Ex Husband, Prepare To Burn

Elara's POV

The streetlight above me flickered, throwing broken shadows across the driveway as I stood there, dripping the divorce papers like they were the only thing keeping me from falling apart. My hands were shaking so badly the pages rustled in the night air.

I don’t even remember the drive home. Just headlights and rain on the windshield and my reflection staring back at me — a woman who’d lost everything in one evening.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and unlocked the front door. My heels clicked faintly on the marble floor, echoing through the too-quiet house.

Karen, our housekeeper, appeared in the hallway, towel in hand, eyes wide.

“Ma’am… you’re home early.”

Her voice trembled. The towel twisted in her wrinkled fingers like she was trying to strangle the truth before it escaped.

“Why do you look surprised?” I asked, my voice hoarse from crying in the car for hours. It sounded foreign, brittle.

“I just didn’t expect you,” she stammered, glancing toward the staircase. A flash of panic crossed her face, gone as quickly as it came.

My stomach turned. “Who’s in the house, Karen? Is Ian home?”

“Maybe you should go back out, Doña,” she whispered. “He’ll be back soon, I’m sure.”

Her words died under a sound that didn’t belong here — a soft, breathy moan that floated down the stairs. Then another, moan, filled with pleasure, followed by the faint creak of a bedframe.

My bedframe.

The world tilted. For a second, everything went silent except for the pounding in my chest.

Karen’s eyes filled with tears. “Please, Doña, don’t—”

But I was already moving. My legs didn’t feel like my own as I climbed the stairs, each step echoing in my skull. The closer I got, the clearer the sounds became — laughter, murmured words, the rhythm of betrayal.

At the top of the staircase, my heart stopped.

The bedroom door was half-closed. I pushed it open with a hand that barely worked.

And then my world shattered.

The bed — our bed — looked like a storm had hit it. Sheets tangled, pillows on the floor, air thick with sweat and perfume that wasn’t mine.

Camila.

Her.

The woman I had once called my sister in everything but blood. My best friend. My bridesmaid. My confidante. The woman I’d trusted with my husband’s business, his life — my life. She was there, in my fucking bed, with my fucking husband, moaning his name as Ian enjoyed it. I didn't scream, didn't move, just... watched in silence. Rooted to the spot as tears stood in my eyes. Ian didn't see me. He didn't stop. He grunted Camila's name and came inside him - something he hadn't tried with me yet. And that... that was what broke me. A sound escaped my throat, not a scream, not a sob just a pure whimper of shattered devastation. They froze then Ian turned toward me slowly, lips glistening, eyes full of smug satisfaction. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t even cover himself properly. He just smiled — lazy, knowing, cruel.

Camila looked up next. And in that instant, something inside me broke so quietly I could almost hear it crack.

She didn’t panic. She didn’t look ashamed. She just… stared.

“Oh,” Ian said flatly. “You’re home.”

That’s all.

Camila tilted her head, licking her lips, pretending modesty by pulling the sheet over her chest, though the smirk never left her face. “Guess the party ended early,” she murmured.

My throat burned. I forced myself to breathe, to stand tall even as my knees threatened to give out.

I stepped closer, throwing the divorce papers at him. They hit his chest and slid to the floor. “Is this what you wanted, Ian? To humiliate me twice in one night?”

He rose from the bed, calm, collected — like a man leaving a meeting, not a marriage.

“Our marriage was a mistake,” he said. “I only went through with it because of my grandmother. I never wanted you, Elara.”

The words hit harder than any slap.

“Would you love me if you were me?” he asked, voice dripping with disdain.

Something in me snapped. “You used me, Ian. For your image. For convenience. As a sex material , someone to satisfy your sexual desires. And now you’re standing there acting like I’m the problem?”

He smirked. “The truth is, you were never enough. Not in this house, not in my bed, not anywhere. What kind of woman always want to be on top of a man when it comes to having sex . Your position sucks always, Elara,but for Camila... She's the best, just perfect for a man like me." He looked back at Camila,whose grin widened. She blew him a playful kiss, and he caught it with a smirk. My blood boiled so hard I thought I might explode.

Camila slid out of the bed, lazy and proud, draping herself against him. She kissed him, slow and deliberate, her eyes locked on mine the whole time — a challenge, a victory.

“I guess you finally see who he really wants,” she whispered, tracing a finger down his chest. “Maybe now you’ll stop pretending you ever mattered.”

My hands clenched at my sides. Every breath felt like glass cutting through my lungs. "Very soon, I'll be the next Mrs Vance," she purred. "The only woman who knows what he really wants." She nodded towards a small suitcase by the dresser. "I even packed a few things you'll need on your way out." “So all you could do with your life is steal someone else’s used husband?” I snapped, my voice sharp enough to cut glass.

Camila’s eyes flared. “How dare you, bitch!” she hissed, raising her hand to slap me—

—but Ian grabbed her wrist, pulled her back… and slapped me instead, hard, and my head crashed against the wall. Warm blood trickled down, but he didn’t even flinch—he didn’t care that I was hurt.

Tears blurred my sight.

“You’ll regret this,” I said quietly, voice shaking but full of something close to steel.

Ian laughed, stepping closer until I could smell her perfume on his skin. “My grandmother isn’t here to protect you now. Get out before I lose my temper.”

His fingers dug into my arm, hard enough to leave marks. He shoved me back.

I stumbled but didn’t fall. Not this time.

Karen was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, tears in her eyes, whispering my name. I walked past her, out the door, suitcase in hand.

The night air hit my face, cold and merciless.

Behind me, laughter echoed faintly from the window upstairs — her laughter.

And that was the moment I promised myself:

They would both pay.