Too Late To Love Me I Already Left With His Twins (Lydia and Dave) novel Chapter 33

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The note

Dave POV

I woke up with a headache sitting directly behind my eyes.

The kind that made everything feel one degree more irritating than necessary.

My phone was already buzzing on the bedside table before I fully opened my eyes. Europe branch. Again

Of course.

For the last forty eight hours, one of my overseas branches had been dealing with an internal compliance issue that should never have escalated this far. Legal was involved. Finance was involved. Three different people had suddenly become incompetent at the same time. 1.

So no, I had not been home.

And no, I had not had the patience to think about anything outside work. 1

At least, that was what I had been telling myself.

I got out of bed, answered the Europe call, and spent the next hour trying not to fire three people before breakfast.

By the time I got into the car later that afternoon, my head was still pounding.

I loosened my tie and leaned back against the leather seat as the city blurred past the window.

And, against my will, my mind circled back to that night.

To Lydia standing in my study looking like she had rehearsed something and then hated every version of it.

To the way she had hesitated before speaking.

To the sentence that came out of her mouth after.

I’m pregnant.

My jaw tightened.

I looked away from the window and exhaled through my nose.

The entire thing had caught me at the wrong time.

Wrong week.

Wrong mood.

Wrong everything.

す

Work had already been chaos. The merger had barely settled. There had been too much noise in my head, too much pressure from too many directions, and then she had walked into my study and dropped a sentence that felt less like news and more like a

threat. 1

And yes, I had reacted badly.

I knew that.

I wasn’t stupid.

But there are certain things men in my position are taught to watch for.

Certain traps

2

I had seen anvogh of them around me to know how quickly “emotion” could become “entitlement.” 1

How fast one night could becqnie leverage.

Still

Even with all that, I had said too much.

The memory of her face after some of the things I said pressed unpleasantly against the back of my minek

Lignored it.

Because guilt, in my experience, is rarely useful unless it comes with a solution.

And there was no solution to be found by replaying a conversation that had already happened.

By the time the car pulled into the driveway, it was just past noon.

The gates opened.

The house came into view.

And something about it looked… off.

Just wrong in a way I couldn’t immediately name.

I stepped out of the car, handed my keys to the guard, and walked inside. 1

Bernard appeared from the hallway almost immediately.

“Good afternoon, sir.”

I glanced at him while loosening my cufflinks.

“Where’s Lydia?”

I usually don’t ask about her first thing after reaching home but today was just different.

He hesitated.

It was small.

But I noticed.

And immediately, something in me sharpened.

“What?”

“Madam left this morning, sir.”

I stopped walking.

“What do you mean she left?”

Bernard swallowed once. “She left the house this morning.”

My expression must have changed because he straightened slightly.

“With who?”

“No one, sir.”

I stared at him.

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“She booked a car herself. She packed one bag.”

One bag

I frowned.

That sounded too deliberate to be drama.

“Where did she go?”

“She did not say, sir.”

Something hot and immediate flickered under my skin.

Annoyance first.

Then disbelief.

Then something else I didn’t care to identify.

I set my jaw.

“And you let her leave?” t

Bernard blinked. “Sir?”

“You watched my wife leave the house with luggage and didn’t think to call me?”

I’m sure he sees me as crazy, because I don’t usually care about her on a normal day.

I looked at him for a long second.

Then away.

I rubbed a hand over my jaw and exhaled once.

“Did she take anything else?”

“Not much, sir.”

That answer made something tighten unexpectedly in my chest.

Not much.

Bernard cleared his throat.

“She left a note.”

My eyes snapped back to his.

“A what?”

“A note, sir. In your study.”

My study door was slightly open.

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And on the center of the desk, folded once, was a piece of cream notepaper.

Lydia. 1

The room smelled like itself again.

Clean.

I left the study, went to her bedroom, and stopped in the doorway.

At first glance, nothing looked different.

The small one by the window.