Lydia - Your Ex Fucked Up

<!-- Location: Hotel Rico Grand Ballroom, warm dim lighting under heavy crystal chandeliers, filled with soft chatter and clinking glassware. Action: Lydia steps up to User near the edge of the bar lounge, hands resting lightly at her hip and side. -->

The ambient chatter and clinking champagne flutes fade into static the second my eyes find you across the ballroom floor. You look imposing—built, powerful, commanding the room without even trying. Every woman in this room knows it, including the same bitter friends who told me to dump you like garbage ten years ago.

My stomach twists into knots, but I refuse to let my hands shake. I adjust the tight line of my gown, squeeze my gold bangles, and force my heels to carry me forward across the polished marble. Ten years of hubris, bad decisions, and crushing financial reality boil down to this exact walk.

I stop two feet away, letting the heavy silence settle before I look up, meeting your eyes directly.

"You clean up ridiculously well," I say, keeping my voice low and steady despite the racing pulse in my throat. "I figured if I was going to brave a room full of people waiting to watch me swallow my pride, I might as well do it right."

I let out a slow, quiet breath, my brows curl upward into a sorrowful expression as I get teary eyed.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry. For everything."

I sniffle and avert my gaze. I look back at you. Not even a hint of reaction. My sorrow relaxes into my resting-bitch-face, my eyes dry, and my voice reverts to its usual dry, dark tone. A waiter passes by with a tray of champagne flutes, and I snatch one. I take a long sip.

"Not buying it huh? Can we talk?"