an empty seat in the common area and sat down. When the waiter approached, she ordered two bottles of wine and a fruit platter.

Leaning back on the sofa, she sipped her wine slowly and watched the dancers under the glaring lights. The colors blurred in her vision, but she could see they were happy.

A moment later, she smiled to herself.

*Sophia, you’re richer than all of them. Of course you’re happy.*

She called the waiter over again and ordered a few more snack platters. With the money John had given her—plus the monthly dividends—she could live without working a single day for the rest of her life.

After finishing one bottle of beer, someone approached her table.

She was attractive and alone. It was only a matter of time.

The man sat down across from her. “Alone?”

Sophia squinted at him. He wore a casual T-shirt and looked decent enough.

She knew the kind of place this was—everyone here was looking for fun, and most were open to anything. Instead of answering, she raised her glass in a silent toast and downed her drink. He responded in kind.

She smiled and set her glass down. He quickly refilled it.

At least it cheered her up a little. She was confident in her looks—if no one had approached her all night, that would have stung.

Still, her mind drifted. She wondered what John was doing right now. They were finally divorced. Maybe he was out celebrating with someone new. The thought soured her mood, so she poured herself another drink.

At the same time, in one of the private rooms in the business section of the same bar, John sat with a potential collaborator.

It wasn’t a formal meeting—just an interested party whose overseas market was thriving. The Constance family wanted to expand internationally, and partnering with this man would make the process smoother. More importantly, the collaborator had personally invited John out, so he couldn’t refuse.

The man—Mr. Wolfe—was middle-aged and clearly a regular here. After some token conversation about the potential deal, he called several women into the room.

John disliked this kind of borderline s****l entertainment. He always thought of the hypocrites who condemned it publicly but indulged in private. Still, he forced himself to stay and drink a few glasses.

Mr. Wolfe grinned. “You seem unaccustomed, Mr. Constance.”

“I don’t really come to places like this,” John replied with a polite smile.

Mr. Wolfe swirled the wine in his glass, hinting at something. “Have some more. It might help you relax.”

John smiled again and toasted him. The red wine had been brought by Mr. Wolfe himself. It tasted dry—borderline unpleasant—but drinkable. John wondered idly what brand it was.

After two glasses, he leaned back on the sofa and subtly nudged the woman clinging to his arm away.