Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love-Chapter 84: The Unexpected Support

Lydia didn’t even argue. With a long-suffering sigh, she pressed the speakerphone button and set the phone down on the bed between them.

Arthur leaned back, his eyes catching hers. There was something in the way Lydia’s shoulders had squared, the way her jaw was set, that told him this conversation wasn’t going to end in peace.

And he didn’t mind. He never did. He found it strangely satisfying, watching her spar with Philip. As powerful as Lydia was, her brother was a force in his own right—and when they clashed, it was like watching two great storms collide.

It was entertaining.

Arthur grinned, leaning back as he stretched out on the bed, his arms tucked casually behind his head. He shifted, settling deeper into the comfort of the mattress, eyes glinting with amusement. No, he wasn’t sadistic—at least, not in the textbook sense—but there was a wicked satisfaction in watching his wife dismantle her brother’s bravado with surgical precision. Lydia had a gift for it, and Arthur relished every moment.

On the other end of the line, Philip’s voice crackled with restrained fury. "What are you talking about?" he growled, his words clipped and laced with the authority befitting the so-called prince of their family empire.

But if Philip was the prince, Lydia was the queen—older, sharper, and utterly unimpressed by his theatrics. Her expression remained serene, unbothered, as though his anger were no more than static on an otherwise clear channel.

"Jared Petrovski," Lydia said, her tone dripping with mockery. She didn’t even try to hide the smirk curling the edges of her lips. She mocked him not just for his ignorance but for pretending not to understand her meaning.

Philip’s growl deepened. "Do not interfere in my business, Lydia. You know nothing about him."

"Oh?" Lydia arched an elegant brow, her amusement never faltering. It wasn’t surprise; it was defiance, a silent declaration that she wasn’t going to back down. Her smirk sharpened, her confidence unshakable.

Then, her demeanor shifted. Her voice softened, and the fire in her eyes dimmed to a playful glow as she turned to Arthur. She rested a hand gently on his thigh, her touch grounding yet deliberate. "Artie," she cooed, the sweetness in her voice a calculated contrast to her earlier tone, "tell them to fire up the jet. I want to have breakfast with Daddy."

Philip’s sharp intake of breath came through the line. "Lydia!" he barked, his composure slipping into frustration.

She barely acknowledged him, her tone airy and dismissive. "Oh, didn’t realize you were still there," she quipped before ending the call with a flick of her wrist. The silence that followed was deafening, but it was broken almost immediately by Arthur’s laughter.

He let himself fall back into the pillows, laughing so hard his chest shook. His wife had always been a force of nature, but he didn’t expect her to act like a little girl who would call her father "Daddy" when she wanted something—or someone—dealt with.

It didn’t matter that she was married now or had her own responsibilities as Lady Sutherland. Some things never changed. She was the little girl of the Glover family still.

Lydia lay down beside him, her gaze drifting to the ceiling as a rare softness settled over her features. Arthur turned to her, his laughter fading as his thoughts grew heavier.

Pulling her into his embrace, Arthur held Lydia close, his grin fading into a look of quiet concern. It wasn’t unusual for her to spar with Philip—if anything, it was their family’s peculiar version of communication, laced with power plays and unspoken challenges. But this time was different. This time, she’d invoked her father so early in the game, bypassing every other avenue she might have used to gain the upper hand.

That urgency spoke volumes. It wasn’t just about outmaneuvering her brother or proving a point. Lydia was in a hurry, and that meant one thing: she cared about the girl. She cared enough to throw caution aside, enough to ensure that no harm would come to the girl, not even as collateral damage in whatever feud was brewing. Lydia, ever calculating and patient, had taken the most direct route to protection—the kind only her father could provide.

Arthur pieced it together in silence. She hadn’t asked him to step in because even his influence, formidable as it was, would take time to bear fruit. She didn’t want to risk the delay. Her father, on the other hand, was a force of immediate, unquestionable authority, one whose word could shield the girl and her family from Philip’s reach in an instant. Lydia had known this instinctively, and she hadn’t hesitated.

