The Unwavering Heart That Broke novel Chapter 31

Divorce. Divorce!

Lance’s grip tightened around the ice cube in his hand. He’d been holding it so long, the cold water seeped out between his fingers as it melted. His dark eyes stayed on her, shadowed and unreadable.

“We were fine before, weren’t we? Stuff like this has happened before,” he said quietly.

“I just can’t take it anymore.” Nathalie met his gaze head-on. “How much clearer do I need to be? I don’t want you.”

The corners of Lance’s eyes reddened, and his breathing got rough. “Eight years. You’re really telling me you can just walk away?”

She let out a short, bitter laugh. “Those eight years feel like a bad punchline now.”

Nathalie stepped closer, so close he could see the cool distance in her eyes. “Do you even want to know why?”

A hard ache settled in Lance’s chest. He scowled, but he couldn’t look away from her face. She felt like a stranger.

“Because all those eight years together can’t compare to one single cry from Jasper, or a single panicked phone call from Felice James.” Nathalie inched back, one step at a time, as if she was erasing herself from his life. “And you know me, Lance. I can’t just pretend nothing’s wrong.”

Suddenly the ice cube in his palm cracked and broke apart.

Lance pushed himself up, staring down at her. “You’re just making things up. There’s never been anyone else for me.”

He spun on his heel and left the old house.

He still refused to go through with the divorce.

Nathalie ran her fingers through her hair, tired and frustrated.

What would it take to get through to him? Being together like this just hurt both of them.

Night fell slowly.

She sat there, staring blankly at the little bit of open sky she could see through the window, watching stars appear one by one. Her stomach rumbled, sharp and insistent.

The door creaked open again, and Camilla stepped in. Her eyes were puffy and red. “Nathalie, are you hungry?”

But the laugh faded fast. She wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging herself for warmth in the lonely room.

…

BlueNight.

Inside the noisy club, the air buzzed with chatter and swirling liquor. The lights flickered from gold to blue and back again.

Lance kept drinking, not even bothering to count the shots.

Across the table, Bagot shot him a worried look. “Lance, stop, man. You still have stitches in your back.”

Lance stared back at him. “Have one with me.”

Bagot forced a thin smile. “Seriously, Lance. Your wound could get infected. What if it gets bad?”

Lance shrugged. “So what? Dying honestly doesn’t sound so bad right now.”