Divorce me I'm done serving you (Ayla) novel Chapter 698

Had Ayla's taste shifted toward someone like Max, warm and easy and quick to make her laugh?

The thought made Draven's vision blur at the edges.

He was losing blood. His whole body had gone cold.

He was grateful for the pain. It gave him something to hold onto.

Max wanted Troy to give up for good and stop making Ayla's life harder. He said, "Troy, she's in good hands. I'll take care of her."

The last of the color left Troy's face.

Ayla's choice. Max's betrayal. His children still in Draven's hands. This was probably the most humiliating day of his life.

Troy had never imagined his life could be reduced to something like this. Every shred of dignity, gone. How had he ended up here?

Troy moved toward Max without thinking. His leg gave out after a few steps and he went down on one knee, the pain too much to push through.

He had nothing left. No strength to pull her back, no argument she hadn't already heard. He just stared at her, unblinking, as though looking hard enough might change something, might make her turn around and feel something for him.

Ayla looked elsewhere. Not at him. Not at Draven either.

Troy's chest ached with a clarity that was almost worse than anger. He hadn't lost Ayla because he was weaker than Draven, or less resourceful, or because he hadn't tried. He hadn't lost because she'd never given him a chance. He'd lost because he had never understood where he'd gone wrong, and his own character had cost him everything.

Ayla had already walked away from Draven too. Whatever war Troy had been fighting, it had never mattered.

None of it had anything to do with Draven. It never had.

He opened his mouth to say her name. What came out was barely a sound. Then the world went dark and he collapsed.

Garrett moved in immediately, catching him before he hit the ground. He looked back at the bodyguards. "Hospital. Now."

They were gone within minutes, the engine fading, the exhaust hanging briefly in the cold air.

Every story eventually reaches a quiet ending. This one closed without ceremony, carrying its grief and its damage out into the night.

Max noticed Ayla's hand at her side, fingers pressed tight. He leaned close and said softly, "Garrett's with him. Troy's not going to die."

She had never wanted that. Whatever she felt toward Troy, it had never extended to wishing him real harm.

But no one was actually perfect. She wasn't either.

She had spent years loving someone who didn't love her back, forgetting to take care of herself, walking away from that marriage with damage she was still carrying.

She had come so far since the marriage ended. And yet here she was, still paying for old choices, tangled in something that kept pulling her deeper. That was hers to bear.

As they pulled up to the main house, Ayla spotted Herman standing at the entrance.

James hadn't known. But Herman would have.

Had he tried to talk Draven out of the surveillance? Out of taking the children? Had he at least suggested that Draven simply reach out to her directly?

Draven's vehicles pulled aside to let her through.

She parked and stepped out. Max followed.

A household staff in a black uniform appeared immediately to take the car. When they were ready to leave, another would come to find them wherever they were on the grounds.

It felt less like a home than a private nature reserve, except quieter than any reserve she'd visited—and far more beautiful.