My ex husband rivalry

Aria's POV

The cold early morning wind bit at my skin, raising goosebumps that made me shiver uncontrollably as I slipped into the taxi. "St. Peter's Avenue," I muttered to the driver, my voice barely above a whisper. I rubbed my palms over my arms, trying to chase away the chill, but my mind kept drifting back to last night's chaos. Julian had offered to take me home, but I'd refused—instinct told me to keep my distance from someone like him. Instead, he'd booked me a room at The Chivalry, New York's premier five-star hotel, as if I were some damsel he could buy off. It was generous, sure, but I knew better; men like Julian didn't help without strings attached.

Flashes of our encounter replayed in my head like a bad dream. We'd been alone in that lavish hotel room, me standing in front of the dressing mirror, still reeling from Ethan's betrayal. His hands had gripped my waist from behind, his breath warm against my ear. "You're stunningly beautiful. You know that?" he'd murmured, his voice a mix of charm and something darker. It had ignited a spark in me, despite the numbness—Julian was infamous for his flirtatious ways, a notorious playboy with a mysterious edge. But I couldn't ignore the truth.

"Ethan and I just got divorced," I'd whispered, pulling away. "So whatever game you're trying to play won't work." His gaze had turned icy in the mirror, confirming my suspicions. He was using me as a pawn against Ethan, seizing any opportunity to strike back at his rival, even if it meant dragging me into a scandal.

"Oh. I'm sorry about that," he'd said, recoiling and leaving the room without another word. I was relieved for the solitude, though the hurt lingered. Julian's own marriage had ended in shadows—his wife had vanished years ago, leaving whispers of danger in her wake. And here he was, making advances on me. No, it was definitely best to stay away; getting entangled with him could destroy whatever pieces of my life I had left.

The taxi jolted me back to the present as we entered my old neighborhood. My heart clenched at the sight of my rundown bungalow, squeezed in the heart of the street. The roof sagged from years of neglect, trash littered the steps, and the windows were barely intact—I doubted the inside was any better. But home was home, even in ruins.

I spotted my sister, Vivian, on the porch, her head buried in her hands, shoulders shaking with sobs. A hollow pit formed in my stomach as I dashed toward her. Vivian was still in university, and the scraps I'd managed to send her way from my time with Ethan had kept her dreams alive. But now, with everything stripped away, I knew what her tears meant—it had to be about Mom.

"Vivian! What's wrong? Where's Mom?" I choked out, crouching down and wrapping her in my arms. She clung to me, sobbing uncontrollably, and the emptiness inside me deepened. "Talk to me, Viv," I urged, steadying her by the shoulders.

She rubbed her eyes and met my gaze, her emotions raw and unfiltered. Fresh tears glazed over as she spoke. "She collapsed last night while I was making dinner. I got her to the hospital, and the doctor said it's brain swelling. They need surgery to reduce the pressure, or... or she could die. We need $500,000."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. A knot twisted painfully in my stomach, and my lungs struggled for air, each breath coming in sharp gasps. "$500,000?" I whispered, sinking onto the porch beside her, afraid my legs would give out. My head throbbed in rhythm with my heart—where could I possibly get that kind of money? Ethan's parting words echoed mockingly: *I have no use for you anymore.* He'd cut me off completely, leaving me with nothing.

Vivian gripped my hands, her eyes wide with desperation. "Aria, beg Ethan for us. He's rich—he could spare it. 500k is nothing to him. Please, for Mom..." Her voice cracked, panic rising like a tide.

"Viv... relax," I said, squeezing her hands to calm her, even as sadness weighed on me. But how could I explain? Taking a deep breath, I confessed, "Viv, Ethan and I are divorced. He said he has no use for me anymore. He's moved on to another woman—I was just disposable trash to him."

She froze, disbelief and pain flashing across her face. "What do you mean divorced? What happened?"

I sighed, kicking at an empty can near my foot. "He tossed me out like I meant nothing. I thought he loved me, but it was all a lie." Vivian gasped, covering her mouth, and placed her hand on my lap in silent support. "That's so cruel. He always seemed so in love with you."

"I thought so too, sis," I replied, pulling her into my arms to steady my own fraying edges. "What do we do now? Mom could..." Her voice broke, and I held her tighter. "I'll find a way out. I promise," I whispered, though doubt clawed at me.

Two days later, the media storm hit like a tidal wave. I sat in Emily's living room, gripping a coffee mug as the news reporter's voice blared from the TV: "It has come to our notice that the wife of popular business tycoon Ethan Giullio has left him, claiming he wasn't enough. With his recent financial setbacks, it seems she abandoned him for greener pastures. Women, am I right?"

I scoffed, my fingers tightening around the mug until my knuckles whitened. Ethan had spun the narrative, painting himself as the victim and me as the villain—a gold-digging slut, an ungrateful bitch. The headlines were everywhere, shredding my reputation.

"Hey, are you okay?" Emily asked, her voice laced with concern as she turned off the TV and sat beside me on the couch.

I sighed, shutting my eyes tightly. "I'm fine. This is just ridiculous."

She grabbed my hand, offering a reassuring squeeze. "It's expected with someone like him. You just have to move on and forget." I smiled gratefully and hugged her—Emily, my college friend, had taken in me and Vivian until we got back on our feet.

"Emily, I need money for Mom's surgery, and I'm completely clueless," I admitted as I pulled back. She stared at me, stunned, then furrowed her brows, tapping her foot on the wooden floor thoughtfully. "There's an underground club I know. You could work there and make the cash in a week or less."

Shocked didn't cover it. "Really?" I nearly jumped, hope flickering alive.

"Yes, just get yourself ready," she said, giggling and winking.

"Wow, that's amazing, Em," I replied, excitement bubbling despite a nagging doubt—it sounded too good to be true.

Later that night, I stepped out of the dressing room, unease settling in. The waitress uniform was scandalously short, barely covering what it needed to, and I exhaled sharply, reminding myself why I was here. A stern woman with a neutral expression waited outside. "Follow me. I'll show you where you'll work."

We entered the VIP section of the underground club, and my eyes widened at the scene. LED lights pulsed in a riot of colors, casting wild shadows on the tiles, while thumping music vibrated through the air. The stench of cocaine and cigarettes hit me like a wave, turning my stomach. As my vision adjusted, horror gripped me—it was an indoor orgy. Wealthy older men, some familiar from Ethan's business circles, were entangled with women in the same uniform, the women moving in a drugged haze.

Oh, hell no. My pulse raced, and I froze, praying to blend into the shadows and avoid their attention.

The woman pressed a cold glass into my hand. I jerked back instinctively but took it, refusing to drink. She whispered to the bartender, then turned to me. "You're going to strip over there and pull your skirt up." She pointed to a metal pole in the center of the room.

"Strip?" I echoed, my voice barely audible over the chaos, but the demand sank in like ice. This wasn't just a job—it was a trap, and getting out might not be as simple as walking away. As the music pounded on, a figure in the crowd caught my eye, someone who looked too familiar, stirring a new wave of dread. What had I gotten myself into?