My Husband's Mistress is Our Son's Teacher - Chapter 4: Chapter 4

I refuse to walk away empty-handed, trusting Ryan's so-called "conscience." The man doesn't have one.
As for my traitor of a son, James? I'm done with him too.
Some people might say, "He's just a kid! Shouldn't a mother forgive her child?" Or maybe, "This is your fault—you raised him this way!"
You know what? They're probably right. But why should I care?
Does motherhood mean I'm doomed to be a self-sacrificing doormat?
I used to embrace that role—believing in that unbreakable bond between mother and child. I thought James would always be mine. But after he stabbed me in the back, it hit me: if I'd put this much effort into raising a dog, at least the damn thing would've been loyal by now.
Why waste my best years on an ungrateful little brat?
If I failed as a mother, fine. Let Ryan and Annie Jo deal with him—since they're so perfect together.
Looking back, I see how pathetic I've been. Fighting to keep a husband and son who abandoned me the second things got hard.
Time to build my own alliances.
First on my list? Ethan Carter.
Ryan's best friend. His business partner. That makes him complicated—and perfect.
Ethan and I used to be close. So close that people thought we'd end up together. When I chose Ryan, it shocked everyone.
Ryan confessed first. After that, I kept my distance from Ethan. We were both the type to respect boundaries.
Even now, I don't know if he ever really wanted me. He never said a word.
But it's time to find out.
Those gold-digging schemers don't own the game. I've just never played before.
If sincerity doesn't work? Fine. Let's play.
I invited Ethan for drinks. He hesitated, so I laughed it off. "Just teasing. You don't have to come. It's just… I've got no one else to talk to, and you were the first person I thought of."
He showed up. "Couldn't leave you alone," he said.
I tilted my head, smiling. "Relax, I'm fine. Not the self-destructive type. Just felt like a drink suited the mood."
My fingers traced the rim of my glass. "Ethan, I'm filing for divorce. Call me Nicole now—no more 'Mrs. Carter.'"
"And James?"
"Staying with Ryan. He adores Annie Jo." A bitter laugh. "I knew Ryan was shameless, but flirting with our son's teacher? That's low. She's young, fun, pretty. Me? Just a boring housewife. No competition there."
I leaned in—just enough to invade his space. "I miss being young. Bet I was just as lively as her once, huh?"
In his eyes, I saw my reflection. And the way his gaze flickered—just for a second.
Perfect.
Every detail was rehearsed—makeup, expressions, lines. Vulnerable but alluring. Needing comfort but still mysterious. My perfume? Chanel Gabrielle—sweet but not cloying, elegant but not cold.
Young girls have their charm. But I've got my own weapons. Experience turns women into stories men want to unravel—or save.
The trick? Don't be bitter. Don't whine. Men don't fall for victims—they fall for quiet strength. A fragile smile hiding steel. Play it right, and they're hooked.
To anyone watching, we looked like lovers whispering secrets.
Ethan finally snapped out of it. "You're still amazing, Nicole. Ryan doesn't know what he lost."
"Really?" I smiled playfully.
"Really."
I rested my head on his shoulder, breath brushing his neck. "Ethan… if it were you, would you have chosen me?"
He tensed. His breathing hitched before he gently pushed me upright. "Nicole, you're drunk. Let me take you home."
I wasn't drunk.
A drunk woman reeks, slurs, loses control. I wasn't drowning sorrows—I was performing.
But if he wanted to believe it? Fine.
Ethan was a gentleman. He wouldn't cross the line tonight. Good. Slow burns work best with men like him.
At my doorstep, I hugged him suddenly. "Someone once said you liked me. Was it true? If I'd picked you… would I be happier?"
He didn't pull away, but his voice was quiet. "Nicole… that was a long time ago."
"Got it." Casual smile. A wave as I walked inside.
The second the door closed, the act dropped. I poured water, stepped onto the balcony.
Ethan's car was still there.
I smirked.
Was he wrestling with guilt? Or just one last resistance before surrender?