Chapter 3

Lyra's POV

Back in the bedroom, the angrier I got, the less sense I had left.

I ripped off that damned slip dress, threw on my favorite black leather jacket and ripped jeans, yanked a duffel bag out of the closet, and shoved a few clothes inside without thinking.

As I passed the nightstand, I caught sight of the divorce papers I'd crumpled up and tossed there the night before.

I let out a cold laugh, left them where they were, grabbed the bag, and walked straight out of the Kovac estate.

Half an hour later, I was on my custom-built motorcycle, heading for an underground bar downtown called Nightshade.

The owner was someone I'd met while working on her bike—Selina.

"So let me get this straight—your mafia don husband gets a front-row seat to you throwing yourself at him, and instead of taking you to bed, he shoves you off and runs for a cold shower?"

Selina was perched behind the bar, barely holding it together as she listened to my rant. Her cocktail shaker nearly went flying.

I downed a large gulp of liquor and dragged my hands through my hair in frustration.

"I'm starting to think he's either impotent or gay, and he only married me for cover."

"Oh, please, babe. Men are simple—either they actually can't, or they just need the right motivation." Selina snapped her fingers and shot me a wicked grin.

"If he wants to play saint at home, then tonight I'm gonna show you what a real man looks like. Guaranteed to give you all the 'emotional value' you can handle."

Before long, Selina dragged me into a private VIP room.

The door swung open to reveal a lineup of impossibly hot male models in next to nothing, all rising to their feet in unison.

Some were built like brick walls, others had razor-sharp jawlines—and every single one of them was looking at me like I was dessert.

"Let us keep you company tonight, gorgeous. We've got moves, we've got stamina—promise you won't be disappointed." The blonde leading the pack sidled up to me, voice dripping with sweetness that made my skin crawl.

Honestly, I had zero interest in men who reeked of cologne and performative charm.

Their cloying scent was nothing compared to the way Damian smelled—gunpowder and mint, sharp and clean.

But out of sheer spite, I plastered on a smile and sank into the center of the couch.

Meanwhile, back at the Kovac estate.

Damian's POV

I stayed under the cold water for a while before I could even begin to get a grip on the fire tearing through me.

When I finally stepped out of the bathroom, all I could see was her—sitting in my lap in that goddamn dress, her legs, her skin, that deliberate challenge in her eyes.

I squeezed my eyes shut and punched the wall.

I knew how rough I'd been when I pushed her off. I'd heard the sound she made when her back hit the desk.

"Damn it…" I muttered under my breath.

I wanted to go to her room. Check if she was hurt. Apologize. Let her slap me if that's what it took.

But when I opened her bedroom door, the closet was wide open. Clothes were missing.

Panic slammed into my chest like a freight train.

I crossed to the bed. My eyes landed on a crumpled piece of paper on the nightstand.

My hands shook as I smoothed it out.

"Divorce Agreement."

"No… no, no, no…"

My breathing turned ragged. I crushed the paper in my fist.

"Someone get in here!" I barked.

Less than a minute later, the head of my security appeared in the doorway, looking like he was about to be executed.

"Boss, the lady—she took her bike to Miss Selina's bar."

"Get the car."

I stormed into the closet and threw on a black coat.

"Lock down that bar. Nothing gets in or out. Not even a fly."