Too Late To Love Me I Already Left With His Twins (Lydia and Dave) novel Chapter 26

Hmm

Lydia POV

Dave came home with a face I had never seen before.

Not angry.

Not even his usual emotionally constipated billionaire expression.

This one was worse.

He looked tired.

The kind of tired that sits behind a person’s eyes after something has gone very wrong and they are trying not to

let it show.

It was… unsettling.

Mostly because Dave Ashton did not come to this house at night.

At least, not like this.

Not without warning.

Not without his usual polished, controlled air that made him look like he had never once lost an argument, a deal,

or a woman.

But tonight?

Tonight he looked like life had just slapped him across the face in public.

And strangely enough, I hated how much I noticed.

I was downstairs in the living room with my laptop open on my lap, half working, half pretending I was not emotionally attached to fictional Korean people whose lives were somehow still more stable than mine.

A half-finished strategy document sat on my screen.

I had been trying to work through a celebrity reputation crisis case from one of my PR modules.

It was actually interesting.

Unlike my marriage.

Dave dropped into the armchair opposite me and loosened his tie like the fabric itself had offended him.

For a moment, neither of us said anything.

Then I looked at him again.

And because my mouth has never once believed in self-preservation, I said,

“You look terrible.”

His eyes lifted to mine.

He leaned back slightly, studying me in a way that made me suddenly very aware of my legs tucked under me and the fact that I was wearing the soft house shorts I only wore when I thought no one important would see me.

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Not that he was important.

Please.

God forbid.

His gaze flicked to my laptop.

“What are you working on?”

That alone nearly made me suspicious enough to check if the man had been body-snatched.

I looked at him.

Actually looked.

Then narrowed my eyes.

“Why?”

His mouth tilted very slightly.

“Is that a crime?”

“From you?” I said. “A little.”

That earned me a proper look.

Longer this time.

He didn’t snap.

Didn’t dismiss me.

Didn’t do the usual thing where he acted like I had interrupted the sacred flow of his billionaire suffering.

Instead, he nodded toward the screen again.

“What is it?”

I hesitated.

Not because I didn’t want to answer.

Because the sudden interest felt… off.

Still, I turned the laptop slightly toward him.

“It’s a crisis management strategy,” I said. “One of my coursework case studies.”

He leaned forward a little.

“What kind of crisis?”

“A celebrity scandal,” I said. “Leaked voice notes, public backlash, messy brand affiliations, poor initial response, and a fanbase determined to be irrational.”

He glanced at the screen.

Then back at me.

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