Chapter 42 It Seems You're Leaving Too
Claire
I know my Dad and how he sounded now was him being extra protective, and I didn’t want him to know all the details concerning my failed marriage. Knowing my dad, he would ask questions, and the one thing he hated the most was seeing me distressed.
So I lied a little.
“It’s not what you think, Dad. I just needed a break, okay? There’s nothing to it.”
But I knew he could tell I was making things up because he grumbled under his breath, “I know you, Claire, and how much you like to hide things. You still haven’t changed.”
I bit down on my lower lip. My father knew me better than anyone else in this world.
“Your room—and the kids’ room—are always here for you, Claire.”
I felt tears prick behind my eyes, but I wasn’t going to break down here, so he doesn't suspect how bad I feel.
“Thanks,” I managed to say, grateful he didn’t ask any more questions.
“I’ll call Larry. He’ll come pick you all up with the private plane by noon,” he said.
I smiled and nodded. He wouldn’t even allow me to take a commercial flight.
“Okay, Dad. Thanks a lot,” I said, smiling to myself.
“Claire, you’ll always be my baby. Don’t forget that.”
I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me.
This man often forgets that I’m not a child anymore, but that’s the good thing about being a parent. No matter how grown your child is, they will always look the same as the day they were born to you—your baby.
I sighed as the line went dead and went back to packing my things. The house was starting to feel really suffocating, so maybe going to my parents’ place was the best solution.
It wasn’t what I had planned, but now I knew deep down that I needed it—some distance from Ian and a bit of rest.
The only person I felt bad for was Luppy. She would have to stay in this big house all alone, because I knew once we were gone, Ian would be gone too.
So I called her.
“Come over to my room,” I said as I sat on the bed, my suitcase beside me.
Not long after, she knocked.
“Come in,” I called, forcing a smile.
She opened the door and walked toward me, her footsteps light.
“The boss did something to you yesterday, didn’t he?” she asked.
I didn’t want to talk about it. The walls had ears—especially with the children around.
“You don’t need to worry, Luppy. But I wanted to ask… are you okay being alone in this big house?”
She smiled at me. “Well, madam, the house will be boring, but I can manage.”
I frowned slightly, thinking it over.
I knew I wouldn’t really need her help—there were more than enough people to assist me and the kids at my parents’ place—but I still couldn’t leave her here alone. So I sighed.
“You too, Luppy. Go pack your things.”
She practically squirmed. Clearly, she wanted to come. I smiled.
“Okay, madam. Anywhere you go, I follow,” she said.
I burst out laughing as she walked away.
Now everyone was complete.
Do whatever you want, Ian. I honestly don’t care anymore.
Ian
The second Claire stormed up the stairs, the air in the living room turned thick, suffocating. The kids just stood there, frozen, staring at the empty space she’d left behind. I stood there too, jaw tight, trying to swallow the rage bubbling under my skin.
Why the hell did she have to say it like that? Right in front of them? One minute she’s begging me not to let the children know anything’s wrong, the next she’s dropping a bomb like “your father and I are in a big dispute” and walking away like it’s nothing.
I can’t read her anymore. One second she’s hiding everything, the next she’s spilling just enough to burn the whole house down.
All three of them turned to me at the same time—eyes wide, confused, accusing. Questions they didn’t even need to voice.
I forced a smile. It felt like cracking concrete.
“It’s not something that can’t be fixed,” I said, trying to douse the fire Claire had lit. “We’ll sort it out.”
Max’s voice cut through first, low but sharp.
“I don’t know what you two are fighting about, Dad… but please do something.”
He didn’t wait for a reply—just turned and headed up the stairs. Isabella looked like she might cry, worry etched deep into her young face. Riette just gave a small shrug, like he didn’t want to pick a side, and followed his brother.
And then they were gone.
Leaving me standing alone in the middle of the damn room like an idiot.
I dragged a hand down my face. What the hell is she going to tell her parents when she gets there? I know Claire—she’ll never let them see her as the victim. Not completely. Because the truth is ugly for both of us. She cheated too. No remorse. No tears. She fucked around just as much as I did.
So no, I’m not scared of her father finding out. Let him come. Let them all come. They can go fuck themselves.
This marriage was already hanging by a thread. Now that the kids know something’s broken? It’s only a matter of time.
I climbed the stairs, went straight to the guest room I was staying in, and shut the door behind me. The second file from the investigator was still sitting on the bed where I’d left it.
I flipped it open.
Pattie Paul.
Everything was there—her pathetic modeling career that was going nowhere, the sudden spike in visibility the moment she latched onto me, the way she used every connection, every photo op, every late-night favor to climb. And now? Now she thinks she’s too good for me. Thinks she can walk away clean.
But one detail jumped out.
She’d been working for an organization called “The King’s Liar”.
The name alone set my teeth on edge. It sounded wrong. Too deliberate. Too close to something I’d heard whispered in darker circles.
I'll have to dig into this myself.
I set the file down on the table with a quiet thud, then crossed to the closet and started pulling out my own clothes—suits, shirts, the few things that still felt like mine. The kids were going with her. Of course they were. No point in me staying in this house any longer, pretending the walls weren’t already closing in.
A knock came at the door. Sharp. Unexpected.
I paused, hand halfway into a suitcase. None of the kids knew I’d moved into the guest room. So it had to be Luppy.
So without asking who it was I called “Come in,” not turning around as I kept folding.
The door opened slowly.
I glanced over my shoulder—and froze.
Isabella.
She stood in the doorway, arms crossed tight across her chest, eyes scanning the room: the open suitcase, the half-empty closet, the files on the bed. Taking it all in like she was piecing together a puzzle she already hated.
“Oh,” I said, voice flat, caught off guard.
She didn’t smile. Didn’t soften. Just watched me for a long second before she spoke.
“It seems you’re leaving too.”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t find the words fast enough.
Her gaze hardened, jaw set in that stubborn way she got from me.
“What really happened between you two, Dad?”
I opened my mouth—some half-formed excuse already forming—but she didn’t give me the chance.
“And why the hell did you hit Mom yesterday?”
The question landed like a punch to the throat. Everything in me went still. Cold.