Chapter130 – Let’s just sleep
“I want to know how he met Clarissa. What their relationship is now. Not his resume!”
The assistant kept her eyes low. “Try the second to last page.”
With an irritated grunt, Dorian flipped past hundreds of pages to find two slim sheets at the bottom. He scanned them quickly.
There it was.
Atticus’s parents—deceased. His adoption by Clementine—legally filed.
Dorian’s face turned thunderous. Was Clarissa insane? Keeping a man like that so close?
Or had she already crossed the line with him long ago?
Dorian didn’t realize how tightly he’d crushed the paper in his fist until the assistant took a nervous step back from the oppressive air radiating off him.
“Um… If there’s nothing else, I’ll get back to work—”
“Get out!” he barked.
She practically sprinted from the room.
..........
Dorian couldn’t focus on anything for the rest of the day. He rushed through his work and left the office early.
He didn’t go home. Instead, he called Tristan and dragged him out to drink.
One glass after another disappeared down Dorian’s throat while Tristan watched with increasing anxiety.
“Dude, what the hell happened?” Tristan asked, eyebrows raised. “You never drink like this. What, did you fight with your wife?”
Dorian didn’t answer. Tristan laughed. “Come on, man. Women get mad sometimes. Just buy her something shiny and say sorry. That always works.”
Dorian clenched his jaw, his grip on the glass tightening. Memories of Lyra filtered through his mind—her smile, her warmth… and then Clarissa’s face, her eyes, the way she’d looked at him that day.
He exhaled sharply and stood up. “I’m going back.”
“Huh? Just like that?” Tristan blinked, disappointed. “Man, you just got here.”
“I need to see Lyra.”
Before he could leave, Tristan pulled him back down.
“You’ll see her. But relax for a minute first. Drink. You’ve already come out, might as well have a little fun before going home, yeah?”
Dorian sat back down, dazed. His mind swirled with conflict.
He’d promised himself a lifetime with Lyra. So why had he said what he did to Clarissa?
Dorian stumbled through the front door, reeking of alcohol, his steps unsteady, his breath hot and thick with whiskey.
Upstairs, Lyra lay in bed, eyes wide open, the silence pressing in around her like a weight. They hadn’t spoken in two months.
He came home every night, but they didn’t talk. They didn’t touch. They didn’t even sleep in the same bed anymore.
And tonight… he hadn’t come home at all.
Her heart clenched as she curled tighter under the covers, holding the blanket to her chest like it could hold her together. Tears slipped silently down her cheeks, soaking into the pillow she refused to sob into.
Then—click—the bedroom door opened.
Lyra turned, startled, and saw Dorian standing in the doorway. His tall frame was cast in the dim light, his eyes locked on her, unreadable. He crossed the room slowly, his movements slightly sluggish, and sat down beside her with something in his hand.
“Lyra…”
Her heart stuttered, but she turned away, her voice tight with pain and anger. “Why did you even come back? Don’t you think I’ve embarrassed you enough?”
He sighed and held out the small box he’d been carrying—a delicate, gift-wrapped token. “Don’t be mad,” he murmured. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted at you.”
Then, without waiting for her response, he wrapped his arms around her from behind.
“Don’t be angry with me anymore… please.”
At the sound of his voice—gentle, aching—Lyra turned suddenly and buried herself in his chest, sobbing harder now that she finally had him close again.
“I’m sorry, Dorian. I know I’m not like my sister. I’m not as pretty, not as smart… If you love her, I won’t fight it. I’ll let go—”
“What the hell are you saying?” Dorian interrupted, his voice sharp with disbelief. “Clarissa? You think I’m in love with Clarissa? That’s ridiculous..”
Lyra blinked up at him, her tears still spilling. “But she said—”
“She was drunk. I was just trying to take her home. That kid—Atticus—saw it and made assumptions. Clarissa didn’t know what she was saying. There’s nothing between us.”
Lyra bit her lip, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. “Is that really all it was?”
Dorian exhaled slowly. “Lyra… if I wanted to marry her, I would’ve done it years ago. But I didn’t. I married you. I’ve said everything I can. If you still don’t believe me, I don’t know what else to do.”
Lyra shook her head quickly. “No—I believe you. I do. It’s just…” she paused, her voice trembling. “I felt like maybe you regretted choosing me.”
Dorian's expression softened, and he pulled her closer. “Don’t think like that. You’re my wife. That’s all that matters.”
He brushed a kiss to her forehead, and her body finally relaxed against his.
“I’ve been thinking,” he whispered. “Let’s take a break. Go away for a little while. You quit your job anyway. Maybe it’s time you started something new… with the Lancaster Group.”
Lyra nodded faintly. “Okay…”
Dorian held her a little tighter. “Get some sleep. It’s late.”
After a moment, she turned slowly in his arms, her hand resting against his chest. Her eyes searched his face. “Dorian…”
He glanced down. “Yeah?”
A flush of pink touched her cheeks. Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “Don’t you want me tonight?”
Dorian’s breath caught.
His eyes moved over her face, soft and glowing in the low light, then drifted lower. Her nightgown had slipped slightly off her shoulder, revealing the curve of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts barely concealed beneath the thin silk.
She was the same Lyra he’d fallen in love with—pure, graceful, quietly beautiful. A softness he couldn’t find anywhere else.
Desire stirred in his blood.
He leaned in and kissed her, slow and deep, tasting the salt of her tears, the sweetness of her breath.
She sighed against him, her hands slipping around his neck, and soon she was moaning softly, breathless, his name spilling from her lips in broken gasps.
“Dorian… Dorian…”
But just as the heat built, just as he was about to lose himself in her—
Clarissa’s face flashed in his mind. Drunk. Vulnerable. Beautiful. It hit him like ice water.
His desire vanished—then abruptly pulled away and grabbed the blanket, covering them both.
“…What’s wrong?” Lyra whispered, confused.
Dorian avoided her gaze. “I’m tired,” he said hoarsely. “Let’s just sleep.”
And with that, he closed his eyes.
Lyra lay there, staring at him, her chest aching as her heart broke all over again.
After hanging up, Nathaniel turned to Ophelia and quietly explained the contents of the call.
What happened last night was the final straw. Lyra had reached her breaking point.
Without saying a word to Dorian, she packed her things and moved back into the Lancaster family home.
That evening at dinner, the atmosphere was unusually quiet—until Ophelia, ever warm and observant, broke the silence with a gentle smile. “Lyra, have you heard from Clarissa recently?”
Lyra’s hand paused mid-motion. Her eyes dropped to her plate. A sharp sting pressed behind her eyes, and before she could stop herself, a tear slipped down her cheek.
“No…” she murmured, voice thin.
Ophelia’s brow furrowed with concern. “Sweetheart, are you and Clarissa… fighting?”
Lyra shook her head quickly, forcing a fragile smile through her tears. “No, it’s not that. It’s nothing. I’m just… I’ve just been stupid. Always causing trouble for everyone around me.” She laughed, brittle. “Let’s just eat, okay?”
Ophelia reached for her hand, frowning. “How can I eat when you look like this? Did Clarissa do something to you?”