Semua Bab Betrayed by My Ex, Claimed by His Boss: Bab 41 - Bab 50

The heavy mahogany door of the suite closed, instantly shutting out the distant, glittering roar of the gala. The familiar scent of cedarwood and alpine chill wrapped around me—a scent that had spent the last few days offering a dangerous illusion of safety, but now felt entirely like a trap. Lucian was sitting in the armchair by the floor-to-ceiling windows. He had already discarded his suit jacket, the top buttons of his white dress shirt undone, revealing the strong, corded lines of his throat. He looked remarkably relaxed, a rare display of lethargy for a man who usually ruled Wall Street with an iron fist. The moment he heard the door click, his dark eyes snapped up, a deep, uncharacteristic warmth instantly flooding his gaze. "You're back," Lucian said, standing up. His long strides closed the distance between us seamlessly. He reached out, his broad hand coming up with a natural, burning heat, intending to brush a stray lock of hair from my cheek and gently take off my diamon

"Evelyn." His voice was lower than usual, roughened by a night of absolute exhaustion. "Talk to me." I didn't stop. I tightened my grip on my handbag, forcing my breathing to remain steady as I stepped into the hallway. "There’s nothing to discuss," I said, my voice carrying a clinical, flat chill that surprised even myself. Lucian stared at me, his dark eyes intense, drilling into the narrow space between us. "That’s not true." I ignored him. Grabbing the handle of my suitcase, I extended the metal bar with a sharp click and turned toward the door. "Evelyn, wait." A faint flicker of unease cracked through his usually impenetrable facade. He stepped directly into my path, his posture softening in a way that felt entirely uncharacteristic for Lucian Blackwood. He reached out, his long fingers hovering just inches from mine, as if desperately trying to find a footing on shifting sand. "Don't rush back today. I... I had Elias arrange a tour. A private vineyard overlooking the lake

It was already late, and the sprawling penthouse was completely engulfed in silence. I sat at the kitchen island, a printed draft of the Delacroix acquisition illuminated by the soft glow of the pendant lights. I stared at the precise legal jargon on the page, but the words were just swimming in front of my eyes. The apartment felt unusually vast and empty. Very uncharacteristically, Lucian still hadn't returned. I shook my head, forcefully trying to expel the distracting thoughts from my mind. Why does it matter if he comes back or not? I told myself, tracing the edge of the paper with my pen. In fact, it was entirely normal. He was Lucian Blackwood—a man accustomed to absolute compliance and control. Why would someone with his status and pride have the patience to endure the cold shoulder in his own home? He had probably lost his temper and simply walked away. That was exactly what I had been trying to achieve by pulling back anyway. I looked down at the contract again, only to

The heavy oak doors clicked shut. Lucian stood in the foyer. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and his shoulders carried a heavy, lingering tension. Yet, as his gaze met mine, there was an unmistakable urgency in his expression—a faint, almost expectant heat, as if he were rushing to bridge the distance between us. "Evelyn," his voice was rough, and he took a step forward. "I know it was Alistair. The photo he showed you... I went to the Montclair family yesterday to—" "I really don't need a briefing on your family's alliances, Mr. Blackwood." My voice cut through the air, sharp and completely devoid of warmth. The absolute, freezing calm in my tone made Lucian stop dead in his tracks. A flicker of unease crossed his face, his brow furrowing as he registered the unnatural distance in my voice. Still, he took a breath, softening his tone as if trying to coax me out of the cold. "I know I should have called. But last night I was—

I didn't know how long I sat there. The freezing rain battered my back and shoulders, numbing my skin until the physical cold almost matched the hollow, agonizing ache in my chest. The sound of the downpour drowned out the city, drowned out my thoughts, leaving me in a suffocating void of my own making. Then, suddenly, the relentless pounding of rain against my back stopped. I was still shivering, but the heavy droplets were no longer hitting me. Instead, the distinct, rhythmic sound of water drumming against taut fabric echoed just above my head. Through the icy dampness, a faint, incredibly familiar scent cut through the petrichor. Cedarwood. My breath hitched. I slowly lifted my head from my knees. A large, black umbrella was held firmly over me, entirely blocking out the storm. Standing there, with the rain violently lashing against his unprotected back and soaking his white dress shirt, was Lucian. His dark hair was wet and plastered to his forehead. The deep exhaustion etc