All Chapters of The Wife He Threw Away : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Morning arrived exactly as it always did in the Dhark mansion. The estate around me felt orderly. Predictable. Progress was expected; The papers would be signed soon. The media uproar would settle. The disruptions that occurred during the past week would correct themselves, the way problems always did once the proper arrangements were enforced. But in the midst of all my expectations, something felt… wrong. Claire left the house just after breakfast, already dressed for work. She looked almost as composed as I did when I left for work. She did not look toward me. Didn’t even pause for polite conversation. For the first time in a long time, Claire made no attempt to ease tension. I watched as the front doors opened for her, then closed again, leaving the house feeling strangely hollow behind her. She moved through the mansion now like a guest — respectful, but no longer a part of it. But she wasn’t hostile. Just absent. And for reasons I could not exp

Lucian watched me carefully, as though searching for the woman he used to understand. But she was already gone. Silence stretched between us, long and thick enough to be felt. He lowered his gaze briefly to the document in his hand before looking back up at me slowly. “Do you even understand what you’ve started?” he asked. His voice was quiet. Controlled. There wasn’t anger beneath it. Just calculation. I walked across the room slowly, setting my work bag down on the chair, pretending like this was any other ordinary evening. “Yes,” I replied, “I do.” Lucian’s jaw tightened. “You’ve turned a private matter into litigation,” he continued, his voice rising with every word. “Into publicity! Into risk!” “I didn’t make it public,” I retorted just as loud. “Your lawyers filed their response this afternoon. The media follows you, Lucian, not me!” His eyes sharpened. “This isn’t about the media!” He snapped. “Then what is it about?” I queried. For a

Three days changed everything. Not dramatically, not loudly, but unmistakably. The moment the car turned onto the street leading to Sinclair & Co., I saw them. Cameras. Two reporters stood near the opposite sidewalk pretending to check their phones while watching the building entrance too closely. A third one leaned against a parked car, speaking quietly into an earpiece. They were all waiting for me. I saw the driver glance at me through the mirror, uncertain whether to continue or not. “It’s fine,” I assured him calmly. “Pull in.” The car slowed, waiting for the gates to be opened. Thankfully, the security guard at the entrance moved quicker than usual, opening the gate before we fully stopped. The moment I stepped out, flashes flickered in my face— curious but cautious. They were standing in front of Margot Sinclair’s law firm after all. They couldn’t be as persistent as they would’ve surely liked. So instead, they tested boundaries rather than at

I opened the filing without expecting it to matter. It was just another document. Another adjustment by Lucian’s team. Another attempt to reframe me into something smaller than I was. To dig up dirt on me and change the narrative. But I stopped when I saw the name. “Lead Counsel for Lucian Dhark: Nathaniel Vale.” My eyes widened. A gasp escaped my throat before I could stop myself. A memory came back to me without permission— An auditorium filled with law students. Cold air, bright lights and mics in our faces. My argument was structured as always, and delivered with conviction that bordered on arrogance. And then there was his voice, dismantling my argument piece by piece without ever raising his tone. He hadn’t attacked me. He had only isolated weaknesses, with precision. I remembered a professor who once said, "If either of you enters corporate litigation, the rest of the class should consider alternative careers." I closed the file slowly.

I stepped out of the car without looking at the reporters still lingering behind the gates, with large microphones and even larger cameras. The mansion doors opened before I reached them. Inside, the air felt as controlled as everything else in my life was. My phone vibrated again. And again. And again. I did not check it until I reached my study. I removed my jacket first, then loosened my tie next. Then I finally looked at the screen of my phone. Notifications stacked over each other. It was mostly PR, then board members. Two directors requesting “clarification.” Three missed calls from my media advisor. I opened the first article. The clip played automatically. The reporter lunging toward Claire, the microphone nearly striking her shoulder, and the split second where she stepped back. And then— me. My hand pushing the reporter away… my other arm pulling her behind me. The frame paused at the most unfortunate second possible. Claire agains