Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love
Chapter 83: Lydia And Arthur

Chapter 83: Lydia And Arthur

"Arthur, stop it! You’re going to make me drop everything!" Lydia’s laughter mingled with exasperation as she slid off the chair, attempting to escape his relentless teasing. Her laughter was so pure, so unrestrained, that Arthur’s heart warmed. He loved seeing her like this—unguarded, radiant.

"Will you stop it?" she managed between giggles, now rolling on the floor with him beside her. But even as she scolded him, the smile on her face betrayed her enjoyment. "You’re giving me crow’s feet," she mock-pouted.

Arthur’s hand stilled, his touch gentle as he traced a finger over the delicate skin at the corners of her eyes, searching them with an affectionate intensity. "You are beautiful," he murmured, his voice soft but sure.

Lydia’s hand wove into his salt-and-pepper hair, pulling him down for a kiss. The world shrank to just them—their quiet laughter, the warmth shared between them, and the love that lit the room brighter than any chandelier. "My beautiful Lydia," Arthur whispered against her lips.

Just then, a cold nose nuzzled into Lydia’s side, and she jumped with a small squeal. Atlas, the Rottweiler, sniffed curiously, tail wagging in excitement at the commotion.

Lydia’s face shifted, a mix of amusement and frustration. "I told you not to bring your scary dogs to the bedroom!" she scolded, eyes darting to Arthur even as her lips twitched with the trace of another smile.

"You love my dogs," Arthur said, removing the cuffs from his sleeves.

Lydia gave a sideway glance at him and rolled her eyes. "As if," she mumbled under her breath.

Arthur could only chuckle. "You love every part of me, including them."

Lydia spared a glance at the muscular dog sitting with its tongue hanging out. She still couldn’t see what’s so cute about those beings. She could never find it in her heart to truly love those dogs her husband so loved. "They scare me," she said. That was the truth.

"You watched him grow from a wee little puppy and you say you’re scared. Yet, today, I saw a girl at the hospital and she commanded with so much authority that even Atlas couldn’t defy. You couldn’t, can you, Atlas?" Arthur patted the dog’s head and the dog wagged its ail.

"Well..." Lydia’s mind somehow skipped to her meeting with Jerica and remembered the fire in her eyes when she mentioned her husband. "I’m not surprised. I’m sure this girl I met this afternoon would do the same."

Arthur sat beside his wife and rested a gentle hand on her back, feeling the subtle tension ripple beneath his touch. He watched as a shadow crept over Lydia’s eyes, dimming their usual spark as she spoke of that girl. Her voice, though steady, trembled at its edges, carrying a burden only he could sense.

The room seemed to hold its breath, absorbing the quiet despair that seeped into the space between them. Arthur’s heart clenched at the sight of his beloved, the proud, poised woman he adored, now consumed by a sadness she could barely voice. He longed to dispel that darkness, to draw her back to the light that once filled her eyes.

"She’s..." Lydia’s throat closed. "She’s just about her age..." she let out a deep breath.

Arthur pulled Lydia into his arms, holding her close, the steady beat of his heart a quiet anchor against the storm brewing in her chest. He gently rubbed her back, trying to calm the unease he sensed in her, though it wasn’t just her anxiety he felt—it was his own. "The woman I saw today... the one in the hospital," he began, his voice soft but deliberate, "she’s married to that prosecutor your brother mentioned... Jared Petrovski."

He had meant to change the subject, to guide their conversation away from the heavy weight of her. But as soon as the words left his lips, the shift in Lydia was immediate and sharp. He felt her stiffen in his arms, her breathing quickening.

Lydia pulled away just enough to look at him, her eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and fear. "Jared Petrovski?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "You saw his wife? In a hospital? Why was she there? Arthur... what’s wrong with her?"

Her hands clenched around his, the sudden panic in her eyes setting his own pulse racing. Arthur hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected Lydia to react so strongly. This wasn’t just curiosity. This was fear.

"Honey..." He cupped her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek. "Are you okay?" His voice cracked slightly, the words heavier than he intended. He didn’t like seeing her like this. She’d always been the strong one, the one who kept her composure no matter what storm was raging around them.

But now, there was only worry—raw, unfiltered worry—painting her features.

Lydia blinked, taking a shaky breath, her gaze distant. She wasn’t listening to him. Her mind was already spiraling, trying to piece together what he had said. "What happened to her?" she asked again, her voice rising, sharp with the need for answers.

Arthur swallowed, his own throat tight. He hadn’t meant for this to unfold like this, hadn’t meant to drag her into something so complicated. But as always, Lydia was a woman who couldn’t leave a question unanswered, a mystery unsolved.

"Her husband..." he started, his voice quieter now. "He was admitted to the hospital. She was stressed. That’s all I know." He paused, his hand tightening around hers, as though the weight of his words could somehow stop the tide of questions that would surely come next.

Lydia’s brow furrowed in confusion, but it was the tension in her shoulders, the way she held herself so rigidly, that told him the truth. She was thinking. Putting pieces together. And the truth, whatever it was, was slowly dawning on her.

"What happened to him?" she pressed again, her voice barely a whisper now, tinged with something darker.

Arthur hesitated. He could feel the shift in her, the way her mind was beginning to race, and he knew there was no way to shield her from what would come next.

She had to know. Lydia always had to know.

"Jared Petrovski... he’s the one who was admitted," Arthur said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. "But I think there’s more to it than that. Something more... something we don’t know yet. Or... You do know what might have happened to him."

Lydia’s expression softened slightly, the tight lines of her face relaxing as she processed the information. But her mind was still in motion, turning over possibilities, calculating risks. Slowly, her hand drifted to her phone, her fingers hovering over the screen.

Arthur’s stomach tightened. He knew what she was about to do.

She was already dialing, already stepping toward the bed as the phone pressed to her ear. The sound of the ringing filled the room, each ring louder in the silence between them. Arthur sighed, stepping back with a reluctant frown.

She’d never been one to sit idly when something was wrong—when there were questions to answer. And whatever the truth was, Lydia wasn’t going to rest until she had it.

He stood there for a moment, watching her pace. Her usual composure was gone, replaced by something sharper, something harder. A quiet rage burned in her eyes, and though Arthur knew she was worried, he could also see the fire in her, the part of her that wouldn’t let anything go unanswered.

He glanced down at his clothes, still damp with the lingering scent of the dogs. Lydia was particular about the bed—her bed—and if he sat on it without changing, she’d give him a look that could freeze fire.

"Atlas," he called out, his voice light and playful, but the command was clear. Moments later, the dog padded quietly out of the room, his tail wagging lazily.

Arthur turned back to find Lydia on the phone, her tone low and careful, her voice almost unrecognizable in its coldness. She was already at work, already preparing for battle.

"Brother, dear," Lydia said into the phone, her voice soft but heavy with suppressed anger. "I heard the Glover family has gone so low as to resort to mafia tactics just to protect a prosecutor. Is that what we’re dealing with now?"

Arthur’s lips twitched, unable to hide the slight grin that tugged at the corner of his mouth. He’d seen this side of Lydia before, the unrelenting, no-nonsense version of her that only came out when her family—or her loyalties—were threatened.

She wasn’t just angry; she was calculating. She was already thinking ten steps ahead, ready to play the game at a level most people couldn’t even see.

He couldn’t help himself. He leaned over and scratched her thigh, a simple, affectionate gesture, but it was enough to make her pause, to break her focus for just a second.

"Put it on speaker," he said, his voice light, teasing.

Lydia shot him a look that would’ve frozen anyone else in place, but Arthur knew her too well. He knew she wouldn’t snap at him—not with her brother on the other end of the line.