Her Divorce, His Downfall (Sophia and Damian) novel Chapter 130

Chapter 130

A wave of shock rippled through Catherine, Sophia, and the other women present. Without a moment’s hesitation, they hurried toward the study, their steps quickened by concern.

Catherine, her motherly fears for her son overriding all else, reached the door first and pushed it open without knocking.

The air inside was thick, frozen with a tension so sharp it felt solid. Bruce stood with his back to the room, hands clasped

behind him.

An oppressive silence gripped the space, stifling even the sound of breath.

Sophia’s eyes immediately found Julian. A sharp pang shot through her at the sight—his handsome face was marred by red swelling and bruises, a thin trickle of blood seeping from the corner of his lip.

Without thinking, she rushed forward. Her own heart ached in sympathy. “Julian, are you all right?”

Julian’s hand closed tightly around her cold fingers. He managed a gentle, reassuring smile. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

“Sophia, just tell me… what do I have to do? What will it take for you to look back at me?” The voice that cut through the quiet3:04

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was raw, stripped bare.

Damian had watched her from the moment she entered, watched as her gaze never once sought his.

The physical pain from Julian’s retaliatory blows during their scuffle was nothing compared to the crushing agony now tearing through his chest.

“Damian, for heaven’s sake, why must you put yourself through this?” Catherine moved swiftly to her son’s side, her eyes already glistening with unshed tears.

Only then did Sophia turn. Her breath caught.

Damian stood there, his own lip bleeding, a bruise forming near his eye, which was both red–rimmed from emotion and bloodshot from the fight. The look he fixed on her was one of profound hurt, a wound laid open for all to see.

He shook off Catherine’s supportive hand and took an unsteady step forward.

His eyes, now a dark, frantic red, held a terrifying vulnerability.

It was the look of a creature facing abandonment.

“Why? Why didn’t you come back to me?”

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Julian’s brow furrowed, and he instinctively stepped forward to

intervene.

Sophia stopped him with a slight pressure of her hand and a small, firm shake of her head.

“Let me speak to him,” she said quietly.

Julian’s gaze flicked warily to Damian. Assessing the man’s

intense but not violently erratic state, he conceded, taking a few steps back.

“Why? Answer me, Sophia!”

Damian’s obsession was a tangible thing, threatening to consume him from the inside.

He pushed closer, the air between them growing thin and painful.

A cold, sharp glint entered his gaze as he leaned in, his grip unconsciously tightening.

“We were married for three years. We are still married! How can you just throw those three years away and turn around to get engaged to someone else? When did you become so cruel?”

Finally, Sophia met his gaze fully.

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She took in the sight of him–the man who had once carried himself with such assured confidence, now edged with a harsh, weary bleakness.

It was clear the past months had not been kind to him.

But what did that have to do with her?

She was the one who had been left behind. She had never been

his true choice.

To her, he seemed like a child throwing a tantrum over a toy he’d long ignored.

It was as if he owned a fleet of cars, most of which he never drove, but the moment one was given to another, he would stamp his foot and declare, “That’s mine!”

It wasn’t love for the car.

It was the sheer, possessive intolerance of anyone else touching what he had once claimed.

His rules and his exceptions? They had always been broken only for Isabelle.

His heart had been given entirely to Isabelle, yet he still refused to let Sophia go.

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The absurdity of it was almost laughable.

Her expression remained calm, her voice level and detached.

“Mr. Damian Hall, I believe you are mistaken. I am Vivian, your uncle’s fiancée.”

She gestured faintly toward the doorway, where her family stood. “The Fitzgeralds are all in LA–my father, my mother, my brothers. If you require confirmation, I can have them verify it for you.

“As for the tragedy of your wife perishing in the fire… you have my deepest condolences. But you must accept it and move on.”

She had said the words so lightly, so easily.

She had spoken of her own past self’s “death” without a flicker of hesitation, as if referring to a distant, insignificant stranger.

With her own voice, using the title “Julian’s fiancée“, she was systematically burying every last shred of his hope.

A glacial cold swept through Damian, locking every muscle in place. Stark, utter shock was the only thing left in his eyes.

A low, broken sound escaped him—a laugh devoid of all humor, brimming only with despair and bitter irony.

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