The Wife he threw Away (Claire and Lucian) novel Chapter 156

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SIX LUCIAN’S POV

The hospital was quieter at night.

It wasn’t completely quiet- hospitals never were.

I could hear distant footsteps, muffled conversations, and the low hum of machines somewhere beyond the corridors.

But honestly, compared to the chaos outside Dhark Holdings, this almost felt unreal.

Tessa had arranged additional security before I arrived despite my insistence that it wasn’t necessary.

Apparently, being publicly accused of abusing the country’s sweetheart made people more likely to lynch

you.

Two guards remained downstairs while I made my way through the private floor where I was told Margot

Sinclair had been admitted.

The elevator doors opened slowly.

And there she was.

Claire.

She stood near the seating area outside the ICU wing, speaking quietly with a man I immediately recognized as Professor Mason Grant, while a little girl leaned against his shoulder. A teenage boy sat by his right, trying too hard to look composed for someone his age.

Claire herself looked exhausted.

Her dark hair was pulled back loosely, strands falling around her face.

There were faint circles beneath her eyes, like she hadn’t slept properly either.

For a second, I simply looked at her.

Then Professor Grant noticed me, surprise crossing his face briefly before he stood.

“Mr. Dhark.” He greeted.

I nodded once. “Professor Grant.”

The children looked up curiously, while Claire turned to me slowly.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, there was no courtroom between us. No media, no lawyers.

Just silence that almost felt intimate.

Something I couldn’t recognize flickered across her face before she finally spoke.

“You came.”

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It wasn’t accusation. I could tell she was genuinely surprised.

“I heard about Margot,” I said quietly.

Mason thanked me politely before excusing himself to speak with one of the doctors. His son followed him shortly after, leaving Claire and I standing alone near the dimly lit hallway.

The silence between us was careful.

Not hostile, just fragile.

That’s when it suddenly hit me that she had never called- not once since everything began collapsing.

And somehow, despite knowing I had no right to expect it, it still stung.

But then again- she had stood outside her apartment with cameras shoved in her face and told the press I had never abused her.

That mattered more than she probably understood.

“You didn’t have to say anything to the media,” I said finally.

Claire looked away slightly. “They asked me a direct question.” She said. “I couldn’t evade it.”

“That didn’t mean you had to answer it.”

Claire looked at me again.

“No,” she admitted softly. “I suppose it didn’t.”

I studied her quietly for a moment.

That had been the most support she could offer me now. And I appreciated it more than she could even

fathom.

I heard a faint beeping echoing from one of the nearby rooms, and my shoulders tightened instinctively.

Claire noticed immediately.

“You really hate hospitals that much?”

I let out a slow breath.

The smell alone was bad enough- antiseptic, bleach and cold, sterile air.

It triggered memories.

“My mother spent months in one before she died,” I admitted quietly.

I watched Claire go still.

I rarely spoke about my mother- almost never. Except with Camilla, who arguably knew her better than

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me- and even that was occasional.

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“There were always machines,” I continued without thinking, staring down the corridor. “Always doctors. Always someone saying there was still hope when everyone already knew the truth.”

The words came out flatter than I intended. More irritated.

But Claire still heard what sat underneath them. And then I watched realization settle on her face.

That day at the hospital.

The infertility diagnosis.

“You wanted to leave,” she said quietly.

I held her gaze then, understanding exactly what she meant.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

Then finally-

“It wasn’t an excuse.” I said, my voice low. “You needed me there. I wasn’t.”

Claire looked down briefly.

And somehow, that reaction was worse than anger.

Because I could tell that now, she understood. But it wasn’t enough to erase it.

Only enough for it to hurt differently.

The silence seemed to soften after that.

“Dhark Holdings will survive this,” she spoke eventually.

I almost laughed at that.

Almost.

The company was bleeding from every direction imaginable.

Investors were pulling out, the public was hellbent on destroying the company, sponsors were withdrawing left and right.

Everything my family had built for generations was cracking publicly.

Still, Claire somehow believed this wasn’t the end.

“You will too.” She added, holding my gaze steadily with determined brown eyes.

Something tightened painfully in my chest.

Nobody had spoken to me like that in weeks.

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Not like a scandal or like a liability.

Like a person.

And then my eyes caught something golden on her neck.

The necklace- my mother’s necklace.

The one I had given Claire after the divorce. She still wore it.

The realization hit me so that for a brief second, my mind went completely empty.

Then she noticed me looking, and fingers moved instinctively toward it.

Suddenly, the air between us changed into something softer. Something dangerously familiar.

Too familiar.

Her eyes lifted slowly to mine, and for one intimate second, I knew she felt it too.

Then Claire stepped back first.

Like she always did now.

“I need some air,” she said quietly, and before I could answer, she walked past me toward the elevators.

I watched her walk away for longer than I should have.

About thirty minutes later, Professor Grant gathered his children to head home for the night.

His daughter was half asleep already anyways, while the boy still tried to stand straighter than he needed

“We’ll come back early tomorrow,” Professor Grant said, already tired. “The doctors said they’ll call if anything changes.”

I nodded. “I hope she recovers.”

He looked at me carefully for a moment before answering. “So do I.”

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