Divorced By My Ex, Claimed By His Brother

Ava’s POV

I wanted tonight to be perfect.  

A soft smile curved my lips as I lit the last candle on the dining table. The rich scent of roasted chicken and garlic mashed potatoes filled the air, blending with the deep perfume of the crimson roses I had chosen just for him. Tristan had been distant for weeks—always working late, always coming home drained, barely looking at me. Tonight was meant to remind him of us. Of the five years we had built together. Of the promises we once made.

I smoothed my hands over the black lace dress that clung to my body, a quiet thrill fluttering in my chest.  

*He’s going to love this.*

The clock read 8:47 p.m.  

He was late. Again.

My stomach tightened, but I forced the worry down. *He’s just stuck at the office.* I picked up my phone and dialed. It rang once. Twice. Then went straight to voicemail. I tried again. Same result. A cold unease slid up my spine, but I shook it off. Tristan was a busy man. I had always been understanding.

Still… the late nights, the ignored calls, the way he looked through me lately—it all felt too familiar.

*No.* I shook my head hard. *Don’t be ridiculous, Ava. He wouldn’t.

Wouldn’t what?  

Cheat?

The thought sent ice through my veins. I needed to see him. Grabbing my coat and slipping into my heels, I walked out the door, got into my car, and drove.

City lights smeared past the windows as my fingers locked around the steering wheel. My heart hammered against my ribs by the time I pulled up outside Tristan’s office building. The glass tower was mostly dark, except for a single soft glow on the top floor—his floor.

I stepped out into the cold night air. Every step toward the entrance made the knot in my stomach pull tighter.  

*I’m overreacting. He’s just working.*

But my instincts refused to quiet.

When I reached his office door, my hands were shaking. I wasn’t sure if it was the cold or the fear of what I might find. Then I heard it.

A moan.

My body went rigid.  

No.

Another moan—soft, feminine, unmistakable.

No. No, no, no.

My throat closed. My vision swam. But I had to know. With a trembling breath, I pushed the door open.

The scene in front of me destroyed everything.

Tristan stood there, bare back gleaming under the low office lights, his body tangled with hers.  

Mia.  

My best friend.  

My assistant.  

The woman I had fought to get this job for.

A broken sound left my lips before I could stop it. Their heads snapped toward me. For one frozen second, no one moved. Then chaos.

Mia scrambled off him, clutching the sheet to her chest, horror written across her face.  

“Oh my God—Ava, I—”

I couldn’t hear her. I couldn’t hear anything over the roaring in my head.

Tristan cursed, yanking on his pants. “Ava—listen, I can explain—”

I laughed. A sharp, ugly sound that didn’t feel like mine.  

“Explain?” My voice shook, but I forced myself to stand straighter. “Go ahead, Tristan. I’d love to hear how you justify your dick accidentally ending up inside her on your office desk. A coincidence, maybe?”

He opened his mouth, then shut it.

I turned to Mia, fists clenched at my sides.  

“You,” I whispered.

She flinched. “Ava, please—”

“You were like a sister to me.” My voice cracked. “I trusted you. I defended you when no one else would. I begged my husband to hire you when you couldn’t find work. And this is how you repay me?”

She shook her head, pale. “It just… happened.”

“Oh, it just happened?” A bitter laugh tore from my throat. “You tripped and landed on my husband’s dick, is that it?”

Her face crumpled, but I wasn’t finished.  

I spun back to Tristan, nails digging into my palms.  

“How long?”  

Silence.  

“How. Long!” I screamed.

A long pause. Then, almost casually, he muttered, “Six months.”

The air left my lungs.  

Six months.  

Half a year of lies.

My stomach rolled. Bile rose in my throat. I swallowed it down hard, blinking fast. I would not cry in front of them.

I took a shaky step back.  

“I planned a surprise for you,” I whispered, voice breaking. “A romantic dinner. I thought we could fix whatever was wrong. But you never planned to fix anything, did you?”

He said nothing.  

I kept going, the words tumbling out. “The least you could have done was keep me waiting at home with some excuse about work. Instead you’re here screwing someone else. Do you have any conscience at all?”

Tristan’s mouth tightened. He didn’t even look guilty.  

Then, in a flat, indifferent voice, he said, “You know what, Ava? I’m glad you finally found out. I was starting to think you’d stay stupid forever.”

Something inside me cracked.  

“Stay stupid?” I repeated, not sure I had heard him right.

“Yes.” His tone turned sharp. “We’ve been married five fucking years and nothing to show for it. I refuse to stay stuck with a barren woman. Don’t you get it? You can’t get pregnant. You can’t give me even one child.”

In that moment I should have been the one raging. Instead it felt like *I* was the one on trial.

“So all of this is because I haven’t given you a baby?” My voice shook with disbelief. “And you thought sleeping with her was the solution? You think this is my fault?”

He didn’t answer. Instead he reached over and pulled Mia against his side without a shred of shame.  

“Call it whatever you want, Ava. But Mia here—” he paused, glancing at her, “—is pregnant with my child.”

The words sliced through me like a blade. The air vanished from my lungs. I tried to speak and failed.

I turned to Mia, needing to hear it from her.  

“You’re pregnant with his baby?”

She nodded, eyes full of fake pity. “I’m sorry, Ava. I just… thought it was the best way to help him.”

There was a flicker of amusement in her voice that I didn’t miss.

I forced my spine straight, swallowed the scream rising in my throat, and lifted my chin. My voice came out cold and steady.  

“I hope the two of you rot in hell.”

Then I turned and walked out before either of them could speak again.

Outside, I slid into my car and drove straight to the nearest bar. It was the only place that felt far enough away from the wreckage of my life.

Minutes later I was sitting at the counter, three bottles of Hennessy lined up in front of me. The first gulp burned. The second went down smoother. By the third, my hands had finally stopped shaking.

The bar was dim, the music low, the air thick with whiskey and regret. The bartender watched me carefully as he poured another drink.  

“You okay, ma’am?”

I let out a hollow laugh. “Do I look okay?”

He hesitated. “Want me to call someone?”

“No.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “There’s no one to call.”

I had never felt more alone.

I stared into my glass, replaying the last hour in brutal detail—

the betrayal, the lies, the fact that I had been a complete fool.

“Having a rough night?”

A deep voice cut through the noise, startling me.