My Ex Husband Enemy is my Mate

Donna “Why do you always insist on dressing like this?” Marc's voice cut through the music and chatter around us like a blade with an irritated tone. I stiffened, staring at the floor for a moment, before lifting my chin. We were standing near the entrance of the grand hall, and the party was alive with laughter, clinking glasses, and the low hum of powerful conversations. The women here looked flawless in glittering gowns, their lips painted in beautiful colours that matched perfectly with their skin tones, their jewels catching the light. I already felt out of place, and Marc's words only pushed me further into that pathetic and sad space I lived in whenever I was beside him. “You never try hard enough,” he added, his eyes sweeping over my simple dress like it was an insult. “Every other woman in this room looks sophisticated. But you…” he let the sentence hang in the air, his mouth twisting as if the sight of me embarrassed him. He sighed impatiently. “I'm going to get a drink,” he mumbled. And just like that, he walked away, leaving me stranded in the middle of the hall like a damn fool. As always, I wasn't surprised at his behaviour. This was normal. He always complained about everything I did even when I wasn't doing anything. It was almost like he relished humiliating me. It was some kind of sporrt to him. The thought was depressing, but it was the truth. I had heard things like. “You act so unladylike” or “you can't cook” or “you talk too much” or “you gay even give me a child, how useless can you be as a woman?” I had even heard that the only reason he was still married to me was because of my father's status and how much he helped him, he hadn't said this to me directly, I had overheard him saying this to his friends three months after our wedding. I was useful to him, nothing more. That truth had crushed me when I first learned it, but I stayed. I stayed because walking away felt like weakness, and I had promised myself I wouldn't repeat my mother's mistakes. She had left my father when I was a child, and I had seen the wreckage it caused. I swore I would never abandon my marriage, no matter how broken I felt. That was my strength, having the courage to stay. So instead, I prayed, I spent hours in the temple, whispering for change, for my husband to see me again. But each day proved that my prayers were empty. Marc never softened, if anything, he grew worse and more inpatient with me. It was like he was a different person from the wolf I married two years ago. “Mrs Donna” The voice made me turn, and my breath caught. Mr Blanco stood a few steps away, smiling in that easy confident way he was known for. His suit was sharp, his dark hair perfectly styled and his presence demanded attention even in a room filled with powerful people. He was the definition of dark and hot with danger lurking in his eyes. Every other woman at the party thought so too because they were all staring at him with wide eyes and pink cheeks. “Good evening,” I murmured, unsure if I should even be talking to him. Marc despised him. Everyone knew they were rivals. We just didn't know why but I knew that talking with him was a bad idea yet I didn't move. I had always thought Blanco was cool and stylish and incredibly hot but I had never dared uttered it in front of Marc. He stepped closer, lowering his voice, just enough that only I could hear. “You look absolutely exquisite tonight” I blinked at him, stunned. My cheeks warmed, as his eyes lingered on me with something Marc had never given me, admiration. I quickly dropped my gaze, embarrassed by the sudden rush of heat in my face. He was so handsome. “Thank you” I said softly. “You're welcome,” He murmured, staring at me intently with both curiosity and something else. “Nice party, isn't it?” I said to break the tension between us. Blanco tilted his head, his smile deepening. “It's a shame though. A woman as beautiful as you shouldn't look so forgotten at her own husband's side.” He said, completely ignoring what I had said. I stiffened. His words cut close to the truth, too close. I shook my head and forced myself to meet his gaze. “Please, don't speak about my husband like that,” I said, trying to sound firmer than I felt. He was telling the truth after all. Marc didn't care about me and it was painfully obvious to the people that cared to look closer. He studied me for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly, as though he wanted to challenge me. But then he suddenly nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting again. “Fair enough. Forgive me” I mumbled something polite and quickly excused myself. The last thing I needed was Marc walking in and seeing me talking to his greatest enemy. That would only add fuel to the endless fire between them and put me in a lot of trouble. I searched the party for Marc, weaving between groups of laughing guests and the waiters gliding past with a tray of wine glasses. My heart pounded harder with every empty corner. He was nowhere to be found. I sighed, secretly relieved he wasn't around. I wasn't ready to listen to him bash me after the compliment from Blanco, his biggest rival. I slipped out into the hallway, the music from the hall fading behind me. The silence was almost a relief. I made my way towards the bathroom, hoping to freshen up and gather myself before returning . I pushed open the door, the bright lights reflecting harshly off the mirror. I leaned against the sink, splashing cool water on my face. For a moment, I closed my eyes and just breathed, trying to calm the storm inside me. Then I heard someone familiar. A laugh. A man’s voice. Marc's voice. My stomach twisted painfully to the point my heart felt it. My hands trembled as I stepped closer to the half-closed stall. My heart screamed at me not to look, not to confirm what I already suspected. But I pushed the door open anyway. And there he was. Marc. My husband, kissing another woman as though I didn't exist. For a moment, I couldn't breathe, couldn't move. The world tilted under my feet, and I grabbed the door frame to steady myself. But then my gaze fell on the woman in his arms, and the pain turned into something far sharper. It was my half-sister, Laurena. The blood drained from my face. My chest tightened so much, it hurt to breathe. This wasn't just betrayal, it was humiliation, destruction, cruelty. A choked sound escaped me, and both of them froze. Marc's eyes widened, but instead of guilt, I saw only annoyance flash across his face. “Donna” he started, but I was already gone. I ran out of the bathroom, tears spilling down my cheeks, blurring my vision. The laughter, the music, the shining lights of the party, all of it blurred together as I pushed through the crowd, desperate to escape. This wasn't the first time I had caught him. I had seen him with strangers before, women whose names I never cared to know. Each time, it cut me, but I swallowed it down. I told myself to endure. But this? With my sister? That was the height of disrespect. It broke my heart, my trust, every connection left in me. I stumbled outside into the night air, gasping for hair as the cool wind hit my face. My arms wrapped around my body, trying to hold myself together, but it was no use. The tears kept coming like a dam had been broken. For years, I had begged, prayed, waited for Marc to change. But maybe he was never mine to begin with. Maybe I had been holding on to a ghost of a man that never existed. And for the first time, I wondered if I deserved more than this.