The Rejected Luna (Avery and Kaden) novel Chapter 158

**Between the Wings of Twilight Lies the Memory of You**
**by Liren Ava Roen**
**Chapter 158**

“In my office.”

With those curt words, he pivoted and strode into the room, leaving me momentarily stunned.

Gordon, busying himself with the remnants of our earlier chaos, wouldn’t even spare me a glance. His back was turned, a clear indication of his desire to avoid any confrontation.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose, feeling the weight of the moment, and set my coffee cup down with a soft thud. Taking a deep breath, I gathered the documents and followed Steven into his office, a place that now felt too pristine, devoid of the clutter that had once mirrored the turmoil of our last encounter.

The office was an oasis of order. The desk was meticulously organized, the air scented faintly of lemon polish. Steven was seated in his chair, casually attired in a crisp white shirt paired with a striking blue trench coat that accentuated his fair complexion, almost lending a softness to his otherwise sharp features.

Yet, despite his polished appearance, his expression was devoid of warmth. A tightness settled in my chest; I was acutely aware of the fragile nature of our negotiation. To avoid provoking him further, I even took the initiative to fetch a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, hoping to diffuse the tension.

“Mr. Lancaster, here you go.” I placed the bottle on the desk before him, my heart racing as I watched his reaction.

He glanced at the water, his eyes flickering briefly in my direction, but his gaze quickly returned to the screen, a sardonic twist gracing his lips.

“I couldn’t possibly accept. You think so little of me. Don’t trouble yourself with false kindness.”

A wave of frustration washed over me.

Ah, the passive-aggressive dance had commenced.

Choosing my battles wisely, I held my tongue and set the water bottle down, then pulled out a chair and laid the three copies of the divorce agreement before him, the papers crisp and ready for his signature.

“Alright, let’s discuss the divorce. I’ve made some revisions to the terms. There are three options here. The first…”

Before I could elaborate, he interrupted, his tone flat and unyielding.

“That night, I told you to wait for me at the hotel. I told you we needed to talk. Why didn’t you wait? Why did you leave with Horace?”

His words echoed in my mind, a haunting reminder of that fateful night. *Let me know what the hospital report says. Call me when you get back to the hotel. Wait for me there. We need to talk. Stay away from him when you get back. Don’t let him get hurt because of you.*

I pressed my lips together, my heart pounding as I observed him.

“I’ve prepared three new options for you. First, I walk away with nothing, and you cover Uncle Julian’s future medical expenses. Second, you give me a one-million-dollar settlement and a recommendation for a top cardiac surgeon. Third, you give me a ten-million-dollar settlement.”

“I promise that after the divorce, we will be strangers. I will never appear before you again. Just pick one and sign. I have all my documents with me. As soon as you sign, we can go to the registrar’s office.”

Steven was meticulous, a stickler for details, so I had come armed with everything necessary. His return must have meant that he had, like in our past life, realized his feelings for Verna.

Offering him a divorce now, with terms so reasonable, he should have been inclined to accept.

He leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes scanning the documents laid out before him, but he remained unnervingly still, a statue carved from stone.

Just as I was about to urge him to make a decision, he leaned forward, his long, elegant fingers wrapping around the agreements.

And then, in a swift, shocking motion, he tore all three of them into shreds.

The sound of paper ripping echoed in the silence, a stark contrast to the tension that had filled the room moments before. He crumpled the pieces into a tight ball and, with a flick of his wrist, sent them sailing into the trash, as if discarding not just the documents, but the very notion of our past.