The Wife he threw Away (Claire and Lucian) novel Chapter 252

We lingered over dinner long after our plates were empty.

Neither of us seemed particularly eager to end the evening.

Outside, the city glowed beneath my apartment windows, bright headlights threading through the streets. Inside my apartment, everything felt warm and impossibly peaceful.

Lucian swirled the remaining wine in his glass slowly.

“You know,” I said, “I’ve been thinking a lot lately.”

He raised a brow. “That’s always dangerous.”

I smiled. “It usually is.”

He waited patiently for me to speak.

“I still don’t understand why we never had any children.” I felt my mouth go bitter as I spoke those words out loud.

Lucian’s expression immediately turned serious, his fingers tightening slightly around his wine glass.

I looked down for a moment before meeting his eyes again.

“I mean the hospital couldn’t find anything wrong with either of us, so what was the problem?”

For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

That silence would have crushed me once.

But tonight… it didn’t.

I had come to understand that Lucian’s silence didn’t always mean nonchalance or neglect. It didn’t even mean contempt.

Sometimes, silence was what made the most sense to him… somehow.

After a while, Lucian finally reached across the table and covered my hand with his.

“I don’t care anymore.”

I searched his face for any sign of dishonesty or exaggeration.

But he looked so certain… like there was no room for doubt.

“So many years of my life,” he said softly, “were spent believing having a child was the only thing missing.”

A sad smile tugged at his lips. “I was wrong.”

I squeezed his hand.

“I just want you.” His voice never wavered. “I don’t care if we have children. And I don’t care if we never do.”

He continued. “I don’t care what our family looks like, I don’t care what that miserable board of directors think anymore.”

That brought a light chuckle out of me.

Lucian looked directly into my eyes. “I just want to spend whatever time I have left with you.”

My chest tightened painfully. “I still want children.” I admitted.

Other than my career, children were the one thing I wanted more than anything. For years…

“I know.”

“I always will.” I added.

“I know.” Lucian repeated.

“I’ve thought about adoption.”

His expression softened then. “I’d love to adopt.”

I blinked. “You would?”

“If that’s what makes you happy.”

I smiled. “I was thinking…” I laughed quietly. “…two.”

He raised an eyebrow. Only two?”

“Okay, maybe three.”

He pretended to think about it. “You’re an ambitious woman.”

“I’ve had plenty of time to plan.”

He chuckled. “I can tell.”

I looked down at our joined hands. “I really do want a family.”

“I know.”

“I always imagined a noisy house with children running everywhere. Camilla pretending to complain while secretly doting them.”

That made him laugh. “That, I can picture.”

“So can I.”

He suddenly grew thoughtful. “Claire, my father wasn’t…”

He paused. “… he wasn’t the kind of father I’d want to become.”

I looked up.

“He taught me how to lead a company, and how to be brave. But he never really taught me how to be someone’s safe place.”

His gaze drifted toward the window. “I don’t know if I’d be any better.”

I sighed, reaching farther across the table until both my hands were wrapped around his.

“I think you’d be wonderful, Lucian.”

He looked surprised.

“I mean it.” I added firmly. “You are disciplined, you keep your promises, you protect the people you love even when it costs you.”

A small smile touched his lips.

“You also have an enormous heart— you just spent years pretending you didn’t.”

His eyes never left mine as I spoke.

“And I think…” I said quietly, “…our children would be very lucky to have you.”

For a second, he couldn’t speak.

Then he laughed softly. “I’ve missed hearing you believe in me.”

“I never stopped.”

His expression changed into something intense. Something that made my pulse quicken.

The room suddenly felt much smaller, and silence stretched between us, heavy with everything we weren’t saying.

Lucian’s gaze wandered slowly over my face. Carefully, like he was trying to memorize me all over again.

I felt heat creep into my cheeks. “What?”

“I almost forgot how beautiful you are.”

I laughed nervously. “That’s the wine talking.”

“No.” He said, voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve always been very beautiful.”

“You just stopped believing it.”

The way he looked at me… he hadn’t looked at me like that in years.

And now… it made my heartbeat stumble.

I stood abruptly, collecting our plates before the moment swallowed me whole.

“You are absolutely not helping.”

He smiled knowingly. “I’m not trying to.”

“I need to clear the table.”

“You suddenly seem very interested in dishes.” He teased.

“I am!” I retorted.

“You weren’t five minutes ago.”

I shook my head, then pointed a fork at him. “Don’t move.”

He leaned back obediently. “I’ve noticed that’s become your favorite sentence.”

“It has.”

“You look very authoritative.”

“I am authoritative.”

“Yes, counselor.”

I carried the dishes into the kitchen, trying very hard to ignore the fact that I could still feel his eyes following me the entire time.

When I returned, he hadn’t moved— mostly.

“You shifted!” I accused.

“Barely.” He shrugged.

“But I noticed.”

“You always do.”

I smiled despite myself. “Come on.”

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