My Husband’s Other Women Lived Next DoorChapter 1

The day Ethan proposed, he told me he'd give me a home.

Two days after I moved into the new apartment, I found out there were three other women living in the same building.

Upstairs—his childhood best friend, Claire.

Downstairs—his first love, Sophie.

Across the hall—his secretary of seven years, Mia.

All four units. Ethan had bought every single one.

I went to the building manager to pull up the ownership records. He looked at me, hesitated, and asked, "Mrs. Hale, you don't know about the group chat?"

He handed me his phone.

The group was called "Ethan's Family Building."

Ethan's brothers were in it. Our mutual friends. Even the housekeeper. Everyone except me.

Claire was asking someone to come fix her air conditioning. Sophie was asking Ethan which floor they were having dinner on tonight.

Mia had posted a photo.

In the photo, Ethan was asleep on her couch, covered with a blanket I'd knitted for him by hand.

And the night before—the day I'd just moved in—Claire had sent a reminder to the group:

"The lawful wife arrived today. Everyone keep it low-key for the next few days."

Below it, a row of smiley faces.

Ethan's brothers had started a betting pool.

"Place your bets—how long before she figures it out?"

Someone said three months. Someone said six.

And then Ethan himself had replied:

"Don't overestimate her. One apartment and she was over the moon."

I stared at that line for a long time.

So what he'd given me wasn't a home.

It was just a game they were all in on.

I didn't make a scene. I didn't confront anyone.

I sent my lawyer one message.

"Draw up divorce papers. As fast as you can."

Then I booked a flight to Bayhaven.

This city had no home for me.

And it never would again.

On the way to the airport, my lawyer texted back:

"I can have the divorce agreement drafted by tonight. Send me all the major asset documents first."

I pulled out the folder I'd grabbed from the study on my way out.

Inside were four purchase contracts.

The unit upstairs was under Claire Grant's name.

The one downstairs, Sophie Lane.

The one across the hall belonged to Mia Cole.

Only the "marital home" I'd just moved into last night was still under Ethan Hale.

All four apartments had been purchased on the same date—the day he proposed to me.

That night, he'd said he would never let me be without a home again.

My phone buzzed.

It was Ethan.

"Where are you? Why is no one home?"

I said, "You're not going to explain that group chat?"

Silence on the other end.

"You know about that?"

A pause. Then: "They've been with me for years. They don't have any official status—the least I can do is make sure they're taken care of."

"You're my wife. What's mine is yours. What difference does it make?"

I gripped the contracts tighter.

"So they have no official status, but they each got their own apartment?"

He was clearly losing patience.

"It's just an apartment. If it matters that much to you, I'll transfer the title later."

"Don't bother."

I watched the city blocks shrink away through the car window.

"Ethan, let's get a divorce."

Silence.

"Over a few apartments? Really?"

I didn't explain. I just hung up.

In the departure lounge, I opened the chat logs the building manager had forwarded me.

The history went back a long way.

I scrolled and scrolled until a video from three years ago stopped me cold.

The date it was recorded: the day Ethan proposed to me.

In the video, Claire, Sophie, and Mia were sitting in the living room of what was now my so-called marital home. Each of them held a shiny new key. One last key sat on the coffee table.

Someone off-camera laughed and asked, "Who's the fourth one for?"

Ethan picked it up.

"Her."

Claire grinned. "You're really putting all four of us in the same building? What happens when we run into each other?"

Ethan tossed the key back on the table.

"She won't find out."

The room burst into laughter.

At the end of the video, Ethan stood up and straightened his collar. Someone asked where he was going. He pulled a ring box from his pocket.

"To propose."

The video ended there.

I sat in the departure lounge for a long time without moving.

That night, he'd come to me with that very ring, dropped to one knee, and promised me a home.

But before those words ever left his mouth, my place had already been arranged—right alongside three other women.

When the boarding announcement came, Ethan sent a message.

"Getting away for a few days might do you good. We'll talk when you're back."

I forwarded everything to my lawyer—the purchase contracts, the chat screenshots, the video.

"Keep all of it as evidence."

Then I turned off location sharing and blocked Ethan.

Your family building can carry on without me.