“I don’t care if she never returns it,” I replied quietly. “I just need you to sign something.”
Then I turned and headed upstairs.
A minute later, I descended with a set of papers—already opened to the signature page.
Divorce papers.
“There’s no need to get emotional,” Lucian murmured, as if coaxing a child. “Sabrina won’t keep it forever. I already told you—I’ll give it back once she’s delivered.”
He signed without even scanning the document.
When my fingers closed around the papers, a hollow calm flooded through me. I hadn’t expected it to be this effortless.
Lucian offered me a gentle smile, completely misunderstanding everything. “I know I haven’t treated you well lately. Go on—buy whatever makes you feel better. Put it on my tab.”
Ah.
So that was it.
He thought this was part of another petty argument. That I was angling for money, or gifts, or some emotional leverage.
I unclasped the medal, the familiar weight vanishing from my throat, and placed it in his palm with an empty expression.
For a moment, he froze. His fingers tightened around the necklace like he wasn’t sure he deserved to hold it—but eventually, he kept it.