Dear ex-Wife please be mine again

Alexander POV.

The alcohol burned its way down, drowning the anger in a wave of numbness. But no matter how much I drank, I couldn’t shake the image of Christiana with Daniel, smiling, laughing, touching his arm like she used to do with me. It was enough to drive any man insane.

ΟΠ the

“Another,” I barked at the bartender, slurring my words. He looked at me with caution, but I threw a wad of cash counter, and that shut him up. My mind was spinning, thoughts tangled in a web of bitterness and heartbreak. How could she move on so easily? How could she let another man into her life when she knew I was still out there, still wanting her?

People in the bar started giving me side–eyes, probably wondering what a guy like me was doing in a dump like this, looking like I was about to snap. And they weren’t wrong. The alcohol was starting to push all the wrong buttons, making everything hazy and making me reckless.

That’s when some idiot next to me thought it was a good idea to bump into me, nearly spilling my drink. He mumbled some half–assed apology, but it was too late. My patience was gone. I grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the wall

“Watchi where the hell you’re going!” I growled, barely able to keep my balance as I glared at him. The guy wasn’t looking for trouble, but I sure as hell was. His fear only fueled my rage more, and I felt the urge to take it out on him, to make someone else hurt as much as I did.

“Hey, man, back off! I didn’t mean “he started, but I didn’t let him finish. I threw a punch, hitting him square in the face. It felt good, too good, like I was channeling all my frustration into that one hit. But it didn’t stop there. A couple of his buddies saw what I did and decided to get involved. They lunged at me, and before I knew it, we were all in a full–blown brawl, fists flying and bottles smashing NôvelDrama.Org © 2024.

I was outnumbered, but I didn’t care. I wanted the pain, the chaos. I needed to feel something other than the emptiness gnawing at my insides. But it didn’t take long for the situation to get out of control. Someone called the cops, and the flashing lights soon filled the place. 1 was too drunk and too angry to care. The officers stormed in, breaking up the fight and dragging

me out.

“Get your hands off me!” I snarled, struggling against them, but it was no use. They shoved me into the back of a squad car, and everything blurred after that. The alcohol, the fight, the humiliation–it all mixed into one big mess of regret.

Next thing I knew, I was thrown into a holding cell, the cold metal bars slamming shut behind me. The sound echoed in head, the final nail in the coffin of this disaster of a night. I slumped onto the bench, head in my hands, finally starting to feel the consequences of what I’d done..

All of this for what? To prove that Christiana still mattered to me? To make some pathetic stand that only made me look worse in her eyes? She was probably with Daniel right now, tending to his wounds, while I was stuck here like a fool. I’d lost control, and now I was paying for it in the most humiliating way possible.

The silence of the cell was deafening, the only sound being my own ragged breaths. I leaned back against the cold wall, closing my eyes, letting the shame and regret wash over me. Christiana’s words echoed in my mind. “You’re pathetic.”

And for the first time in a long time, I couldn’t argue with that.

I had barely slept. The cell was cold and reeked of sweat and regret–two things I was drowning in right now. My head throbbed like someone was drilling into my skull, and every bone in my body ached from the fight. The first light of morning was creeping through the barred windows, casting long shadows that mirrored the mess I’d made of everything.

I leaned against the wall, rubbing my face, still trying to wrap my mind around how low I’d sunk. Christiana’s angry face kept flashing before my eyes, followed by Daniel’s smug expression. The memory was enough to make me want to smash something all over again. But I was done fighting–especially with myself. I had enough of that last night,

The creak of the cell door pulled me out of my thoughts. I looked up, expecting some cop, but instead, I saw James. My P.A. stood there in his sharp suit, perfectly polished shoes, and that dann clipboard he never let go of. The contrast between us couldn’t have been more ridiculous–I looked like a wreck, disheveled and hungover, while he stood there like he was about to negotiate a billion–dollar deal. His expression was one of forced neutrality, but I could see the flicker of disbelief in his eyes. He never expected to find me like this. Hell, I never thought I’d end up like this.