One Night With My Ex's Billionaire Brother

The shriling applause was still ringing when Jason took the mic and just… ended me. Not my life. Obviously. Just the one I’d spent four years building around him. Bricks made of his excuses and my silences. Four years of us, or what I thought was us. He smiled at the crowd. That perfect, devastating smile I used to think belonged to me exclusively. God, I was so stupid. “I think it’s time I stopped settling,” he said. There was light laughter from the guests at first, just a ripple. Then everyone got silent, that awkward, heavy silence when people realize the joke isn’t a joke. His eyes slid across the room. They went right past me. Like I was a ghost. Like I was a chair he was done sitting in. “As a company, we evolve,” he was saying. His voice was so smooth. It’s always so smooth. “And sometimes that means letting go of things that no longer… fit.” Someone gasped. A tiny, sharp sound. Or maybe that was just the sound of my heart hitting the floor? I don't know. He turned. Just a little. Just enough so every single person in that room, four hundred people in silk and lies, could follow his gaze straight to me. He didn’t say my name. Why would he? Everyone knew, and they were looking at me differently now, some with pity, some with happiness, and mumurs started breaking out. “Some people mistake comfort for value,” he added. Like he was teaching a damn seminar. “They’re not the same.” And there it was. Clean without any ounce of the feelings we've both shared. I was just—I don't even know. Something less than I was ten minutes ago. I didn’t cry, not even a drop of tear dropped. Being proud of that feels pathetic, but maybe I was just too numb to squeeze anything out. My fingers were white around my glass. My heart was thumping against my ribs—thump-thump, thump-thump—like it was trying to break out and run away. Walking away seemed impossible, but I wanted to run too. Nobody spoke. They just… watched. Waiting for the explosion. Waiting for the Girl Who Got Dumped At A Gala to scream or throw her drink or something. I didn’t. I maintained my elegance and composure. Standing up felt like I was moving in slow motion. My chair didn’t even scrape. Jason didn't look back at me. Not once. He was already talking about quarterly projections or some other bullshit. I’d stopped existing the second he closed his mouth. My clutch was in my hand. I walked past him. The smell of his cologne, the one I bought him for Christmas, made me feel sick. Three steps. Four. Five. “Embarrassing,” someone whispered. It was like a needle under my skin. I didn't turn around. If I turned around, I’d lose. I just kept walking until the air changed. The hallway was too bright. Way too bright. Stopping wasn't an option because the gravity would catch up and I’d just… collapse. The elevator opened. Mirrors everywhere. Looking fine was the worst part. My mascara wasn't running. My emerald green dress that I specifically wore because he said it made my eyes pop,was perfect. I looked like a person who was having a great night. What a joke. The doors shut. My chest felt tight, like someone was wrapping wire around my lungs and I couldn't even— Don’t break. Not here. Not in his building. The elevator stopped. A man stepped in. He was tall. Not loud tall, just… solid. Dark suit. No tie. He looked like the kind of guy who didn't care about the gala or the dress code or anything. “Cancel the contracts,” he said into his phone. His voice was deep. Flat. “All of them. Tonight.” It wasn’t a request. It was an execution, like he always commands. He hung up and looked at me. Just for a second. His eyes were sharp, like he could see the mess inside me even though the outside was still holding together. Then he looked away. 11. 12. “You were at the gala,” he said. It sounded like a fact, not a question. “For a while,” I mumbled. “You left early.” “So did you.” The numbers ticked down. 8. 9. “I leave,” he said, and his voice was so quiet, “when I’ve seen enough.” Something shifted in me. A weird little spark. Not like… oh, he’s hot. More like… oh, he knows. The doors opened and I practically ran out. The cold air finally hit my face, and I just breathed in, once, twice. I hit the sidewalk and focused on walking gently, not paying attention to my surroundings. One step. Two. Then my heel caught. There wasn't even time to catch myself. I just slammed hard into the pavement without any warning. No grace, no dignity. Just the sound of my palms hitting the concrete and my clutch sliding away into the dark. I stayed there on the pavement, losing all hope. For a second, I just wanted to live on the sidewalk. It was easier than standing up and being Nora again. Get up. Come on, Nora. Get up. A hand suddenly appeared in front of my eyes, offering to help me up. It was big and steady. There was a scar across the knuckles, pale and old. “Don’t,” I said. I sounded pathetic. “You’re bleeding.” I looked at my hands. Scraped. Stinging. Just tiny little cuts but for some reason… they were the thing that finally made my eyes burn and I hated it. “I’m fine.” “No,” he said. He didn't sound sorry for me. He just sounded… honest. “You’re not.” Staring at his hand didn't help, so I just took it. He pulled me up like I weighed nothing. No effort at all. He didn’t hover, either. He just let go the second I was on my feet. “Thanks.” He grabbed my clutch before I could. When he handed it back, our fingers touched. I actually looked at him then. He was older. Forty, maybe? His face was… still. Everything about him was controlled. “Where are you going?” “Away.” A cab drove right past my waving hand. Bastard. Alexander, that was his name, he told me later, just raised his hand and the next one screeched to a stop. Of course it did. He opened the door. “I’m not going with you,” I said. I don't know why I said it. “I didn’t ask you to,” he replied. A little dry. “I have a car.” The wind was messing up my hair. My palms hurt. I felt… tiny. “Nora,” I said. He looked at me. Really looked. “Alexander.” I got in the cab.