Chapter 31

Chapter 31
Fredrick’s house was dimly lit, the soft glow from the fireplace casting flickering shadows across the walls.

Lyra curled against him on the couch, her fingers tracing slow, teasing circles on his chest. His hands gripped her ass really tight and she grinded her body against his while moaning out aloud.

The scent of her perfume—something floral and expensive—lingered in the air. Her lips found his, warm and insistent, but as she pressed closer, his mind drifted.

Amelia.

The name echoed in his head, unbidden and unwelcome. His body stiffened, and just like that, the desire vanished. He stopped kissing Lyra, his thoughts far away from the scene.

Lyra noticed immediately. She pulled back, her brows knitting together. “What’s wrong?”

Fredrick exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair, irritation simmering beneath his skin. He didn’t want to admit it, but it gnawed at him—Amelia hadn’t come back. Not once. He had expected her to break, to return, to plead for another chance. But she hadn’t.

What he was expecting was her, coming back on her knees, begging him to take her back while she confessed how she couldn't live without him.

But no, no calls, no text whatsoever. He can bet that she was even happy leaving him.

And that infuriated him so much that he couldn't bear. His ego was hurt.

“Nothing,” he muttered, shifting slightly so Lyra wasn’t pressed against him anymore.

Lyra narrowed her eyes. “Bullshit.” She sat up, crossing her arms. “You just went from kissing me like you actually want me to looking like someone pissed in your drink. What happened?”

Fredrick didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened, his fingers clenching into fists. The image of Amelia—proud, defiant—flashed through his mind.

She should have come crawling back by now.

Lyra let out an exasperated sigh. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking about her.”

Fredrick’s silence was answer enough.

Lyra scoffed, rolling her eyes. She removed her hands from his chest and shot him a cruel look. “Oh my God, are you serious?”

His gaze snapped to hers, sharp and warning. “Watch it.”

“No, you watch it, Fredrick... You watch it, you can't be kissing me and be thinking of another lady. What the fuck?” Lyra’s voice rose, anger creeping into her tone.

“Why are you still obsessing over that bitch? She’s out of your life. She should be out of your damn head too!”

Fredrick stood abruptly, the sudden movement making Lyra flinch. He wasn’t in the mood for this. Not now. Not when Amelia’s absence clawed at him like an unhealed wound.

“She was my wife,” he said, voice low but dangerous.

Lyra laughed bitterly. “Yeah, was. As in past tense. You’re not together anymore, or did you forget? Or better yet, do you regret it?”

Fredrick turned away, his fists clenching at his sides. Regret? No. He didn’t regret divorcing Amelia. But he did regret how easily she had walked away. How she had moved on as if he had never mattered.

They all stood up as well, whose arms were still crossed. She glared at him. “Go away, Fredrick. She’s not coming back. And she certainly wasn’t thinking about you."

Something in him snarled at her statement. He turned back, the expression dark. "You don't know that," he said.

Lyra tightened her lips with a sneer. “I know she’s out there, living her life while you’re here whining like a pathetic little boy whose toy was taken away."

The strain in Fredrick's jaw made it hurt. He didn't want to hear this. Don't want to admit that maybe Lyra was correct.

“Shut up, Lyra.”

“I won’t! ” she pushed herself closer, her finger under his chest. “You still have a thing for her. And it’s disgusting. What, do you miss her? Do you miss having her power over you? Do you miss thinking she needed you? Well, good news, Fredrick—she never needed you. And she doesn’t need you anymore. Or maybe you miss her pussy?"

His hand went out before he could stop it and tied her wrist tightly with his dominant hand. Lyra gasped, her eyes slightly widening in horror.

“Careful,” he warned, his voice ice-cold.

By this time neither one of them moved. Then she yanked her wrist free, a step back. She glared at him, rubbing the gleam of the place where the fingers had once been.

“You fucking moron, ” she growled. “Still here grumbling about a woman who doesn’t care one bit about you. ”

Fredrick suddenly coughed and turned away. He did not want to continue talking. He snatched his coat from the chair opposite her and put it on.

“Where the hell are you going?” Lyra demanded.

“Out.”

“That’s it? You’re just going to leave?”

None answered. Fredrick strolled toward the door, already in a new spot - Amelia. He needed to see her. Needed to make himself realize she was still on his fingertips.

Lyra’s voice followed him as he stepped outside.

“You’re pathetic, Fredrick! Absolutely pathetic!”

The door slammed shut behind him, so the rest of her argument was done and he stood there for a moment, taking in the cool night air and let the silence wash over him.

He wouldn’t go back inside. Not tonight.

Instead, he walked toward his car, sliding into the driver’s seat. His grip tightened around the wheel as a single thought consumed him.

Amelia.

If she wouldn’t come to him, then he would go to her.