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Lucian's POV
Lucian woke to find his too-cute-to-be-true wife still asleep, her face softened by the morning light. He leaned down, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and quietly slipped out of bed.
He dressed quickly. The last thing he wanted was for her to misread his absence. So he wrote a note, laid it neatly by her side, and walked out.
Ten minutes later…
He returned to the suite and frowned when the bed was empty. With a sigh, he decided to set the breakfast he'd brought. Plates clinked softly as he arranged them on the table.
His phone buzzed. Daniel.
"What is it, Daniel?" he answered curtly.
"You should check your phone right now. You, your wife, and kids—along with some other guy—are trending."
Lucian froze. "…What do you mean, kids?" His voice dropped cold.
"You didn't know? It's everywhere—news, socials, everywhere. Just look for yourself."
The line went dead.
Lucian's hands trembled as he opened his phone. His jaw clenched tighter with every second of the video playing on screen. His body shook, rage and disbelief clawing through him. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. He left the room in shock.
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Mirabel's POV
Mirabel returned to the suite, face hidden beneath dark glasses. The lobby had been a nightmare—paparazzi, journalists, fans swarming the hotel like vultures.
Inside, the smell of food greeted her. On the table, dishes were neatly set. "Lucian must have done this…" she whispered. Her chest tightened. She hadn't eaten all day, so she reached for a doughnut, biting into the sweetness mechanically.
She began packing her clothes, having already called the workers to pack the kids' bags. She was folding the last dress when the door clicked open.
She turned.
"Dave…"
He strode in, anger radiating from every line of his body.
"Dave, I can explain—"
"Explain what?" His voice cracked like a whip. "That you've got kids? That their father is fucking Lucian—the one person I hate most?"
Mirabel stumbled back. "It's not what you think—"
"Not what I think?" He advanced, eyes blazing. "You hide your children from me, then run back to him, telling him you love him. What am I to you, Mirabel? A toy you play with when you're bored?"
"I'm sorry…" She pressed herself against the wall, voice shaking.
His lip curled. "Sorry? You're a damn whore. I trusted you. We were dating, and you cheated on me—over and over. Mirabel, how could you? Am I not enough for you?"
"Dave, please—"
He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. She screamed, clawing at his hand.
"So you were planning to run away, huh? We haven't even done anything yet." His grip tightened before he shoved her onto the bed.
Her heart raced. Fear crawled up her throat.
"You let him touch you, but not me. Was I never good enough?" He climbed onto the mattress, eyes wild, unbuckling his belt.
"Dave, don't—please don't do this!"
"Why not? Is he the only one allowed to touch you?"
"That's not what I meant!" Her voice broke. Panic filled her chest. What is he going to do now?
He smirked darkly, looping the belt around her wrists.
"Let's have a more… intimate talk."
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