Her Divorce, His Downfall (Sophia and Damian) novel Chapter 150

Chapter 150

Weston and Lucas turned, following his line of sight. The door eased open, pushed by a pale, slender hand. A woman stepped inside.

It was Olivia.

Dressed in a soft, moon–white dress, she carried a thermal soup container, her demeanor gentle yet visibly hesitant.

“Damian, your assistant mentioned you were badly injured and just woke up. I made some soup–thought it might help you recover.”

The light in Damian’s eyes died instantly. Disappointment, raw and unconcealed, tinged his tone. “What are you doing here?”

“I was worried about you,” she replied, glancing toward the others.

“Mr. Heade, Mr. Hunt, what a surprise to see you both here.”

As a pianist at the Platinum Palace Club, Olivia recognized Weston and Lucas–both top–tier VIPs. She offered a polite, practiced smile.

Weston’s brow tightened almost imperceptibly.

Something about Olivia unsettled him.

On the surface, she played the delicate, vulnerable type, but he’d seen another side.

That time when Isabelle provoked her, she hadn’t backed down. Not many girls from modest backgrounds would dare.

Her eyes, so much like Sophia’s, held a cool resilience. But beneath that, Weston detected something else—a flicker of calculation.

He’d met enough people to trust his instincts.

For now, though, out of respect for Damian, he simply nodded in acknowledgment.

Lucas, ever cheerful and unguarded, grinned.

“Wow, Olivia, you cook, too? Damian only looked out for you that one night, and you’re already bringing him soup? You really hold a grudge–I mean, a ‘grudge of gratitude“.”

“Lucas, shut it!” Damian snapped, irritation spiking.

The sharp movement tugged at the wounds on his back, sending a bolt of pain through him. He clenched his teeth, fighting the sting.

Over the days of unconsciousness, Damian had been trapped in dreams–visions of Sophia watching him carry Isabelle from the fire, her eyes filled with despair.

Dreams of her whipping him, turning away despite his pleas.

And Julian whispering into her ear, touching her with a casual intimacy that made his blood run cold.

No. Not that!

He’d wrestled with the nightmares, tormented.

If he had sinned, let Sophia be the one to punish him–not this. Not becoming engaged to his own uncle to humiliate him.

Death would be cleaner. This was torture–a blade to the heart. It was worse than dying.

She was his wife. No one else’s. Not Julian’s. Not anyone’s.

If heaven stood in his way, he’d tear it down before letting anyone else lay a hand on her.

She hated him. And now Sophia was marrying Julian, returning as his future aunt by marriage.

She meant to punish him, using Julian’s status to crush him, to return every hurt with blood.

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