The Wife he threw Away (Claire and Lucian) novel Chapter 251

By the time we stepped inside my apartment, the city already felt far away.

The silence wrapped around us almost immediately.

No cameras.

No reporters.

No lawyers.

No judges.

Just the soft hum of the refrigerator and the muffled sounds of traffic somewhere below my windows.

I locked the door behind us and turned around to find Lucian standing in the middle of my living room, seemingly taking everything in.

His gaze moved slowly over the bookshelves, the framed photographs, the stack of legal journals on the coffee table and the half-finished jigsaw puzzle Daniel had insisted we start weeks ago.

“What?” I asked, smiling.

He shook his head. “I forgot how much this place feels like you.”

I laughed as I set my handbag on the console table. “You said that downstairs.”

“I meant it.” Lucian said as he walked over to the bookshelf and ran his fingers lightly across one of the frames.

“You’ve made this place into a home.” He said.

I shrugged. “I tried.”

He looked back at me.

“You succeeded.”

Something about hearing him say that made me unexpectedly emotional.

For years, I’d wanted him to see me.

Not just look at me, but to see me.

And somehow… he finally did.

I cleared my throat before the silence became too dangerous.

“You should sit down.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve been saying that all week.”

“I have been fine.”

“You were stabbed.”

“And shot.”

“And discharged against medical advice.”

He smiled. “I wasn’t discharged.”

“You escaped.”

“I negotiated.”

I rolled my eyes so hard it actually made him laugh.

“Sit.”

“Yes, counselor.”

He obeyed with exaggerated reluctance, lowering himself carefully onto the sofa.

I pointed a warning finger at him. “And don’t move.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“You’ll hear it again.”

I disappeared into my bedroom long enough to grab a change of clothes before pausing in the hallway.

“Oh.”

He looked up.

“What?”

“The bathroom cabinet.”

“Hm?”

“Pain medication.”

“Take it.”

He made a face.

“I don’t like how it makes me feel.”

“I don’t care.”

“Claire—”

“I wasn’t asking.”

He sighed dramatically.

“I’ve never liked being bossed around.”

I smiled despite myself. “No, you didn’t.”

“No.”

He grinned. “But I think I’m starting to.”

Nearly twenty minutes later, I stepped out of the bathroom with damp hair and comfortable clothes, toweling the ends absently.

The apartment smelled… different. Warm. Like food.

I frowned.

“Lucian?” I called.

“I’m in here.”

I followed his voice into the kitchen and stopped quickly short.

He was standing in front of the microwave with one hand resting on the counter while it counted down the last few seconds.

I stared at him with wide eyes.

He looked at me. “What?”

“I told you not to move.”

“I moved responsibly.”

“Lucian, you have stitches.” I stated, frustrated.

“I still know how to operate a microwave.”

“I specifically told you to rest.”

I reached across the table instinctively. “See?” I hissed. “You shouldn’t laugh.”

“You were the one impersonating him.”

“I regret nothing.”

He shook his head, smiling. “I remember you telling me afterward that he’d spent more time talking to me than explaining the wine.”

“He absolutely had.”

“You were jealous.”

I scoffed dramatically. “I was not.”

“You were.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “I simply wanted to finish the tour before sunset.”

He looked at me knowingly.

I felt my cheeks warm. “Fine.” I admitted. “Maybe I was a little jealous.”

His smile softened. “I loved that.”

“You loved me being jealous?”

“I loved knowing you wanted me.”

I looked down into my wine. “I always wanted you.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

When I looked back up, he was already watching me.

Not speaking.

Just…

Looking.

My heart stumbled.

I cleared my throat and reached for another bite of pasta.

“So…”

I said, mostly to break the intensity between us.

“…what happens after the trial?”

He leaned back thoughtfully.

“I don’t know.”

“I was actually asking about work.”

“I know.”

He smiled.

“But work isn’t the first thing I think about anymore.”

His answer lingered between us.

And for the first time in a very long time…

The future didn’t feel frightening.

It simply felt unwritten.