"Why are you doing this for her?" he asked, his voice low but steady. "You’ve changed since that gala. You’re not the same."

Lydia didn’t answer immediately, her silence weighing more than words. Arthur searched her face, trying to decipher the sudden shift. His wife, ever-pragmatic and impervious to charm, had always been quick to see through people’s facades. She didn’t bother with her father’s family business—it was too messy, too beneath her carefully curated world. She had enough on her plate managing their own affairs.

So why this girl? Why was she the exception?

Arthur’s hand tightened gently around her shoulder, his thoughts racing. Lydia was the kind of woman who didn’t break stride for anyone, yet here she was, plunging headfirst into a conflict that had nothing to do with her—at least, not directly.

His wife’s eyes flickered, the slightest hint of vulnerability betraying her usual composure. Whatever the reason, Arthur knew one thing for certain: this wasn’t just about Jared Petrovski. It wasn’t even about Philip.

This was about the girl.

"She stirs something in me, Artie," Lydia admitted, her voice a fragile whisper, so unlike the sharp, unyielding woman she usually was. She turned her face toward him, her vulnerability on full display in the dim light. "Sometimes, she makes me so mad I want to see her hurt. But then, when I think of her, I can’t bear the thought of her suffering—not even a little. It’s... it’s like falling in love, but..." She trailed off, her eyes distant and clouded with a turmoil she rarely let anyone see.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking in an attempt at humor. "There, there, my dear. I can’t handle a rival at my age. Remember, you’re hopelessly devoted to your beloved husband. Try not to fall in love again—it’s quite unbecoming of a Lady Sutherland."

He leaned down and kissed her temple, the warmth of his touch lingering. Though his words were lighthearted, his eyes betrayed him. They weren’t smiling. Instead, they held a shadow of worry, a quiet dread he couldn’t shake.

Arthur knew this place, this state of mind she was teetering on the edge of. It was all too familiar, a dark corner of her heart she hadn’t visited in years. And he knew better than anyone that Lydia, with all her grace and poise, could spiral if pushed too far.

He wasn’t going to let that happen again. Not this time.

Her phone buzzed, its vibration cutting through the tension like a blade. Arthur glanced at it, unsurprised to see Philip’s name flashing on the screen. Lydia didn’t move to pick it up; she seemed miles away, lost in the storm of her own thoughts.

Arthur sighed, reaching for the phone. If she wouldn’t deal with her brother, then he would. He pressed the screen, lifting it to his ear with an air of authority. "What?" His voice was firm, devoid of the teasing warmth he reserved for his wife.

On the other end, Philip’s voice was tight with frustration. "Father doesn’t need to know about every single thing I do," he snapped. "She doesn’t have to interfere so much. It’s childish, Arthur. She can’t keep acting like a whining toddler just because she doesn’t get her way."

Arthur’s jaw tightened, his free hand resting protectively on Lydia’s shoulder. His wife might be infuriating at times, but she wasn’t a child. She was clever, decisive, and far more powerful than her brother realized.

"I’m not here to tell you how to run things, Philip," Arthur said, his tone calm but laced with a subtle warning, like the edge of a blade kept deliberately dull. "But I’d strongly advise you not to defy your sister’s wishes. That path rarely ends well for anyone."

There was a pause, a sharp inhale from the other end of the line. Then Philip’s voice cut through, louder, edged with something that wasn’t just frustration but genuine concern. "The girl?" he said, his voice rising. "Arthur... is it happening again?" The question hung heavily, laden with a mixture of fear and worry.

Arthur’s jaw tightened as he glanced at Lydia. She was reclined on the bed, her usually sharp gaze now distant and unfocused. The droop of her eyelids betrayed a weariness that was more than physical. Arthur had been thinking the same thing, though he hadn’t dared put it into words. Not yet. Not when admitting it might bring it to life.

"It won’t repeat this time," he said, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "Do not touch anything—or anyone—that belongs to that girl. That’s final."

.