The Wife he threw Away (Claire and Lucian) novel Chapter 219

CHAPTER TWO HUNDRED AND NINETEEN_CLAIRE’S POV

By the time Nathaniel and I arrived at the police station, I felt like I had been awake for a hundred years.

My eyes burned. My head hurt like I’d been hit. My chest felt even worse.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Lucian lying beneath white hospital sheets, surrounded by machines.

Not moving. Not even breathing on his own.

I had spent so long beside his hospital bed, praying. Bargaining with a God I hadn’t spoken to properly in years

And now I was back here.

Because apparently, the world wouldn’t even let me take a break.

The police station buzzed with activity.

Officers moved quickly through the hallways, phones rang continuously, life continued.

It was almost as though Lucian wasn’t lying in intensive care, fighting for his life.

Nathaniel walked beside me quietly.

Close enough that if I stumbled, he could catch me. Yet far enough that I didn’t feel smothered.

He’d barely left my side since the hospital.

For that, and many other things he had done for me, I was grateful.

A detective met us near the elevators. “Ms. Moreau.”

I nodded. “How is he?” The detective asked.

The question caught me off guard. “Still alive.” I answered after a moment.

The man’s expression softened. “We’ve heard he’s in critical condition.”

I swallowed. “He is.”

The detective nodded slowly, then his face hardened again.

Back to business.

“Hart Sullivan is downstairs.”

Immediately, my stomach twisted.

The detective continued. “He has requested an attorney.”

Of course he had.

“But before his lawyer arrived,” the detective said, “he made one request.”

i already knew.

Somehow.

“He asked for me.”

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HUNDRED AND SALTEEN TARY V

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The detective looked surprised.

“How did you know?”

Because this was Hart.

Because everything was always about me.

Because he had built an entire campaign of terror around my existence.

I rubbed my forehead.

“What did he say exactly?”

The detective glanced at his notes.

“He said he would only speak if Claire Moreau was present.”

Nathaniel muttered a curse under his breath.

I couldn’t blame him.

The detective looked between us.

“We can refuse.”

I thought about it for exactly three seconds, then shook my head in response.

“No.”

Nathaniel immediately looked at me.

“Claire.”

“We need answers.” I retorted, defiant.

“You don’t owe him this.”

“I know.” I said, my voice low and tired. “But if there’s information that helps us destroy Eva, helps us protect Lucian, helps us make sure nobody else gets hurt…”

I exhaled.

“…then I’m going in.”

Nathaniel looked like he hated every word.

But he didn’t argue again. Because he knew I was right.

The detective led us downstairs.

The lower levels of police stations always felt different. It always felt colder and darker, like the air itself was heavier.

Eventually, we reached the observation room.

Behind the glass sat Hart Sullivan.

My pulse instantly accelerated.

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He looked even worse than the last time I’d seen him.

Bruised, cut and disheveled.

His face carried fresh injuries from his fight with Lucian.

One eye was swollen.

There were scratches across his jaw.

His knuckles looked raw.

But his smile remained.

That awful, evil smile that never reached his eyes.

The detective noticed my reaction.

“You don’t have to do this.”

I stared at Hart.

Then remembered Lucian lying unconscious.

Remembered the blood.

The ICU.

The ventilator.

The life support.

Hart had done that.

Hart.

And suddenly I wasn’t afraid anymore.

I was angry.

“Open the room.”

The detective hesitated.

Then nodded.

A moment later the door opened.

I stepped inside.

Hart immediately looked up.

And smiled.

“Claire.”

The way he said my name made my skin crawl.

I sat down across from him.

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Placed my recorder on the table.

Turned it on.

Then folded my hands together.

Hart’s smile widened.

“You came.”

“You asked for me.”

His eyes gleamed.

“I knew you would.”

I ignored that.

“Your lawyer isn’t here yet.”

“I know.”

“Then why ask for me?”

Hart leaned back in his chair.

Relaxed.

Comfortable.

As though this were a social visit.

“Because I wanted to see you.”

I felt physically ill.

“Try again.”

Hart laughed.

A genuine laugh.

“I missed that.”

“What?”

“The way you look at me.”

I stared.

“What are you talking about?”

“You hate me.”

His smile widened.

“And unlike everyone else, you don’t pretend.”

Jesus Christ.

+15 Banus

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is Banus

WALTER TWO HUNDRED AND NINETEEN CLAME 5 POV

15

He was insane.

Actually insane.

I took a slow breath.

“No.”

I corrected quietly.

“I don’t hate you.”

That seemed to surprise him.

For the first time.

Even slightly.

I leaned forward.

“I pity you.”

The smile disappeared.

Good.

“I think you’re pathetic.”

Silence.

“I think you wasted your entire life worshipping a woman who doesn’t care whether you live or die.”

His jaw tightened.

There it was.

The first crack.

“Be careful.”

I almost laughed.

“Why?”

Hart’s eyes darkened.

“Because you don’t understand Eva.”

1 “No.”

I shook my head.

“I understand her perfectly.”

His expression hardened.

I continued.

“She’s selfish.”

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HAPTER TWO HUNDRED AND NINETEEN CLAIRE SPOV

Silence.

“Manipulative.”

More silence.

“Vindictive.”

Hart stared at me.

“And when this is over,” I said quietly, “she will save herself.”

The room became still.

Dangerously still.

Then Hart smiled again.

But it looked forced now.

Artificial.

“You think she abandoned me.”

“I know she did.”

The smile vanished.

Immediately.

A hit.

Directly on target.

I pressed forward.

“Eva was questioned today.”

Hart’s eyes flickered.

Tiny movement.

Almost invisible.

But I saw it.

“I wonder.”

I tilted my head.

“Did she mention you?”

Silence.

“I wonder if she asked how you were.”

Nothing.

“I wonder if she even cared.”

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HARTER TWO HUNDSED AND NINE BEEN

LAZINE

PrW

Hart’s hands clenched.

Hard.

And suddenly I knew.

The answer was nō.

Of course it was.

Eva hadn’t asked.

Hadn’t cared.

Hadn’t even tried.

Hart stood abruptly.

The chair scraped loudly across the floor.

Officers outside immediately moved.

I remained seated.

Hart stared down at me.

Breathing harder now.

“Watch your mouth.”

I looked up calmly. “No.”

His entire face twisted.

Anger, humiliation, rage.

Then-unexpectedly-pain.

Real pain.

The kind nobody could fake.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

I filed it away immediately.

Hart sat down again.

Slowly.

The detective’s voice crackled through the speaker.

“Ms. Moreau, are you okay?”

I never looked away from Hart.

“Perfectly.”

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Hart laughed bitterly.

“You think you’ve won.”

“I think you’re in handcuffs.”

That shut him up.

For several seconds.

Then he looked directly at me.

And said quietly:

“You still don’t understand.”

A chill slid down my spine. “What don’t I understand?”

Hart smiled slowly, then he spoke.

“Lucian isn’t the only person who’s going to die.”

My heart stopped.

Outside the glass, detectives immediately reacted.

But I didn’t let myself move. I didn’t even blink or look away.

Because I wanted him talking- I needed him talking.

Even as terror clawed its way through my chest.

Hart leaned forward, the smile returning to his face, wider than before.

And for the first time since entering the room-

I realized he wasn’t finished.

P

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