This Isn't Happening.

Alexandra’s POV.

"Do you, Alexandra Scott, take Asher Sinclair as your husband?" the priest asked.

“Yes, I do,” I replied, my voice steady, my heart full. I smiled, feeling a warmth spread through me as I glanced at Asher.

That was the happiest moment of my life. The happiest moment in the past three years. The day I became Mrs. Sinclair. I took him as my husband, and he took me as his wife. There were smiles, laughter, promises whispered between us, and then—sealed with a kiss that felt like forever.

We made vows. Vows I believed would stand the test of time.

"Till death do us part."

He said those words to me, and I repeated them back.

"I love you," he used to tell me, again and again, making me feel like I was the most precious thing in his life.

But now… he had placed divorce papers in front of me.

My hands trembled as I picked them up, my vision blurring as I read through the words again. I let out a quiet, bitter chuckle. He wanted me gone.

I had given him my trust, my heart, my life. It took me months to fully believe in him, to let him in, because we had only dated for four months before rushing into marriage. People had warned me. They told me I was foolish to fall so quickly, to trust a man I barely knew. But I had been blinded—by his warmth, by the charm in his voice, by the love I thought was real.

I should have listened.

My fingers tightened around the papers as my eyes landed on a particular line.

"Leave the house within 24 hours. No compensation will be given."

A hollow feeling settled in my chest.

Not only was he throwing me out, but he was making sure I left with nothing. Nothing at all.

I had given him everything—every single thing I had built, the wealth I had inherited from my father’s company. Even the shares I once owned, I had transferred to him, believing that as my husband, he would protect what was mine.

"You are a fool, Alexandra." The words escaped my lips before I could stop them. My voice was hoarse and raw with pain.

I wasn’t supposed to sit here, drowning in sorrow. I wasn’t supposed to let myself break like this.

I forced myself to stand, ignoring the weakness in my limbs. My legs carried me upstairs, my body moving on instinct as I reached for my drawers, yanking them open and throwing my clothes into a bag. I moved quickly, and carelessly, not bothering to fold anything. I just wanted to be done.

In less than a minute, I had packed everything. There was nothing left.

I grabbed my bag and turned toward the door—but then I hesitated.

My eyes wandered around the room.

The scent of Asher’s cologne still lingered in the air, faint but familiar. My gaze fell on the bedside table, and my chest tightened. There, in a silver frame, was the first picture we ever took as husband and wife—on our honeymoon.

A perfect moment. A perfect lie.

I reached for it with shaky hands.

Memories came rushing in like a flood, filling every corner of my mind.

"Asher! What are you doing?" I had laughed, throwing the covers off as I ran out of the bedroom.

My gaze shifted from the bed to the door, as if following the memory in real time.

"Asher, you're going to burn the eggs!" I had yelled when I saw him in the kitchen, fumbling with a pan.

"Well, if I burn them, you’ll still eat them, won’t you?" He turned to me with that boyish grin, his dimples showing.

"Why should I?" I teased, shaking my head.

"Because that’s what a good wife does," he had said.

"A good wife wouldn’t let her husband burn the whole kitchen down," I laughed, stepping beside him, and nudging him playfully.

The memory shattered like glass, leaving behind nothing but a bitter taste in my mouth.

I turned away, my fingers slipping from the frame. I didn't need these memories anymore. They were nothing but ghosts of a past that no longer belonged to me.

I took one last look at the room before grabbing my bag and walking out.

Downstairs, the divorce papers still lay on the table, staring back at me.

I picked up a pen.

Without a second thought, I signed my name.

I didn’t look back as I stepped out of the mansion for the last time.

---

The evening air was crisp, the sky darkening as I hailed a cab. My mind was numb, my heart heavy as I told the driver my destination.

My parents' house.

The very place I had stormed out of when they told me not to marry Asher.

I stood in front of the large gates, my hands clenched into fists at my sides.

The mansion was exactly as I remembered—grand, imposing, yet strangely unwelcoming at this moment.

I took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The sitting room was silent except for the steady tick of the grandfather clock in the corner. And there, seated in his usual chair, was my father.

His gaze lifted the moment I entered.

I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, his voice cut through the silence.

"Go back to wherever you came from, Alexandria."

I froze.

My chest tightened as his words registered in my head.

"Dad…?" My voice came out weak, barely above a whisper.

He didn't even let me finish.

With a scowl, he picked up the newspaper from the table and slammed it onto the floor in front of me.

"You are a disgrace, Alexandria! Leave!" His voice thundered through the room.

I flinched.

My lips trembled, but no words came out.

“This isn't happening, No this isn't happening,”

I whispered to myself knowing I had nowhere to go back to.