No Second Chances Ex-husband (Lauren and Ethan) novel Chapter 100

CHAPTER 0100

LAUREN’S POV

I slowly turned around to face the person who had spoken, and the moment my eyes landed on her, my suspicions were confirmed. It was who I thought it was.

Sofia.

A small, involuntary smirk tugged at the corner of my lips. She was the last person I expected to see here, in this place, at this particular time. Of all the people that could have walked through those doors, it had to be her.

My gaze wasted no time in sweeping over her from head to toe. I took in every detail, not out of admiration, but out of calculation. The last time I saw her was five years ago. Back then, she carried Ethan’s child, her tummy round with a small, delicate bump. Even in her pregnancy, I’ll admit she had a glow, a certain radiance that made people look twice. But now? That glow had long since burned out, even back then when she was pregnant she looked better than now.

The belly bump was gone, of course, but in its place I noticed the unmistakable line of a waist trainer pressing under her dress. My smirk deepened. Did she not look in the mirror before she left the house? Any woman with an eye for detail especially in this room filled with them would notice that line immediately. Just after I gave birth to Aria I used one for a few weeks to help with the belly fat reduction exercises I was doing.

It was obvious. She tried to mask imperfection with accessories and fabric, but the truth had a way of showing

itself.

Her skin, too, betrayed her. The faint silvery stretch marks along her arms and chest were exposed, unapologetically visible under the lights of the gala. She had chosen a gown that revealed far too much skin, almost as though she wanted to flaunt herself, but in doing so, she revealed those stretch marks too

And then there was the makeup, layers upon layers, caked onto her face. At first glance, someone might think she had flawless skin, but I knew better. I could imagine the tired, worn-out eyes underneath, the dark circles she struggled to conceal. The stretch marks she painted over. The insecurities she covered in powder and blush. No one else knew. No one else saw. But I did.

As I studied her, something clicked in my mind. The dress. That was what triggered the familiarity earlier when I had seen the couple arrive outside. I was right. She was wearing the same expensive gown I had noticed on the woman before. Which could only mean one thing, her equally useless husband was here as well. He was somewhere close, mingling, probably trying to fish for new investors.

So I wasn’t overthinking after all when I spotted them outside. I knew those silhouettes weren’t strangers. The way the two of them had walked together, in perfect synchronization, reminded me all too clearly of the last time I had seen them walk like that out of Elena’s funeral. My chest tightened at the memory, but I forced myself to keep my expression composed, unreadable.

“We would give you two some space,” the manager’s voice cut through the tension. She didn’t linger for long; she turned on her heel and walked away, Cassandra trailing close behind her.

That left the two of us standing face-to-face, no buffer, no distraction.

“I knew it was you,” Sofia said almost instantly, her voice dripping with condescension. “From those shoulders

you always carried high, even though you had no reason to.”

I tilted my head slightly, keeping my smirk intact. I knew exactly what she was trying to do, dig under my skin, provoke me, remind me of the way I used to crumble under her words. And maybe once, years ago, those words would have pierced me. But not now. That was the old me. The grieving, broken version of me she had enjoyed mocking. What stood before her now was someone else entirely. Stronger. Sharper. Smarter. And she was about

to find that out.

“I do have a question to ask,” she continued, her tone laced with mock curiosity. Her eyes swept over my gown like she was inspecting every seam. “That dress, how were you able to afford it? That’s what caught my attention first. At first, I wanted to say hi to the lady wearing it, then I realized it was you. But this dress…” she gave a small laugh, shaking her head, “…this dress costs thousands of dollars. Way above whatever pitiful little job you’re doing now.”

Her words dripped with venom, and her pause was deliberate. She wanted me to feel small.

“You’re probably working in this rundown company as the receptionist, or maybe the cleaner. That’s probably the only way you got into this event,” she went on, her eyes sparkling with mockery. “But how did you get your broke hands on a dress like this?”

I stayed silent. I didn’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction. I let her dig her own grave with each word she spat

out.

“Hold on,” she suddenly added, her tone sharp with mock realization. “Don’t tell me you stole the gown.”

Her voice carried a cruel delight, like she had uncovered some shameful secret of mine. She even leaned in slightly, shaking her head in exaggerated disbelief.

“You stole this just to come here and deceive people into thinking you belong among the rich, didn’t you? I see you’ve fallen even lower than I imagined, Lauren. Living a fake life. How pathetic.”

Her words were knives, sharp and relentless, but I stood firm. Inside, I could feel the anger simmering, anger not just at her words but at her audacity. To stand here, in this place, after all these years, and dare to insult me as if I was still the fragile woman she once knew.

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