My Husband's Affair My Anniversary Gift (Lily and David) novel Chapter 55

On the drive to the location, David leaned back in the leather seat of his car, one hand pressed to his temple. He hadn’t slept all night at the hospital with Marina, and now his head throbbed. But exhaustion didn’t dull the chaos inside him.

Lily’s face kept appearing in his mind—her eyes wide with shock after he slapped her, the way she had staggered back, pale, unable to even defend herself.

His chest tightened again.

He hadn’t meant to… He hadn’t even thought. When Marina had wailed about the child, something inside him snapped. He had acted like a fool, like a man possessed.

But still—he had hit her.

His hand clenched in his lap. He had never raised his hand to Lily before. Not once. She had infuriated him, defied him, provoked him countless times, but he had always restrained himself. Last night… he had crossed a line.

And now she was gone.

Marina’s pale face also surfaced in his memory. “David, I lost our child.”

The words should have cut him. Should have made him angry, grieving. But they hadn’t. He had felt… nothing. Just a vague numbness. The child hadn’t even felt real to him. That night with her—it was a drunken mistake, a lapse of judgment he barely remembered. He hadn’t planned it, hadn’t wanted it.

When the doctor had announced the miscarriage, he hadn’t felt loss. Only a strange sense of relief.

He pressed his thumb and forefinger to his brow, exhaling heavily.

What the hell was happening to him?

The car pulled up in front of the hotel. A modest place, nothing like the kind of luxury Lily was accustomed to. David frowned, staring at the entrance.

So she really meant to live like this?

The lobby smelled faintly of coffee and disinfectant. The receptionist, a young man in glasses, looked up with a polite smile that faltered when he recognized the famous David Hardison.

“Excuse me,” David said, his tone calm but commanding. “I’m looking for Lily Collins. She checked in yesterday.”

The receptionist hesitated, glancing nervously at the screen. “Sir, I… I’m afraid we can’t disclose guest information without their consent....”

David’s eyes hardened. “Then consent will not be necessary.”

His phone buzzed before he could press further. It was his assistant again.

“Sir, Madam rented a room under her real name. Room 407.”

David’s grip tightened around the phone.

“Good,” he said quietly, then ended the call.

The receptionist paled when David walked past without another word, heading straight for the elevators.

On the fourth floor, David stood in front of the door with the golden plate: 407.

For the first time in years, hesitation caught him. His hand hovered above the wood, not knocking yet.

What would she do when she saw him? Scream? Cry? Demand he leave?

His jaw clenched. He could almost hear her voice, sharp and bitter: “Sign the divorce papers so I can be free.”

His chest burned at the thought. Divorce. Freedom. Without him.

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