Too Late To Love Me I Already Left With His Twins (Lydia and Dave) novel Chapter 17

Lydia POV

“It’s been approved.”

I blinked.

Then sat up straighter.

“What?”

“Your proposal. Young master approved it.”

I stared at him.

“Already?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I opened the folder immediately.

At the top was my proposal.

Printed.

Reviewed.

And at the bottom of the final page, in sharp black ink, was a signature.

Dave Ashton.

Nothing extra.

No note.

No comment.

No good job.

No interesting idea.

No let’s discuss this further.

Just his signature.

Cold.

And somehow, I still smiled.

Because approved was approved.

I looked up at Bernard. “So… we’re doing it?”

“We are, ma’am.”

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

A real one.

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Small, but real.

my God.”

Bernard’s smile deepened slightly. “Would you like to begin planning today?”

“Immediately.”

And that was how my week disappeared.

Planning the event turned out to be the most alive I had felt since getting married.

Not because it was glamorous.

Because it wasn’t.

It was work.

Actual work.

Phone calls.

Emails.

Venue options.

School outreach.

Sponsor confirmations.

Book suppliers.

Guest logistics.

Table layouts.

Volunteer coordination.

Media coverage.

Bernard handled operational support like a silent miracle in a suit, while I buried myself in the structure of it all.

Every morning, I woke up with a task list.

Every afternoon, something else needed adjusting. 2

Every evening, I collapsed into bed mentally exhausted but weirdly satisfied.

I chose a clean, elegant theme for the event.

Nothing too loud.

Nothing too childish.

Just warm, thoughtful, intentional.

Books displayed beautifully.

Reading corners.

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Sponsor banners that didn’t look embarrassing.

Refreshments simple but polished..

Even the invitation list took me almost two hours because apparently, when rich people do charity, half the work is deciding which version of wealth should witness it.

And somehow, through all of it, I didn’t hear a word from Dave.

Not one.

No call.

No text.

No check–in.

Just silent approval and invisible funding.

Typical.

Still, I kept going.

Because for once, this wasn’t about him.

It was mine.

And I wanted it to be good.

No.

I wanted it to be excellent.

By the evening of the event, I was standing in front of my mirror doing my own makeup with the concentration of a woman trying not to emotionally black out.

Soft skin.

Defined lashes. 1

Gloss.

Simple.

Clean.

Pretty without looking like I was trying to audition for anybody’s approval.

I wore a fitted ivory midi dress with a light structured blazer over it.

Elegant.

Comfortable.

Me.

When I got downstairs, the venue section of the estate had already been transformed.

Warm lights.

3/10

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Elegant floral arrangements.

Stacks of books arranged like they actually mattered.

Branded donation points.

A media wall.

Tasteful seating.

Soft music floating through the air.

People were already arriving.

And for one suspended second, I just stood there and looked at it.

Because it was beautiful.

Not in the expensive way.

In the I built this from a thought in a café way.

And that mattered more.

“Ma’am?”

I turned.

Bernard stood a few steps behind me.

“It looks good,” he said.

I smiled before I could stop myself. “It does, right?”

“It does.”

That should have been enough warning.

Because life, in my experience, rarely lets you feel proud for too long before it comes to punch you in the throat.

I was still greeting guests and trying not to overthink the media table when the room shifted.

Not loudly.

Subtly.

That strange social shift that happens when someone important has entered and everyone decides to pretend they weren’t looking.

I turned toward the entrance.

And there he was.

Dave.

Tall.

Sharp.

Tailored black suit.

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The kind of face that looked expensive even when expressionless.

He walked in like he belonged everywhere automatically.

And because God clearly enjoys irony, he was beautiful enough to still be irritating about it.

My stomach did a small, deeply unnecessary thing.

Then I saw who was beside him.

Cyn.

Of course.

Of course Cyn was there.

Why would peace ever arrive alone when it could come carrying insult by the hand?

She was dressed like she had personally been styled for photographs.

Sleek dress.

Perfect hair.

That polished, effortless confidence of a woman who had never once doubted her place in a room.

And the worst part?

She didn’t walk behind him.

She walked with him.

Like habit.

I stood still for one second too long.

Then forced myself to move again.

Professional.

Poised.

Unbothered.

At least externally.

They reached where I stood.

Dave’s gaze landed on me briefly.

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st enough to edge.

Near the books.

Cyn smiled and settled herself beside him with practiced ease.

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