Divorce me I'm done serving you (Ayla) novel Chapter 674

Each time Max uttered the word "girlfriend," he watched Draven's expression darken another shade.

"Maybe I did approach Ayla on purpose," Max said, meeting Draven's eyes without wavering. "Maybe I even seduced her. Maybe I'm just lucky—maybe it's the reward of a hundred lifetimes. But the truth is, we're together now. It's legitimate. It's reasonable. It's not illegal, and there's nothing the least bit immoral about it."

He let a small, cold smile flicker across his lips. "Draven, you're no different from Troy. Right now, you have no right to act like you're the center of her world."

After Floyd and Esme were born, Max had spent more and more time by Ayla's side.

He knew, better than anyone, that Draven had never once tried to win her back.

Looking at Draven's behavior, nobody could say for certain what he really felt.

But some things were obvious—Draven, the proud prince of Zheron, had been dumped. He was furious, and he never looked back.

He'd always worn that aura of distant, unapproachable arrogance. No one dared provoke him. But now, a woman had left him, and Draven's pride would never allow him to lower himself enough to chase after Ayla.

They were on separate roads now. That was the message Draven made sure to send.

If he didn't want to fight for her, and he didn't want to look back, why was he now so forcefully trying to sever Max and Ayla's relationship? Max truly couldn't understand.

If Draven had been in the fight for Ayla from the beginning, Max could have respected that. But Draven had shown no desire to keep her, no flicker of passion—yet he still couldn't stand the thought of another man by her side.

It was shameless, really.

If you don't want her, why forbid anyone else from loving her?

How was that any different from Troy?

Ayla was her own person. She could be with whomever she wished.

What right did Draven have to say otherwise?

Draven's eyes dropped to Max's pajamas, his face still unreadable. "You're not wrong," he said, voice even.

Max was surprised—if it had been Troy, he'd have lost his temper already.

Draven didn't argue. He even admitted it.

Max's expression changed at once. He struggled, but caught off-guard, he had no hope of breaking free.

He scowled. "Mr. Storm, if I've said something out of line, just tell me. There's no need for this—no need to get physical."

"Max, you're a man of dignity," Draven replied, his voice cool. "But you know Troy. You should know me, too."

Max forced a crooked smile. "Sorry, I don't know you at all."

"Civility is for civilized men," Draven said, his aristocratic bearing almost jarring against his words. "But I don't count myself among them. If there's a more direct way to get what I want, I won't waste my energy with niceties."

He folded his hands together, appearing calm, but every word and gesture radiated pressure and dominance. "I forbid you from seeing Ayla. Walk away now, and I'll act as if none of this happened. If you don't, I'll make you pay."

Max stared at Draven, stunned by how easily he said it. Even his patience snapped, anger flaring in his eyes.

Maybe that was why Troy hated Draven so much—he could never understand where Draven found the audacity to speak with such arrogant certainty.

Draven was implacable, deaf to everything Max said. Max thought he understood Draven, but now he realized he'd underestimated him. Draven was colder and more ruthless than Max had imagined, every move deliberate and precise—nothing like Troy's reckless fury. With Draven, there was no warning. You never knew which word would cross his line and trigger his next move.