Chapter 88: Chapter Eighty Seven

Eros

Blackwood & Vale LLP was everything I expected—clinical, cold, and surgically precise. Much like the man I was about to confront. Just like Lysander.

I didn’t bother with pleasantries or appointments. I marched past the front desk, ignoring the receptionist’s protests, and headed straight for his office.

The door was slightly ajar. He was on a call, lounging behind his desk like he owned the world—smug, polished, and completely unaware.

Then he looked up. Our eyes locked.

He hung up without saying a word.

“Well, if it isn’t the Belmonte bastard,” Lysander sneered, rising slowly. “Shouldn’t you be out chasing headlines or seducing someone else’s wife?”

“I’m here with a message,” I said, closing the door behind me. “Athena left you. And if you ever lay a hand on her again, I swear to God—”

He laughed. A real, guttural laugh. The audacity.

“You think you’re some knight in shining armor?” he snapped. “She’s my wife.”

“Not anymore,” I said coolly. “She deserves better than a coward who raises his hand when he should use his words.”

His smirk vanished. His jaw clenched, eyes darkening. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

“She’s mine, Belmonte,” he growled. “Stay the hell out of our lives.”

I took a step closer, voice even but lethal. “Not anymore,” I repeated, slower, deliberate. “You lost her the moment you put your hands on her.”

And that was the final spark.

He lunged across the desk, slamming into me with blind fury. We hit the floor hard. His fists found my jaw, my ribs, my temple—over and over. I didn’t fight back.

I wanted him to lose control. I wanted him to show who he really was.

The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, but I smiled through it. “This is the last time you’ll ever touch her,” I murmured. “She’s safe now. And I’ll take damn good care of her.”

Security dragged him off as he kept swinging, now kicking and cursing. His face was crimson, breath ragged, eyes wild.

But I got what I came for. The message had landed.

He knew now: Athena wasn’t alone anymore.

Staggering out of the building, my shirt torn and stained, bruises already forming, I had only one thought:

She was worth every blow.

Athena

When I first heard that Lysander had been arrested and Eros was admitted to the hospital—an outcome I knew was orchestrated by Eros himself—I felt like the ground split beneath me. My heart was in a tug-of-war.

Logic screamed that I should go to Lysander, that as his wife, I owed him at least that much. But logic had lost its voice lately. Emotion spoke louder. And ultimately, my heart led me to the hospital.

I remember standing by Eros’s bedside, watching the steady rhythm of the monitor, the way his chest rose and fell. There was blood on his lip still, a smear of dried crimson at the corner.

He’d taken a beating to protect me—or at least, that’s how it looked. Whether his motives were pure or manipulative didn’t matter at that moment. What mattered was that I couldn’t walk away.

Lysander was bailed out the next day. He tried calling, texting, and even showed up outside the hospital. But I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. Not yet. The betrayal, the lies, the control he wielded over every part of my life still clung to my skin like soot I couldn’t wash off.

“Why are you here, Athena?” Eros asked me on the third day, his voice still hoarse.

I looked at him, the sharp lines of his face softened by bruising. “I don’t know. Maybe because I needed to see you breathing.”

He gave a slight chuckle, wincing at the pain in his ribs. “You picked me over him.”

“I didn’t pick anyone,” I said, though I didn't even believe that anymore. “I just followed where my heart pulled me.”

\~~~~~~

A week passed. Eros was discharged, and I helped settle him back into Villa Isadora. News outlets splashed headlines about the brawl, the allegations, and rumors of a divorce between Lysander and me.

Paparazzi had caught a shot of me pushing Eros’s wheelchair, my hand on his shoulder, a soft smile on my face. That was the final blow for Lysander.

The first time I saw him again was in front of my house. He looked like a man unraveling—tie askew, his hair a mess, eyes ringed in sleepless red.

“You won’t even answer my calls?” he spat, stepping in front of my car as I pulled into the driveway.

“Lysander—move,” I said, gripping the wheel.

“Not until you talk to me.” His voice cracked. “How could you just disappear on me?”

