Too Late to Love Her: When She Divorced, He Fell Apart-Chapter 2: Get Out

Claire glanced at her briefly, her gaze carrying an innate power that silenced the words on the young nurse’s lips.

Tristan Lockwood’s surgery encountered massive bleeding midway, and it only concluded successfully by evening.

Claire stood elegantly against the corridor wall, watching him emerge from the operating room.

The surgical gown he wore was stained with large patches of fresh blood, and behind the mask, fatigue flickered through his dark eyes.

Her gaze lingered on him for too long, making him aware, and when he raised his eyes to look at her, they were as cold as ever.

"Why are you here?"

Tristan’s tone was flat, but his eyes were very cold.

Claire could tell that he was in a bad mood.

Perfect for adding fuel to the fire.

So she intentionally waved the birth control pills in her hand: "Came to get some medication, and to see you in passing."

Tristan swept over the glaring pills, the chill in his eyes intensified.

The confrontation between the two in the corridor only lasted a moment but attracted quite a few gazes. After all, a handsome man and a beautiful woman, pleasing to the eye, with an atmosphere unusually ambiguous.

"Wait for me in my office."

When Tristan returned to his office after changing out of the surgical gown, Claire was swallowing down birth control pills with water.

"Didn’t I say not to come to the hospital to find me."

He approached her, still wearing a mask, his voice very detached. When Claire looked up, she met his reproachful, distant gaze.

Her gaze swept over his broad and well-shaped shoulders, not caring about his displeasure, she thought for a moment and said: "I originally just came to buy medicine, but suddenly felt unwell, wanted you to take a look."

"Where does it hurt?"

"Here." Claire placed a hand on her lower abdomen, "My stomach hurts a lot."

Tristan glanced over, saying nonchalantly: "I’m a surgeon; you should see a gynecologist for issues like this."

"The gynecologist today is a male doctor, and it’s inconvenient."

Claire lifted her eyelids, staring at him unblinkingly: "Moreover, you’re familiar with my body, and I feel more at ease with you."

He gave her a faint look, then pointed to the examination bed next to them: "Lie down, let me take a look."

Claire obediently did as told, lying flat, lowering her eyes, watching Tristan examine her intently.

When he was diagnosing her, he was very focused, with less chill in his eyes than usual, and his movements were even gentler than when engaged in intimate acts.

In his white coat, Tristan gave Claire a feeling of sacredness and inviolability. Thinking back on events from a few hours ago, she felt an unrealistic sense of detachment.

"Just apply ointment for a couple of days, and be careful in the meantime."

Claire looked at him meaningfully.

Unfazed, Tristan removed his gloves and handed her the written prescription.

She glanced at it, raising her thin eyebrows: "Burn ointment?"

Tristan looked at her blistered fingers.

Claire’s fingers tingled slightly, feeling a warm sensation flowing through, and after Tristan changed out of his white coat, she asked: "Dinner together?"

His arm paused as he was hanging up his coat, turning back to scrutinize her silently.

Claire curled her fingers slightly, speaking lightly: "The last time we had dinner together was six months ago."

Tristan didn’t immediately respond; instead, he took long strides to stand in front of her.

Out of his white coat and into a suit, he lost the sanctity of a doctor but gained an overwhelming intensity.

Shrouded in his aura, her breath hitched slightly.

"Do you care about such things?"

Tristan’s tone was calm, exuding the air of a distant observer who was detached from everything.

Claire took a step back, her expression unchanged: "I just thought it would be convenient."

As the scent of Tristan’s men’s cologne brushed past her nose, she furrowed her brows slightly.

Tristan’s gaze swept over her lightly, not uttering another word, then turned and left.

Claire only saw Tristan’s message after she collected the burn ointment at the pharmacy.

[Take a right turn at the second intersection after exiting the hospital.]

She pondered for a second and concluded that Tristan intended to have dinner with her, thus retracting her steps toward the parking lot and walking out of the hospital.

On the street, there was only a strange black sedan parked, the latest model Audi A8L, with a seven-figure price tag.

Claire hesitated for a moment as the taillights of the car blinked twice.

She walked over, and as the car window rolled down, there was Tristan’s perfect profile. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, showcasing defined muscle lines, and his long fingers tapped against the steering wheel with a powerful grace.

For some reason, Claire recalled when he touched her with his hands earlier, and her ear tips started to burn.

"Get in."

Tristan’s voice was detached, pulling her out of the warm memory of his touch.

She fastened her seatbelt, casually asking: "When did you get the new car?"

"A few days ago."

After saying this, he turned his head to glance at her, noticing she was staring intently at him.

She had a pair of captivating almond-shaped eyes, with slightly upturned corners that, when focused on someone, gave an impression of deep tenderness and affection.

The speed of the car unintentionally increased.

"There are three cars parked in our garage, and one of them is the new one you bought half a year ago."

She withdrew her gaze, looking ahead as she spoke.

Tristan slowed the car, responding without any expression: "So?"

"With your preferences, you wouldn’t get tired of it so quickly."

Tristan had money but wasn’t one to splurge.

Claire found this quite agreeable.

After all, they’re married now, and in terms of money, he was rather generous with her.

Although, occasionally, it required some maneuvering.

As she calmly analyzed, a faint, elusive scent of perfume lingered in the car, subtle yet alluring.

But it absolutely didn’t belong to Tristan’s usual scent.

"Claire."

He called her name, his tone exceptionally cold: "Keep your little thoughts to yourself. Don’t meddle in things that don’t concern you."

She looked out of the car window, her tone indifferent: "I only said a word, and you’re already anxious. Why, are you serious this time, hiding her so well?"

Tristan’s patience ran out, and he suddenly braked.

"Get out."

These two words were so cold it was outrageous. Even someone as calm as Claire couldn’t help but be taken aback.

But her actions were faster than her thoughts, and before her mind could catch up, she was already standing on the street, feeling the cold wind.

Tristan’s Audi A8L left behind only a trace of exhaust in the air.

The cold wind cleared Claire’s mind a bit. She realized that Tristan was not just fooling around this time; he was serious about the woman she still didn’t know about.

Serious enough to kick her out of the car over it.

They had been married for two years, and this was the first time Tristan had unceremoniously, without any regard, left her behind.

In the night breeze, Claire opened her phone, dialing the assistant’s number with her fair fingers.

"Tina, keep an eye on Tristan for me."

"Okay, President Hale." Tina Hayes agreed cheerfully but didn’t hang up.

Claire asked, "Is there anything else?"

Tina Hayes: "Nothing, President Hale. I’m just curious about what kind of saint Tristan’s wife is. I’ve been following him for months, caught him in the act several times, and his wife has never reacted, like a turtle hiding in its shell, watching a drama of infidelity unfold? If it were me, I’d at least hang Tristan up and give him a beating! Just because you’re handsome and rich, it’s no excuse to mess around!"

Claire’s brow twitched, "Finished talking?"