From His Invisible Wife to the World's Icon novel Chapter 8

It wasn't a discussion. It was an absolute command.

He didn't even wait for a response before taking his impossibly long strides up the stairs and vanishing into his study.

Their house?

She couldn't stand being in this house for another second.

Marching straight up to the master suite, she immediately started throwing things into a suitcase. Her laptop, her research files, and the heirlooms her mother had given her on her wedding day.

She remembered the framed photo of her and her mother sitting on the desk in the first-floor library.

Just as her foot hit the bottom step, a violently loud crash echoed from the room.

She sprinted into the library to find the floor completely covered in shattered glass.

"Oops. Sorry, Lydia. It just slipped."

Sierra's tone held zero remorse. It was purely vindictive.

Seeing red, Lydia marched right up to her and delivered a vicious, ringing slap across Sierra's face.

Sierra immediately raised her hand to strike back, but before she even made contact, she suddenly yanked her hand away, violently clutching her red cheek as massive, crocodile tears welled in her eyes. "Lydia! I said I was sorry! Why would you hit me? You're being completely psycho!"

Lydia's brow twitched. She heard Frederick's unmistakable, heavy footsteps coming down the hall, followed instantly by his infuriatingly blind defense. "She's your sister! If you have a problem, use your words! Why the hell are you putting your hands on her?"

Sierra really was an absolute master manipulator, trained by the very best homewrecker in the business.

Lydia lowered her gaze, stunned to see that the shattered glass belonged to her and Frederick's massive wedding portrait. Flashes of their honeymoon played in her mind—the passionate, whispered promises that now felt like a sick, twisted joke.

Swallowing down a bitter wave of grief, she completely ignored the ruined frame. Spotting her mother's photo completely unharmed on the desk, she snatched it up, clutching it tightly to her chest as she turned and walked out.

Frederick watched as Sierra knelt on the floor, theatrically apologizing while picking up the pieces of their wedding portrait, but his gaze was locked dead on Lydia's retreating back.

She had been furious enough to strike someone, yet the second she saw it was their wedding photo that had been destroyed, she didn't care in the slightest.

After dismissing Sierra, he went back upstairs and saw Lydia frantically packing a suitcase.

She was actually leaving?

The two separate times she had demanded a divorce violently flashed in his mind.

Was she really trying to divorce him?

Absolutely impossible.

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