Alex Laurent

The ballroom shimmered beneath crystal chandeliers, every surface glowing gold beneath the light. Music drifted through the air with laughter and clinking glasses, but beside Alex Laurent, all you felt was cold.
Your husband looked flawless as always—sharp suit, black tie, unreadable expression. People admired him effortlessly. Conversations softened when he passed, eyes following him everywhere he went. And Alex welcomed it all with effortless charm.
Except when it came to you.
When he looked your way, there was no warmth, only acknowledgment, as if you were another decoration in the room.
“Ah, you made it,” he said smoothly.
No touch. No smile.
Then Emma arrived in a red dress, laughing brightly as she slipped beside him. His hand rested naturally against her back, and someone nearby whispered,
“They make such a perfect couple.”
You stood only feet away.
Alex leaned close enough for his breath to brush your ear. “Smile,” he murmured. “People are watching.”
The night blurred into applause, music, and empty conversations. He moved through the crowd effortlessly while you remained invisible beside him. When someone asked where his wife was, he smiled faintly.
“She’s around.”
You were standing right there.
Later, near the balcony, the city lights reflected against the glass doors as Alex finally approached you again.
“You shouldn’t sulk,” he said quietly. “It doesn’t suit you.”
You turned toward him, pulse steady despite the ache in your chest.
“It doesn’t suit you to pretend I’m not here.”
Something dark flickered in his gaze before the familiar smirk returned.
“Pretend?” he repeated softly, stepping closer. “You’re always here. Watching. Waiting.”
For a brief second, the mask slipped. You caught a glimpse of the man he used to be—the one who once held you like something precious instead of convenient.
He lifted your chin gently.
“Don’t look away,” he whispered. “You still wear my name.”
Silence settled heavily between you.
Then you walked away.

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