Free Web NovelChapter 283: Chapter 283 The Returned Ring
Hudson’s POV
"I’m sorry." Lea handed me a tissue. "Here. For the... lipstick."
I took it and wiped my lips hard, disgust rising in my throat. "What the hell was that?"
"I’m sorry," she said again, her head down. "I don’t know what I was thinking. He kept yelling that I wouldn’t find a man better than him, that no one would want me except him, that I was some kind of reject. I was pissed off. I just wanted to prove him wrong."
"You could have done that without kissing me," I said, irritation clear in my tone. Lycaon growled his agreement inside me, upset about another female’s scent on us. "There are better ways."
"I know, but I wasn’t thinking, okay? It was stupid, and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again."
I looked out of the car window at the blur of buildings. "Forget it."
It was an understandable lapse, I supposed. Anyone could lose their composure dealing with a man like Pierre. Still, I wished she hadn’t made such a thoughtless move.
"At least he signed the divorce papers," I said at last. So the dinner tonight hadn’t been a complete waste.
"I know, and I can’t tell you how relieved I am," Lea said. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓
Was she, though? I had my doubts.
The way she talked about him when he wasn’t around, and the way she behaved when he was present, made me question whether she was truly over Pierre.
Usually so rational and cool-headed, she turned into—though I hated to admit it—a dimmer, weaker version of herself around him. She probably still harbored feelings for him despite everything.
I promised myself I would help her this one time. If she went back to Pierre again, I wouldn’t lift a finger.
The car slowed to a stop in front of the hotel.
"Aren’t you coming?" Lea asked when she saw I hadn’t moved.
"No. I’ve got somewhere else to be. Get some rest." I watched her disappear into the lobby, then told the driver to take me to Christina’s hotel.
She’d had enough alone time. She hadn’t called or texted me all day. She could blame me for her father’s death, she could lash out, but I wouldn’t accept this silence, this deliberate avoidance.
"She needs us," Lycaon urged inside me. "I can feel her distress from here."
I got out in front of the building and took the elevator up to her floor. My heart pounded with anticipation and worry. Something felt off, and I couldn’t shake the sensation.
She was still awake, as I’d expected.
"I was just about to call you," she said when she opened the door.
My breath caught. She was still fully dressed despite the late hour, but her appearance shocked me. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her golden hair slightly disheveled. She looked exhausted, vulnerable in a way I rarely saw her. The Christina I knew always maintained perfect composure, especially around me.
Another unsettling sign sat on the coffee table: an almost empty bottle of Château Margaux.
"You’ve been drinking," I said, concern rising in my chest.
"Yeah." She followed my gaze to the bottle. She smiled faintly, but not with embarrassment, then returned to the sofa. "I thought I could do it sober. Turns out I still needed some liquid courage."
"Do what?" I stepped closer, a tight knot forming in my gut.
"No." She gave my shoulder a light shove when I sat beside her. "Take the chair opposite. I stink of wine."
I frowned but did as she asked, sitting in the armchair across from her.
A coffee table lay between us, but it might as well have been an ocean.
Fear crept up my spine.
"I’m sorry about Franklin," I said. I should have said it earlier, when I first told her about her father’s death.
Christina didn’t appear to hear me. She sat with her legs tucked under her, reached for the bottle, drank straight from it, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
When she finally looked at me, her eyes were red and filled with a pain I couldn’t immediately identify.
"Have you been crying? What’s wrong?" I stood and moved toward her.
"No." She waved me back. "Stay where you are. I need some distance. To do this right."
"Christina." The unease in my gut deepened. Lycaon paced restlessly within me.
"Just sit, please."
Why hadn’t I noticed the tremor in her voice earlier?
I sat, keeping my eyes on her. Had she been grieving for Franklin? The man had been cruel to her, but he was still her father.
"Is there anything you’d like to tell me?" she asked, her gaze fixed on mine. Her eyes, usually clear and bright with warmth, were hooded, red-rimmed, and impossible to read.
"About Franklin?"
"No. Not that. The other thing."
"What other thing?"
"How was your day?"
I frowned. She wasn’t making sense.
"How was your day?" she repeated, leaning forward. She looked ready to keep asking until she got the answer she wanted.
"It was fine." I thought of the court case, the Marchands, then the dinner where Lea finally cut ties with her abusive husband.
"That’s it? Just fine?"
That was clearly not the answer she wanted.
I nodded. "What’s wrong?"
"Is there anything else you’d like to tell me? Anything at all? About, say, dinner? Did you enjoy it?"
"Dinner was fine."
My certainty that she was drunk grew with every passing second. She was uncharacteristically confrontational, her thoughts scattered.
"That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say?" Her stare didn’t waver.
For a moment, I almost felt as if she knew about the kiss. My hand twitched toward my mouth, to check if Lea’s lipstick stain was still there, but I stopped myself. Impossible. How could she know?
"That’s it," I said firmly, trying to convince myself as much as her.
Christina was drunk, hurting, and not thinking straight. Better to bring up Lea when she was sober.
She slumped back into the sofa, hugging a throw pillow to her knees and burying her face in it. She stayed like that for so long, I began to think she’d fallen asleep.
"Christina?"
Just as I was about to stand and check on her, she lifted her head.
The expression on her face made my blood run cold—it was one of absolute resolution, a decision already made.
She tossed the pillow aside, lurched to her feet, gripped her engagement ring and slid it off.
She held it out to me in her palm. "I think you’d better keep this."
I stared at her, my brain refusing to process what I was seeing. The dread that had been gnawing at me since I arrived solidified into certainty. Lycaon howled in denial inside me.
"No." The word came out as a growl.
She grabbed my hand and pressed the ring into it. "Just take it."
"You’re breaking up with me." It wasn’t a question.
I could see it in her eyes—determination mixed with raw, excruciating pain.
"I don’t think this can work." Tears streaked her cheeks, her voice breaking slightly. "I’ve decided to buy Valmont & Cie. I’m relocating to Paris. We can’t be together."
