Hey! Ex-husband, You are the loser after all

Ava Sinclair adjusted her champagne flute and tried to ignore the weight of the stares aimed at her from across the ballroom. She'd spent the past hour smiling through clenched teeth, nodding politely as strangers commented on her emerald-green gown, her glowing skin, or her perfect life. "Mrs. Hayes, you and Lucas are such a power couple. What's your secret?"

The secret was that Lucas had barely spoken to her in weeks. The secret was that every time he touched her now, it felt rehearsed, like an actor hitting his marks.

"Excuse me," Ava murmured, cutting the conversation short with a polished smile. She stepped away from the crowd and headed toward the terrace.

Outside, the air was cool and sharp. The city sparkled below her, the lights blurred by the tears she refused to let fall. Tonight, everything felt off, even more than usual. Lucas hadn't greeted her when she arrived at the gala. In fact, she hadn't seen him since the limo ride here, where his silence had been deafening.

Her phone buzzed in her clutch, and she pulled it out, half-expecting another text from Charlotte. Where are you? Why aren't you smiling more? Ava's sister had a way of turning even genuine concern into thinly veiled criticism.

Instead, the screen displayed a photo of her and Lucas from last year-beaming, hand in hand, the picture of marital bliss. The headline below made her stomach churn.

"Sources Say Trouble in Paradise for Billionaire Lucas Hayes and Wife Ava."

"Great," she muttered, shoving the phone back into her bag. She wasn't sure which hurt more-seeing the headline or knowing it wasn't entirely wrong.

"Ava."

The familiar voice sent a shiver down her spine. She turned to find Lucas standing in the doorway, his sharp tuxedo emphasizing the chiseled lines of his face. His dark hair was perfectly in place, his expression unreadable.

"You disappeared," he said, stepping closer.

"Just needed some air," she replied, keeping her tone light. She wasn't about to let him see how rattled she felt.

"Come inside."

"Why? So I can smile for the cameras while you pretend we're still in love?"

His jaw tightened, but he didn't respond right away. Instead, he looked at her like he was weighing something, deciding whether to speak.

"What is it, Lucas?" she pressed, her voice laced with frustration. But he just stood there, his back to her, his shoulders squared like a fortress. Then, without a word, he turned and disappeared into the darkness of the house, leaving her alone with only the echo of her own question.

As soon as Ava walked into the ballroom, the atmosphere changed. The chatter died down, and people's eyes flicked nervously in her direction, like they'd been caught staring. The air was thick with tension, and Ava could feel the weight of everyone's gaze, even when they pretended not to be looking.

She found Lucas standing at the center of the room, holding a microphone.

Her stomach dropped.

"Thank you all for being here tonight," he began, his voice steady and commanding. "Your support for the Hayes Foundation means the world to me. To both of us." He glanced toward Ava, but there was no warmth in his eyes, no trace of the man who once kissed her forehead every morning.

"Before we continue, I have an announcement to make," Lucas said.

Ava's heart hammered in her chest.

"I wanted you to hear this directly from me. Ava and I have decided to separate."

The words hit her like a slap. The room spun, the soft hum of murmured shock deafening. She felt every eye on her, every whisper slicing into her like a blade.

She managed to stay rooted in place, her expression frozen in practiced composure. Inside, she was unraveling.

Lucas handed the microphone off and stepped down, walking past her without a glance. Ava felt her breath hitch, her throat tightening with the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

---

Fifteen minutes later, Ava was huddled in the back of a cab, her gown bunched awkwardly around her knees. She stared out the window as the city blurred past, the driver's radio buzzing softly with chatter.

"You alright, ma'am?" the driver asked, his voice tinged with concern.

She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. How could she explain the humiliation, the betrayal, the raw ache clawing at her chest?

"Just drive," she said finally, her voice barely audible.

The cab pulled up to the townhouse she had once called home. She stepped inside, the cold silence swallowing her whole. The staff had been dismissed for the evening, leaving the place eerily quiet.

Ava sank onto the edge of the bed, her fingers trembling as she unzipped her clutch. The photo of her and Lucas stared back at her from the screen. She swiped it away, but the sting of it lingered.

How had it come to this?

Her phone buzzed again. This time, it was a text from Charlotte.

Saw the announcement. Call me.

Ava let out a bitter laugh. Of course, Charlotte would reach out now. The timing was too perfect to be anything but calculated.

She tossed the phone onto the bed and leaned back, her head hitting the pillows. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, but she wouldn't cry. Not for Lucas. Not for anyone.

---

Somewhere across the city, Lucas sat in his penthouse office, staring out at the skyline. His tie was loosened, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. A half-empty glass of whiskey sat on the desk in front of him.

He replayed the look on Ava's face when he'd made the announcement. The shock, the hurt. He hated himself for it.

But it had to be done.

Protecting her meant pushing her away, a painful necessity that shredded his heart. Every fiber of his being screamed to hold her close, to keep her safe within his arms.

But he knew that would only put her in greater danger. So he steeled himself, donning a mask of indifference, and forced himself to push her away. The thought of living without her was unbearable, but he'd rather die than see her harmed.

He couldn't get her out of his head - the way she'd stood there, frozen like a deer in headlights, the spotlight beating down on her like a drum. It was like he'd snapped a photo of that moment, and now it was stuck on repeat in his brain. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face, pale and scared, with those big eyes that seemed to bore into his soul.

"Damn it," he growled, slamming the glass down and tossing back the last of the whiskey. The liquor seared his throat, but it was nothing compared to the acid eating away at his gut. He'd just made a choice, one that would haunt him for the rest of his life. And now, all he could do was stand there, waiting for the fallout.

He thought of her, standing alone in the darkness, and his chest twisted into a knot. What had he done? What had he just done?