Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love-Chapter 131: The Reveal

Philip leaned back in his chair, his smug expression sharpening like a blade as he caught the subtle tremor in Arthur’s usually unflinching demeanor. He toyed with his phone, spinning it lazily between his fingers, the gesture as deliberate as it was infuriating.

"I didn’t have to tell her anything, Arthur," Philip said, his voice laced with mock innocence. "I simply ensured she stumbled upon the truth. You know how Lydia is—curious, meticulous. It wasn’t hard to lead her to the right breadcrumbs." 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

Arthur’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening as he fought the surge of anger threatening to spill over. His hands, balled into fists, rested heavily on the arms of his chair. "You’ve always been meddlesome, Philip," he said, his voice a low growl. "But this—this is low even for you. Do you realize what you’ve done?"

Philip chuckled, the sound cold and jagged, cutting through the tension like a shard of ice. "Oh, don’t play the victim here, Arthur. You did this to yourself. You’ve strutted around for years with your polished image—the doting husband, the perfect family man. But secrets have a way of surfacing, don’t they?"

Arthur shot up from his seat, his earlier restraint snapping like a taut wire. His hazel eyes burned with fury, his voice trembling with the effort it took to keep his composure. "You and your stupidity," he spat. "You never learn, do you? No wonder your father hesitates to hand over his kingdom to you. You are dumb."

Philip’s smirk faltered, his expression souring as Arthur’s words struck a nerve. His jaw tightened, but he quickly masked it with another veneer of arrogance.

Arthur pressed on, his tone cutting. "Whatever you think you’ve achieved by dragging Lydia into this mess, you’ve only made things worse for yourself. Don’t think for a second I’ll let you get away with it."

Philip rose slowly from his chair, matching Arthur’s imposing height. He stepped closer, his movements deliberate, his grin unwavering. "You’re missing the point, Arthur. I don’t care if you try to retaliate. This isn’t about you—it’s about her. Lydia deserved to know who she married. And you—" he jabbed a finger into Arthur’s chest—"deserved to have your perfect little world shaken."

Arthur swatted Philip’s hand away with enough force to send a clear message. His hazel eyes blazed with righteous fury as he stepped closer, the tension between them palpable. "You think this will end with Lydia hating me? That she’ll run to you for comfort? Or do you want her to break down entirely? That’s what you want, isn’t it? To see her crumble—for history to repeat? You’ve never understood her, Philip. You never will. You’re nothing but a despicable piece of cr*p."

Philip chuckled darkly, his voice dripping with condescension. "Maybe," he conceded. "But I understand one thing, Arthur. Every empire, no matter how grand, crumbles when its foundation is rotten. And yours?" He gestured at Arthur with a slow wave of his hand. "Yours is about to fall apart."

As if on cue, Arthur’s phone buzzed in his pocket, the vibration like a warning bell. He didn’t need to check to know who it was. The weight of Philip’s words hung in the air, heavy and oppressive, but Arthur refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing him falter.

Squaring his shoulders, Arthur straightened his suit jacket with a deliberate tug. His voice was low, steady, and filled with an icy resolve. "If you think this is over, you’re mistaken. You’ve declared war, Philip, and you’re going to regret it. You will not touch my daughter or her husband."

Without sparing Philip another glance, Arthur turned on his heel and strode toward the door. His footsteps echoed ominously, each one a declaration of defiance. Behind him, Philip’s mocking laughter rang out, a sound that only fueled Arthur’s resolve.

Once outside the suite, Arthur pulled his phone from his pocket, his thumb hovering over Lydia’s name. His chest felt tight, his heartbeat thundering in his ears as he prepared to face the storm Philip had unleashed.

The call connected after a single ring, Lydia’s voice calm and measured, cutting through his mounting anxiety. "Is it true? Is she your daughter? Is that why she tugged my heartstrings?"

"Lydia," Arthur said, summoning every ounce of composure he could muster. "Stay right where you are. I’m coming to you. We’ll talk about this face to face."

"Okay," Lydia replied, her tone steady but distant. She ended the call before he could say more.

Arthur exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on the phone as he slid it back into his pocket. The battle with Philip was far from over, but right now, his focus was on Lydia. He walked out in a large gait.

-----

As Harold stepped out of the hotel, the warm evening air greeted him, but his relief was short-lived. Two imposing figures blocked his path, the same men he had seen tailing Catherine earlier. Their dark suits and stern expressions radiated an air of quiet menace. Harold barely had time to register their presence before one of them stepped forward.

"Hey, wait a—" Harold began, but his words were cut off as a rough hand clamped over his mouth. The other man moved swiftly, grabbing Harold by the waist and hoisting him up effortlessly, as if he weighed nothing more than a sack of potatoes.

"Let go!" Harold’s muffled protests were futile. His heart pounded in his chest as he struggled against their iron grip, but they were well-trained and unyielding. His attempts to kick or elbow his captors were met with no reaction; they carried him with an eerie, practiced efficiency.

Panic coursed through him as he tried to make sense of what was happening. Who were they? Why were they doing this? His mind raced, but before he could piece anything together, a sharp pain exploded at the back of his head. His vision blurred, and his knees buckled as his world tilted.

The last thing he heard before everything went black was one of the men muttering, "Boss wants him out cold."

Darkness consumed him, heavy and oppressive, as the hotel’s glowing lights faded into oblivion.