The Wife he threw Away (Claire and Lucian) novel Chapter 39

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE LUCIAN’S POV

I stepped out of the car without looking at the reporters still lingering behind the gates, with large microphones and even larger cameras. The mansion doors opened before I reached them.

Inside, the air felt as controlled as everything else in my life was.

My phone vibrated again. And again. And again.

I did not check it until I reached my study.

I removed my jacket first, then loosened my tie next. Then I finally looked at the screen of my phone.

Notifications stacked over each other.

It was mostly PR, then board members.

Two directors requesting “clarification.”

Three missed calls from my media advisor.

I opened the first article.

The clip played automatically.

The reporter lunging toward Claire, the microphone nearly striking her shoulder, and the split second where she stepped back.

And then-me.

My hand pushing the reporter away… my other arm pulling her behind me.

The frame paused at the most unfortunate second possible.

Claire against me. Her body pressed to mine, my hand at her waist.

The headline beneath it read:

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“INSTINCT OR INTIMACY? LUCIAN DHARK DEFENDS WIFE AMID DIVORCE BATTLE”

I watched it once.

Then again. After watching it the third time, I set my phone down on my desk.

I had not calculated that movement.

I had not weighed the consequences.

I had simply reacted.

That was unwise, to say the least. 1

I had not been taught to react. I had been taught to anticipate. To control.

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But Claire… something about her always made me lose control. And that’s what made her so dangerous.

“She looks fragile in that frame.”

Eva’s voice cut cleanly through the silence.

I did not turn immediately.

Somehow, she had managed to enter the room without me hearing her footsteps. That wouldn’t have happened if I was not looking at that clip- at Claire.

Eva stood near the doorway of the study, immaculate as always. Her dress was cream silk, her posture was perfect.

Had I not known better, I wouldn’t have sensed her agitation.

But her eyes were sharp instead of seductive.

“She isn’t,” I replied.

“Do you have any idea what that looks like?” Eva asked as she walked inside.

“It looks like I prevented a lawsuit.” I shrugged

“It looks like you’re still protecting her.” Eva corrected sharply. 1

I began removing my cufflinks.

One, then the other, all the while saying nothing.

That silence irritated Eva more than denial would have.

“They’re calling me a mistress,” she continued, her composure wearing thin. “An opportunist! A home- wrecker! Do you know how humiliating that is?” 1

“You involved yourself publicly before the divorce was finalized,” I pointed out.

“I did that for you.” Eva said, hurt evident in her voice. “For us.” She added, placing a hand on her

abdomen.

Her voice cracked slightly on the last word.

I finally looked at her.

“You defended her like she was yours,” Eva accused.

“She is mine,” I replied automatically.

The words settled heavily into the room like a bomb.

I heard them after they left my mouth.

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And so did Eva.

Her face completely lost color. “You said this was over.” She spoke like she was in a daze.

“It is.”

“Then why does it not look over?” She asked quietly.

I didn’t answer.

Because there was no answer that would not complicate things even further.

“You’re still in love with her.” Eva accused.

The accusation was not dramatic. It was surgical- precise.

I poured myself a drink before responding.

“That was irrelevant,” I said, knowing very well that it was not a denial.

Eva knew it too.

“Not to me.” Her hands curled slightly at her sides as she spoke.

I took a small sip of my drink instead of replying.

When she noticed I wasn’t reacting or even bothered, she shifted tactics. 1

I recognized it instantly.

Her hand moved to her abdomen-subtle, but protective.

“I’m carrying your child,” she said softly. “That should matter more than optics.”

My gaze moved to her stomach, then back to her face.

I walked across the room.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“I was nauseous earlier.” Eva replied in a beat.

“When?”

“This afternoon.” She answered quickly.

I frowned. “You weren’t nauseous at dinner last night.”

She hesitated a fraction too long. And of course I noticed it.

“It comes and goes,” she said.

I nodded slowly.

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I had negotiated billion-dollar contracts on weaker inconsistencies than that.

I studied her pretty face more carefully.

“Have you scheduled the follow-up appointment?” I questioned.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Next week.” Eva answered with a shrug.

“With whom?”

She blinked. “The same doctor.”

“Name?”

“Lucian,” she exhaled sharply, frustrated. “Why are you interrogating me?”

“I am asking simple questions.” I stated firmly.

“You don’t trust me?”

I held her gaze. “I verify everything. You know that.”

Eva looked away first.

“It’s stressful enough,” she said. “The press, the backlash… I need stability right now.”

I thought back to the first appointment she had insisted on attending alone.

The ultrasound images I had seen only on her phone.

No billing confirmation forwarded to my office.

No documentation.

For a man like myself who observed and verified everything down to the littlest detail, I had accepted this

on verbal assurance.

Interesting? Or unwise.

I took another sip of my drink, choosing to say nothing.

But the doubt had already been planted.

“Nathaniel Vale,” I said after a moment.

Eva stiffened almost immediately.

“What about him?” She asked.

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“Apparently, he knows Claire.”

“From law school,” Eva replied quickly. Too quickly.

I narrowed my eyes narrowed at her. “You knew that.”

“I heard it mentioned.” Eva shrugged, trying to appear casual. But I knew her better than that.

“When?” I questioned.

“A while ago.”

“How long?” I pressed.

She hesitated then. “Does it matter?”

Yes.

It mattered very much.

I did not like being the last to know about anything.

Especially not dynamics inside my own litigation. Or worse, in my marriage.

I studied Eva’s face again.

She held my gaze longer this time.

I could tell she was getting defensive.

“You think I’m hiding something?” she asked quietly.

“I think,” I said, “information should reach me before it reaches the press.”

She exhaled sharply. “You’re angry about the clip. About how it looked.”

“I was not angry.”

Eva laughed softly. “You shoved a reporter for her.”

I did not correct her… because it wasn’t a lie.

Later that night, Eva retreated upstairs, quietly furious, while I remained in my study.

The house settled into its usual silence.

I replayed the conference room moment in my mind again.

Claire sitting across from me, composed.