Ex Husband, Prepare To Burn

Elara's POV

Where the fuck is he?

I muttered to myself as I searched the Grand Hall for Ian, my diamond stilettos clicking sharply against the marble floor. Tonight was supposed to be special—our third anniversary and my twenty-fifth birthday. Ian had promised to make it a night I’d never forget.

Well, he kept that promise. Just not in the way I expected.

Guests laughed and clinked their glasses under the glittering chandelier. My eyes darted across the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of my husband—the man I had built my whole damn life around. The same man I once swore I’d love until my last breath.

Earlier that evening, Ian had said, “Go on, babe. I’ll catch up shortly. Need to close my butterfly deal with Mr. Yan. His flight leaves tonight, and I can’t afford to lose a billion-dollar investment.”

He’d brushed invisible dust off his lapel, kissed my cheek half-heartedly, and climbed into his car, leaving me standing there with confusion burning in my chest.

Now, surrounded by laughter and music, I felt like a fool—waiting for a man who always had something more important than me.

Before I could move, a hand like a claw grabbed my arm and yanked me aside. The grip was so tight it sent a sting up my wrist.

“What the hell—?” I hissed, stumbling.

The woman dragged me through the crowd. A few people glanced our way but quickly looked off. No one dared to stop her.

Victoria Vance. Ian’s older sister. The devil in designer heels.

The door to the restroom slammed behind us. Victoria’s perfume hit me first—sharp, suffocating, expensive. She looked me up and down, her lips curling.

“Where’s my brother, you psycho bitch?” she spat. “What is this look? A party for clowns? God, you look like you’re trying too hard. It’s embarrassing, Elara. Are you not tired of humiliating this family?”

I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to cry. There was no winning with Victoria. Nothing I said ever mattered.

“He’s going to—” I started, but she cut me off.

“Only heaven knows what Ian saw in you before marrying you. You've always been a useless housewife in apron… a house pet. Pathetic. A charity case in lipstick”

With a flip of her hair, she turned and left, leaving the air heavy with poison and the scent of her perfume.

The tears came before I could stop them. I bit them back, muffling the sound against my sleeve, my breath shaking. My reflection in the mirror looked like a stranger—mascara smeared, smile trembling.

Before I could leave, two women entered the restroom, chatting as if the universe hadn’t just cracked open in front of me.

“What kind of man leaves his wife alone on their anniversary?” one said.

“The kind who’s probably between someone else’s legs right now,” the other replied, and they laughed.

Their laughter sliced through me like glass. I pressed my palms against the sink and took a shaky breath.