Too Late To Love Me I Already Left With His Twins (Lydia and Dave) novel Chapter 25

Dave POV

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

She laughed again.

Still humorless.

“You have a wife, Dave.”

The words landed harder than they should have.

Because technically, yes.

Obviously.

But hearing it out loud in a setting like this made it sound less like paperwork and more like accusation.

I said nothing. 1

She took that as permission to continue.

“I know what this arrangement was supposed to be,” she said. “I know what you told me. I know what you promised me. But I’m tired of sharing space in a life where I’m never the main thing.” 1

My jaw tightened.

“This again.”

“Yes, this again.” She leaned forward. “Because no matter how much money you spend or how many dinners you book or how many bags you buy, the truth is still the truth. I’m not your real life, Dave. I’m just the part of it you come to when it’s convenient.” 1

I exhaled slowly. “We’ve had this conversation before.”

“And nothing changed.”

“Because there was nothing to change.”

That did it.

Her face hardened in a way I had never really seen before.

Not soft anger.

Not emotional frustration.

Something colder.

More final.

She stood.

I looked up at her.

1/6

“Sit down.”

“Cyn.”

+15 Bonus

“No, actually, listen to yourself.” She shook her head once. “You don’t even hear it, do you? You don’t hear how every single thing with you is about structuré, control, convenience. You don’t love people, Dave. You allocate them.”1

That one hit.

She reached for her bag.

“I deserve to be chosen properly,” she said. “Not managed.”

Then she turned and walked away.

Just like that.

Just heels against polished tile and a woman leaving me in the middle of a table full of expensive effort.

I stayed where I was for a long moment.

Not because I thought she’d come back.

Because I was too annoyed to move.

The fireworks ended.

The violin stopped.

The city kept going like nothing had happened.

And beneath the anger, beneath the irritation, beneath the bruised ego and the general inconvenience of being broken up with in public after paying for dessert, there was something worse.

A quiet, deeply unwelcome feeling in my chest that sounded suspiciously like:

She meant it.

I hated that.

I hated it enough to leave without finishing the meal.

The drive home was silent.

I didn’t answer the two calls from my assistant.

Ignored one from legal.

Muted the board group chat.

By the time the gates opened and the car rolled into the driveway, my mood had curdled into something sharp and restless.

I stepped out before the driver could come around.

The house was lit.

2/6

Warm.

Still.

+15 Bonus

Annoyingly peaceful.

Like it had no business looking this calm when my night had just gone to hell in tailored shoes.

I walked in, loosened my tie, and shut the door harder than necessary.

The sound echoed.

A second later, I heard movement from the living room.

Then Lydia’s voice.

“Careful,” she said dryly, without looking up. “The door didn’t personally offend you.”

I stopped.

She was on the floor.

Actually on the floor.

Legs folded to one side, surrounded by what looked like papers, sticky notes, open markers, and her laptop. A mug sat beside her. So did a half-empty bowl of popcorn.

There was a large white board propped against the sofa with color-coded notes all over it.

I looked at the board.

Then at her.

Then back at the board.

“What are you doing?”

She glanced up briefly.

“Saving the world.”

I stared at her.

She pointed lazily at the papers around her. “Or at least pretending to. I’m working on my final course project.”

She looked comfortable.

Oversized shirt.

Shorts.

Hair tied up in a messy knot that looked like it had surrendered halfway through the day.