I stepped out, arms folded tightly across my chest, my voice sharp with anger. “You mean the way you slowly vanished from our marriage? The way you became a stranger I couldn’t even recognize? You made me a promise, Lysander—and you shattered it. So forgive me if I don’t give a damn about your sob story now.”

“That’s not fair, Athena. You don’t understand what he did.”

“No,” I snapped. “What I understand is that Eros ended up in the hospital while you were dragged out in handcuffs.”

“He provoked me! You think he’s innocent? He set the entire thing up to make me look bad!”

“And you played right into it,” I said coldly. “You could’ve walked away. You didn’t have to attack him in public.”

Lysander’s eyes shimmered with something unhinged. “He’s manipulating you. Don’t you see it? Ever since he came back into your life, you’ve changed.”

“Maybe I needed to,” I whispered. “Maybe I got tired of being your puppet.”

His spiral was fast and brutal.

Within a month, he was fired from his firm. Rumors of misconduct leaked, and the State Bar Association launched an investigation. Eventually, he was disbarred. I should’ve felt something. Pity, maybe. Relief. But all I felt was... empty.

It started with the phone calls. Dozens a day. Then the voicemails. Angry, pleading, manipulative.

“You left me. For him. After everything we’ve been through, Athena?”

I deleted them without listening all the way through. Maybe that was cruel. But I had nothing left to give him.

He came to the company once, demanding answers. The security personnel blocked him in the lobby. Then again, outside Eros’s penthouse. That time, he caught me.

“You’re really living with him now?” Lysander’s voice cracked, bitter and hoarse. “Are you sleeping with him too?”

I stopped walking. Slowly turned to face him. His eyes were bloodshot. His shirt wrinkled and stained. This wasn’t the man I married.

“You’re not in a position to ask questions,” I said quietly. “You made your choices. So did I.”

“I was set up, Athena,” he spat. “You know that. He wanted me out of the way, and you just—what? Go to him the second I’m in cuffs?”

I glared at him, fury burning through every word. “What did you expect me to do—crawl back to you after you almost shattered my jaw? You stood there, looked me in the eye, and vowed to love me, to protect me above everything else.

But every word out of your mouth was a lie. You don't get to play the victim now, Lysander. I’m not some naive fool you can control or break. Not anymore.”

“He ruined my life!” he shouted.

“You did that to yourself.”

He stepped closer. “You have no idea what I’ve lost. My job. My license. Everything. And you—” He looked me up and down like I was unrecognizable. “You’re standing there like none of it matters.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” I said. “Because I don’t love you. I haven’t for a long time.”

That silenced him.

I walked away.

But he didn’t stop.

Lysander started showing up outside my house. Waiting near the gate. Then the parking garage at work. He never approached—just watched. Always watching. A presence I couldn’t shake. One night, I found a photo taped to my windshield. It was a picture of me and Eros at the hospital.

On the back, Lysander had scribbled, You’re making a mistake.

I reported him. But restraining orders take time. And Lysander knew how to bend the law—well, before he was disbarred.

The scariest moment came three days later.

I came home late from a board meeting. The house was dark, silent. But something felt… off. I walked into the kitchen and saw the back door was slightly ajar. I never left it unlocked.

Then I heard it.

“Still feels like home.”

I froze. Turned slowly.

Lysander stood in the shadows, disheveled and trembling.

“How did you get in?” My voice barely came out.

“You should’ve talked to me, Athena. That’s all I wanted. A conversation. Closure.”

“This isn’t how you get closure.” I backed toward the hallway. Panic gripped me as I realized—my phone was in my bag, abandoned in the living room, far too out of reach when every second suddenly mattered.

“You chose him over me,” he said, stepping forward. “I gave you everything.”

“You gave me a prison,” I snapped. “And now you’ve broken into my house. Do you hear how insane that sounds?”

His eyes flared. “You owe me—”

“No, Lysander. I don’t owe you anything.”

I pressed the silent alarm on the wall. Within minutes, the security guards stormed in. They dragged him out kicking, screaming my name. Begging. Cursing. Crying.

I stood there, numb.

And then I picked up the phone.

I called Eros.

He answered on the second ring. “Athena?”

“I need you,” I whispered.

And he came.