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. Don’t cry. Not here. Not now.

When I walked back into the ballroom, my heart was pounding so hard I could barely hear the music. The MC’s voice cut through the noise.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Mrs. Elara Vance to the stage! Mr. Vance has sent her a special anniversary gift!”

My stomach twisted. Sent me? Why didn’t he just show up himself?

I plastered on my best practiced smile and walked toward the stage, the crowd’s applause crashing over me like waves. Every step felt heavier.

As I stood there under the bright lights, I scanned the crowd—no Ian. No Camila either, my so-called best friend. Strange. Where the hell was she?

A woman in black approached me, holding an envelope and a pen drive. “Mrs. Vance, Mr. Vance wanted you to have this.”

I smiled, relief flooding me for a moment. Maybe Ian had planned some kind of surprise. Maybe I’d been overthinking.

I handed the pen drive to the technician, who plugged it into the projector. The lights dimmed as a video began to play.

And then my world ended.

“This,” Ian’s voice filled the hall, cold and smooth, “is my anniversary gift to my soon-to-be ex-wife. I finally free you from our miserable marriage. It had no future from the start. I want a divorce, Elara Rhodes. In that envelope are the papers. Sign them and deliver them to my doorstep.”

The crowd gasped. Flashes exploded as reporters raised their cameras, capturing every second of my humiliation.

My fingers trembled as I opened the envelope. His signature was right there, bold and final.

Tears blurred my vision.

I had given everything—everything—to this man.

And still, I wasn’t enough.

Not beautiful enough.

Not good enough.

Never enough.

Across the hall, Victoria stood with her arms crossed, a cruel smile curving her lips. I could almost hear her whisper, Worthless. You finally know your place.

I couldn’t breathe.

I ran off the stage as the reporters swarmed me.

“Mrs. Vance, is your husband having an affair?”

“Mrs. Vance, will you fight for him or sign the divorce?”

Each question hit like a punch. My vision spun. The room tilted. The air disappeared from my lungs. My heart was screaming, my body numb.

I pushed through the crowd, barely seeing anything but the exit sign glowing red. I stumbled into the parking lot, my chest tight, my fingers shaking as I pulled out my phone.

I called Ian.

Once. Twice.

Thirty times.

Each call went to voicemail.

Then came the automated message: This number is unreachable. Please try again later.

I stared at my phone through the blur of tears. All those late nights, the missed calls, the excuses—they weren’t questions anymore. They were answers I’d refused to see.

I got into my car, my hands trembling so badly the keys slipped twice before I started the ignition. My vision was fogged with tears, my throat raw from holding back sobs.

As the city lights blurred past the windshield, the pain in my chest tightened until it felt like it might crush me.

The night he came home and refused to touch me.

The smile he gave to someone else’s text.

The way he called me paranoid.

Every moment came flooding back, each one slicing deeper than the last.

And still, even after everything, I whispered his name into the silence.

“Ian…”

But there was no answer.

Just the sound of my own breaking heart.