All Chapters of Too Late To Love Me: I Already Left With His Twins: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

Lydia POV I didn’t sleep.Not properly.I closed my eyes, yes. Turned from one side to another. Adjusted my pillow like that would fix anything.But sleep?No.Marcus.Lara’s office.That message.It kept replaying.Over and over again.By morning, I was done thinking.I sat up in bed and just… decided.No confusion.Not this time.I already have Dave.I already have a pending divorce.I already have too many moving parts in my life.I’m not about to add another complicated man into it.So I reached for my phone.He had messaged.Of course he had.Good morning. Hope you slept well.I stared at it for a second.Then typed.We need to talk. 8am. Downtown café.No emojis.No softness.Just that.He replied almost immediately.I’ll be there.Of course he would.By 7:55, I was already seated.It was one of those quiet breakfast places.Soft music.People pretending to start their day gently.I ordered coffee.Didn’t drink it.I just sat there.Waiting.He walked in at exactly 8.Of course

LydiaAnd immediately, the call connected. I was honestly sure he picked up right away because he must have been expecting my call.I had told him earlier that I was going to take a break, that we were not going to talk, that I was not going to talk to him at all, so I already knew the way I had been rejecting gifts and distancing myself meant he was probably expecting silence from me, not an actual call. But it went through anyway and that alone already annoyed me more than I expected.In that moment, everything I said came out faster than I could even control. I was not calm, I was not composed, I was just speaking from pure irritation and built up frustration. I told him I was going to give him a three month break and that he should not even think about seeing me for three months. Then I just continued without stopping, asking if he was crazy, asking if he was mad, asking who exactly he thought he was to disturb my peace like that. I was not even giving him space to respond prop

Lydia POVBy 6 a.m. the next morning, I was already awake, standing in front of my wardrobe like it had personally offended me. I was tired, not just physically, but the kind of tired that sits in your chest and makes even simple decisions feel unnecessary. But there was no space to indulge that feeling. I had an interview today, and whether I liked it or not, I had to show up. Not just show up, but show up well. I had built too much to start slipping now, and whether I liked the responsibility or not, there were people watching, young women especially, and I knew what it meant for them to see someone like me stand tall regardless of whatever was happening behind the scenes.Still, none of that helped me decide what to wear.I had two outfits laid out on the bed, both recent buys from one of those impulsive shopping days where I convinced myself I deserved nice things after a long week. One was a structured ivory suit, clean, sharp, the kind of outfit that walked into a room before yo

Lydia POVCarefully, I adjusted them, one after the other, easing them into bed without waking them. I pulled the covers over them, brushed their hair back gently, and just stood there for a second looking at them, the way mothers do when they don’t want to admit how much of their strength comes from these tiny humans.I switched off the lights and stepped out.The next morning came faster than I expected. It didn’t feel like I slept much, but I still got up, went through the motions, and showed up. That’s the thing about being me. No matter what is happening inside, outside still has to run smoothly. Work didn’t pause because my life was chaotic. Meetings lined up, decisions to make, people relying on me to be sharp, to be composed, to be Lydia. I moved through the day like I always do, ticking things off, handling situations, correcting strategies, answering questions before they were fully asked. But somewhere at the back of my mind, I knew I had something else waiting for me.The

Dave POVA charity gala, hosted by one of the biggest socialites in the country, the kind of event that people pretend is about impact but everyone in the room knows it is really about positioning. Optics. Power. Who is seen, who is aligned, who is still relevant. I had been to enough of these to understand the script without needing to read it again.I got dressed anyway. Armani tuxedo, tailored perfectly, sitting on me like it was made for moments exactly like this. Everything about my appearance was intentional, from the cufflinks to the watch, because in rooms like that, details speak before you do. My driver was already waiting by the time I stepped out, and the ride over was quiet, the kind of silence that isn’t peaceful but isn’t disruptive either. Just space to think, which, if I’m being honest, I had been doing too much of lately.I arrived somewhere in between early and late, right at that perfect window where the room is already alive but not yet chaotic. Conversations were