Too Late To Love Me I Already Left With His Twins (Lydia and Dave) novel Chapter 22

Merger 2

Lydia POV

Straight at me.

For one stupid second, I almost pretended I had spoken to the toaster.

Dave’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“What?”

I lifted my mug and nodded toward the files.

“The merger,” I said. “It’s not the numbers making you hesitate.”

Silence.

Then, very flatly, “And what exactly makes you think you know what I’m hesitating over?”

Rude.

Consistent, but rude.

I leaned one shoulder against the kitchen arch and took a sip of coffee before answering.

“Because if the numbers were the issue, you’d already have walked away.”

His expression didn’t change.

But something in his face sharpened.

I continued before I could overthink myself into shutting up.

“It sounds like you don’t trust the leadership.”

He stared at me.

Actually stared.

Not the usual half-dismissive glance he gave me like I was a decorative inconvenience.

This was different.

This was attention.

Dangerous thing.

I set my mug down on the counter.

“They’ve had too many reputation issues too close together,” I said. “Even if the public scandal has cooled down, if the internal culture is unstable, the numbers won’t save it. You’re not buying a company. You’re inheriting distrust.”

The room went still.

Somewhere outside, a bird had the audacity to chirp.

Dave didn’t move.

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+15 Bonus

Then, slowly, he straightened.

What do you know about mergers?”

There it was.

Not:

That’s interesting.

Not:

How did you catch that?

No.

A challenge.

A dismissal in a clean black suit.

I met his eyes anyway.

“Enough to know that bad leadership in expensive packaging is still bad leadership.”

His jaw ticked.

I knew that look now.

That was the look he wore when something had landed and he hated that it had.

Before he could say anything else, the older man returned from the terrace.

His eyes flicked between us.

Then politely away, as if he had interrupted something that definitely was not happening.

Dave looked back down at the papers.

Just like that.

Conversation over.

“This isn’t a school case study, Lydia.”

And there it was.

The slap.

Not loud enough to make a scene.

Just sharp enough to leave a mark.

I don’t know why it still managed to sting.

Maybe because I hadn’t offered my opinion to impress him.

Maybe because I had actually been right.

Or maybe because there is something uniquely humiliating about being treated like your mind is decorative.

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I picked up my coffee again.

Clearly,” I said.

And walked away.

I didn’t let myself look back.

Not even once.

I spent the next hour pretending to focus on my coursework while internally replaying the interaction like a woman who absolutely did not care and was unfortunately lying.

It was annoying.

Because I knew I wasn’t stupid.

I knew I had seen something real.

I also knew better than to waste my dignity trying to prove it to a man who had already decided what category to place me in.

Wife.

Furniture.

Occasional inconvenience.

Choose your fighter.

By evening, I had almost succeeded in burying the whole thing under iced coffee, coursework, and deeply unserious celebrity PR scandals on social media.

Almost.

Then, at around seven, I heard Cyn’s voice.

Wonderful.

• 15 Bonus

very still.

Very quiet.

And for one horrible second, all I could hear was my own pulse.

Not because Cyn had said something brilliant.

Because she had said what I said.

Cleaner, maybe.

More polished.

More boardroom-friendly.

But the same thing.

The exact same thing.

And he had listened.

Of course he had.

Because it wasn’t really about the advice, was it?

It was about the mouth it came from.

I took one slow step back from the door.

Then another.

Then turned and walked to my room before my dignity could do anything embarrassing like crack in the hallway.

Inside, I shut the door gently behind me.

No dramatic slam.

No tears.

I was too tired for both.

I sat at the edge of the bed and looked down at my hands.

It wasn’t even that he thought I was wrong.

That would have been easier to swallow.

No.

The worst part was realizing he had never really considered I could be right first.

That was the pattern.

That was the wound.

Not rejection.

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Pre-dismissal.

Dke my thoughts arrived already wearing a lower value.

I let out a breath and stood up again.

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Then I crossed the room, opened my laptop, and went back to my course notes.

Because if the world insisted on treating my mind like it was optional, then the least I could do was sharpen it until one day they would choke on it.

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