Once Again, My Ex-Husband

ALICIA'S POV

I adjusted the straps of my emerald-green gown in front of the full-length mirror, my fingers trembling. The dress was a size too tight, its fabric clinging to curves I despised but couldn’t hide. The stylist had assured me the color complemented my olive skin and dark eyes, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was an impostor—an unwanted guest in a world that had never been mine.

Tonight, I would once again step into the role I’d been playing for the past year: Ford Collins’ wife. But it wasn’t the title I’d hoped for, nor the one I’d dreamed about. In his eyes, I was little more than a necessary fixture, a problem to be managed.

The knock on the door came sharply, and Ford entered without waiting for permission. His black tuxedo was flawless, his broad shoulders and chiseled jawline a portrait of polished authority. His icy blue eyes swept over me, not with the admiration I longed for, but with the cool appraisal of a business associate inspecting a project that had fallen short of expectations.

“You’re late,” he said flatly.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, clutching my clutch tightly, already bracing for his next criticism.

Ford barely glanced at my dress before he dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “I told you to pick something elegant. This...” He trailed off, his distaste palpable.

“The stylist said—”

“Fire her,” he interrupted, his voice cold and final. “She clearly doesn’t understand what I want.”

Without another word, he turned and left, expecting me to follow silently, as always. I did, my heels clicking against the marble floor of the penthouse, each step a reminder of my inadequacy, of how little I mattered in his world.

The ballroom at the St. Regis Hotel gleamed with opulence. Crystal chandeliers bathed the room in golden light, illuminating the sea of polished, flawless people who wore wealth as effortlessly as their designer gowns and tuxedos.

Ford’s grip on my arm was firm, but impersonal, as though he were escorting an employee to a business function. There was no warmth, no connection. Just the cold, unyielding march of his obligations.

“Alicia, darling, you’re here!” Julia Prescott’s voice sliced through the noise, dripping with sweetness and something darker underneath.

Ford’s ex-fiancée was standing before us, a vision in a gold sequined dress that glittered with the same sharp edges that defined her.

“Julia,” Ford greeted, his voice shifting in a way that made my stomach turn.

The warmth in his tone was unmistakable—his ex-fiancée still held his attention in a way I never could.

Julia’s eyes flickered to me, her smile curling into something patronizing. “Alicia,” she said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. 

“You look... bold,” she added, the pause before the word like a knife.

“Thank you,” I whispered, the sting of her words settling into the pit of my stomach.

Ford and Julia fell into an easy conversation, one I couldn’t break into no matter how hard I tried.

Their shared history was like a barrier I could never cross, a language I didn’t speak. I stood on the periphery, forcing a smile that never quite reached my eyes, clinging to my glass of champagne like a lifeline.

Later, needing a moment of escape, I slipped out onto the balcony. The cool night air was a relief, its crispness soothing the burn of my cheeks. The city stretched beneath me, its lights glittering like a thousand tiny lies, each one whispering that I would never belong.

Tears threatened to spill, but I blinked them away. I couldn’t afford to break down here, not in front of the people who would never understand.

But then, voices drifted through the open door, cutting through the silence like a knife. I recognized Ford’s baritone and Julia’s lilting laugh, and my heart stuttered in my chest. The dread that had been building for months now filled my throat, choking me.

“I’ll never understand why you married her,” Julia said, her voice soft but cutting. “She’s so... ordinary.”

Ford’s reply was low but clear. “It wasn’t about love, Julia. It was a mistake. One I’ve regretted every day since. Honestly, I'm thinking about divorce”

I froze, my hand gripping the balcony railing so tightly it hurt. A mistake. That was all I was to him. A mistake.

Julia’s voice took on a more pleading edge.

“Then why are you still with her, Ford? You promised me. You promised we’d be together as soon as this... this charade was over. I’ve been waiting. Waiting for you to free me—free us.”

Before Ford could respond, I stepped back into the room, my heels clicking sharply against the floor, announcing my presence. I couldn’t hold back the words anymore, couldn’t pretend that I hadn’t heard everything.

“Is this the truth?” I asked, my voice strained but steady, my eyes locked on Ford as the words tumbled out.

“Is this really how you see it? A mistake? And now you want a divorce? You’re going to leave me, and for what? For her?”

Ford turned to face me, his expression a mixture of frustration and cold resolve.

“It’s the only way to make it right, Alicia,” he said, as though my heart didn’t matter in the equation.

“The marriage was based on a mistake. Our child is a consequence of that. I can’t pretend anymore. I need a divorce. For both of us.”

I could feel the air tighten around me, suffocating. “Is this enough for you?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

“You’ve had everything, Ford. I’ve been devoted, loyal. I gave you a child. And now you think a divorce will make everything right?”

Ford didn’t flinch, his gaze unwavering. “Yes. It’s the only thing that will make it right.”

I felt the walls closing in on me, and before I could process anything else, Julia stepped forward. She sneered, her voice dripping with venom as she addressed me.

“You heard the truth, didn’t you, Alicia?” she said, her words as sharp as broken glass.

“You’ll never be enough for him. He was mine first, and he’ll never be yours.”