My Husband's Affair My Anniversary Gift (Lily and David) novel Chapter 32

The next morning,

She packed her bag in silence, stuffing her clothes inside without bothering to fold them. The quicker she left, the better.

Lily boarded the first train back to the city.

She kept her sunglasses on the entire ride, not because she was trying to hide from anyone in particular, but because she didn’t want anyone reading the fatigue in her eyes.

The streets outside the window were blurred with early morning fog, the sun still struggling to break through. Her reflection in the glass looked pale and tight-lipped, like someone bracing for a storm.

The city greeted her with its usual chaos—blaring horns, impatient pedestrians, and the constant buzz of ambition in the air. She slipped into it like someone returning to an old, well-worn coat.

When she finally stepped back into Noah’s apartment, the faint scent of coffee and toasted bread hung in the air. Noah, sitting cross-legged on the couch with a steaming mug, glanced up the second she walked in.

“You’re back early,” Noah said, setting the mug down.

“Oh, and...” she paused, her expression tightening, “David came looking for you”

Lily dropped her bag by the door and sighed, the irritation bubbling instantly to the surface. “I know,” she said flatly, kicking off her shoes. “I met him.”

Noah blinked, clearly surprised by the calm tone. “And?”

“And nothing,” Lily muttered, heading toward her room. “Same old David.”

She didn’t elaborate, and Noah didn’t push.

For the first few days, David didn’t disturb her. Not a call. Not a message. She didn’t know if it was his pride or if he was busy elsewhere, and frankly, she didn’t care.

She found herself breathing easier. Her days were filled with meetings, project reviews, and late nights at her desk with the city lights stretching out below her office window. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed this—this rhythm, this sense of purpose that came entirely from her own work.

Romance? That word felt foreign now, almost laughable. If she was being honest, she’d been done with that long before she admitted it to herself. What she valued now was progress. Results. The satisfaction of watching an idea turn into profit, of knowing that her work stood on its own merits.

“I already tried,” Claire replied. “He’s… hard to reach. His meetings are by invitation only, and he doesn’t respond to cold calls.”

Lily leaned back in her chair, thinking. “Then we won’t cold call. We’ll make it personal.”

Over the next two days, Lily worked her connections quietly. She called in favors, reached out to people she hadn’t spoken to in years, attended networking dinners she normally wouldn’t bother with. Each conversation brought her closer to a thread of information, until finally, someone whispered a number to her over a glass of wine.

“This is his assistant,” they said. “If you’re lucky, she’ll pass the message on. Don’t expect much—he ignores nine out of ten meeting requests.”

Luck, as it turned out, was on her side. When Lily called the number and left her proposal, she expected it to vanish into the ether. But the next afternoon, she received a short, precise text from an unknown number:

: Jacob will meet you. Tomorrow. 3 PM.

No pleasantries. No signature.