The Wife he threw Away (Claire and Lucian) novel Chapter 150

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY CLAIRE’S POV

Nathaniel’s home was quieter than I expected.

Not empty, not cold.

Just… calm.

The kind of calm I still didn’t entirely know what to do with.

Soft jazz played somewhere low in the background, blending into the muted sounds of the city.

The kitchen lights cast a soft, gold glow across the marble counters, and for once, there were no files spread between us.

No courtroom strategies, no headlines, no discussions about Langford vs Virex or KVEK or even Lucian

Dhark.

Just dinner.

Or at least our attempt at it.

“You’re cutting those like you’re angry at them,” Nathaniel observed dryly from across the counter.

I glanced up from the vegetables beneath my knife. “Maybe I am.”

“That tomato had a family, Claire.”

I rolled my eyes, letting out an amused breath and continued slicing the tomatoes.

Nathaniel smiled faintly at that before returning his attention to the pan on the stove.

The entire scene felt strangely domestic.

Strangely easy.

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And somehow, I realized that ease was starting to unsettle me more than difficulty ever had.

I still wasn’t entirely used to things that didn’t feel heavy.

Nathaniel moved around the kitchen comfortably, sleeves rolled to his forearms, tie long abandoned

somewhere in his bedroom.

There was no courtroom sharpness here, no carefully constructed image, no razor sharp attorney.

Just him.

And perhaps that was what made him dangerous in a completely different way.

Because he made peace feel… almost believable.

“You’re distracted,” he said after a moment of observing me.

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CHALTEN ON HUNDRED AND FIFTY CLAIRES POV

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“I’m tired.”

“That wasn’t what I said.”

I reached for another ingredient instead of answering him directly. “You analyze people for a living.” I sassed. “Has anyone ever told you it’s exhausting?”

“You like it.”

“I tolerate it.”

“That’s not the same thing.” He retorted.

A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth before disappearing again.

Nathaniel noticed it anyway- he noticed everything.

“Pass me the salt?”

I reached for it automatically, then paused.

My hand froze automatically halfway, and suddenly-

I wasn’t standing in Nathaniel’s kitchen anymore.

I was back in the Dhark mansion.

Back inside that enormous polished kitchen that stopped feeling like mine when Eva moved in.

Eva sitting comfortably at the dining table while I cooked.

Lucian there too, on his phone.

Working, but still watching. Allowing it.

The memory hit so sharply it almost felt physical.

The humiliation, the invisibility, that unbearable feeling of becoming smaller and smaller inside my own marriage until I barely recognized myself anymore.

For a moment, I couldn’t move.

Nathaniel’s expression shifted immediately, into something more attentive- concern.

“Claire?” He called. “What’s wrong?”

I blinked once and finally handed him the salt.

“I’m fine.”

He took it from me slowly, unconvinced.

And just when I thought he’d let it go, he lowered the heat on the stove and turned toward me fully.

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CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY CLAIRES POV

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“What happened?”

I hated that question.

Mostly because with Nathaniel, I often wanted to answer it honestly.

“It’s stupid,” I said quietly, hugging myself, pulling his sweat shirt closer to my body.

“I’ll decide that.” Nathaniel countered.

I exhaled slowly and leaned back against the counter.

“Cooking,” I admitted after a moment. “Sometimes it reminds me of the Dhark mansion.”

Nathaniel didn’t interrupt, so I continued.

“There was a point where I think I stopped realizing how humiliating everything had become.”

The words came out flatter than I intended, but still careful.

“I used to cook for them,” I said. “For Eva. In my own home.”

Nathaniel’s jaw tightened almost immediately.

Not with pity, I noticed, but with something darker- with anger.

But he still managed to keep his voice calm.

“Claire-”

“I think that’s what bothers me most now,” I interrupted quietly. “Not even the cheating, or what people were saying about me- well, not entirely.”

I looked down briefly at my hands.

“It’s how easily I let myself become small.”

Silence settled between us for a second, calm and gentle.

Then Nathaniel crossed the space between us slowly, and pulled me closer.

“You survived something cruel,” he said evenly, his gaze holding mine completely. “That isn’t weakness, Claire.”

Something in my chest tightened unexpectedly as I heard those words.

Because I knew he meant them.

There was no hidden judgment beneath his words, no subtle implication that I should have known better, no criticism for the fact that I had stayed and tolerated the disrespect too long.

Just understanding.

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ANEMONDRED AND FIFTY CLAIRES POV

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And somehow, that made it harder to breathe.

Nathaniel reached up carefully, brushing his fingers lightly against my jaw.

“You don’t get to blame yourself for what people did to you.”

I swallowed once.

“You make everything sound very simple.”

“No,” he said softly. “I just think you’ve spent too long carrying things that never belonged to you.”

The room felt quieter after that- warmer somehow.

Nathaniel turned back toward the stove eventually, taking over the cooking entirely after noticing I’d stopped paying attention to it several minutes ago.

“You’re banned from touching knives emotionally,” he informed me.

I gasped dramatically. “That feels discriminatory.”

“It’s preventative.”

Despite myself, I laughed quietly.

A real laugh this time.

Nathaniel glanced back at me immediately like he’d won something important.

and perhaps he had.

The rest of the evening settled into something easier after that:

Comfortable conversation, shared food, small touches that no longer felt uncertain or tense between us.

At one point, Nathaniel handed me a glass of wine and said casually, “You know, at this point, you can practically live here part-time anyway.”

I smiled at myself, thinking of how I’d somehow spent five days in his house without even realizing it.

With Nathaniel, it was easy to feel at home.

I raised an eyebrow teasingly. “Is that your subtle way of asking me to leave a toothbrush here?”

“No,” Nathaniel replied smoothly. “That was my subtle way of complaining about how much space your files take up.”

“Liar.”

“Maybe a little.” He laughed.

I shook my head, but warmth lingered in my chest anyway.

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ATRONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY CLAIRE SPOV

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For the first time in a very long time, I was finally feeling safe enough to stop performing strength.

Nathaniel’s phone buzzed against the counter, but he ignored it.