Chapter 6 Breaking Point

Jane: POV

I pushed my half-eaten lobster around my plate, appetite long gone.

After Serena's beach stunt earlier today, I couldn't stomach another minute of this charade.

Lucas and his puppet had disappeared after dinner, probably back to his suite for another round of what I'd overheard yesterday.

I put down my fork with sudden resolve. Enough was enough. I was going to confront Lucas about the divorce—tonight.

Even with my family's situation hanging over my head, I couldn't keep living like this.

The elevator ride to Lucas's floor felt interminable.

Each floor number that lit up brought a fresh wave of determination mixed with dread.

When I reached his door, I paused, listening.

No sounds this time—at least Serena wasn't there.

I knocked firmly.

After a moment, the door swung open.

Lucas stood there in lounge pants and an unbuttoned shirt, hair slightly mussed, looking surprised to see me.

"Jane?" A slow, smug smile spread across his face. "Finally come to apologize for your behavior on the beach?"

"We need to talk about the divorce," I said, keeping my voice steady.

His smile vanished. "There's nothing to discuss."

"There's everything to discuss. This isn't working, Lucas. It never has. Just sign the papers and let me go."

Lucas's eyes narrowed as he stepped aside. "Come in if you want to talk. I'm not having this conversation in the hallway."

I hesitated, then walked past him into the suite.

The room was immaculate—housekeeping had already been through, erasing any evidence of his activities with Serena.

I stood near the window, maintaining distance between us.

"Lucas, this marriage is a joke. You're sleeping with Serena, you've never loved me, and we're both miserable. What's the point of continuing this farce?"

"The point?" He laughed, a cold sound. "The point is that I decide when this ends, not you. You think you can just walk away?"

"I'm not asking for anything. Keep your money; keep everything. I just want out."

"And what about your brother's treatment? Your father's surgery?" He moved closer, his voice dropping. "You seem to forget that I hold all the cards here."

"I'll figure something out," I said, though my stomach clenched at the thought.

"No, you won't. Not without me." He stepped closer still. "Maybe the problem is that we've never really been husband and wife."

I backed away. "What are you talking about?"

"Isn't it obvious? We've been married for a year, and I've never once touched you." His eyes traveled down my body. "Maybe that's why you're so eager to leave—you're curious what you're missing."

”Furthermore, hasn't my mother recently expressed her desire for us to conceive a child?“

"Don't be disgusting. I would never—"

"We're still married, Jane." He moved with unexpected speed, grabbing my wrists. "Maybe I should claim my conjugal rights."

I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened painfully. "Lucas, stop it! Let me go!"

"Why should I?" He pushed me backward until my legs hit the edge of the bed. "You're my wife. This is what married people do."

"Not like this," I gasped, struggling against him. "This isn't marriage, it's assault!"

He shoved me down onto the mattress, his weight pinning me as he forced his mouth onto mine.

I twisted my head away, the taste of his expensive scotch making me gag.

His hands were everywhere, rough and demanding, tearing at my clothes with angry determination.

"Stop fighting," he growled, one hand fumbling with the button of my pants while the other held my wrists above my head. "You might even enjoy it."

Panic surged through me as I felt his fingers at my waistband.

I bucked and twisted, but his weight kept me pinned.

His mouth moved to my neck, his breathing heavy as he bit down hard enough to hurt.

"I hate you," I spat, still struggling. "I've always hated you."

"That's not what you said when you married me," he muttered against my skin, his knee forcing my legs apart. "You were so eager then."

As his grip loosened slightly to work at my clothes, I saw my chance.

With all my strength, I wrenched one hand free and reached blindly for anything I could use.

My fingers closed around the base of the bedside lamp.

Without hesitation, I swung it hard against the side of his head.

Lucas reeled back with a shout of pain and surprise. I scrambled off the bed, my heart pounding so hard I could barely breathe.

"You crazy bitch!" he yelled, blood trickling from a cut near his temple.

I backed toward the door, lamp still gripped in my hand. "Don't ever touch me again."

"You'll regret this," he threatened, pressing his hand to his bleeding head.

I didn't wait to hear more. I dropped the lamp and ran, slamming the door behind me.

Outside, the night air hit my lungs like a shock.

I ran blindly, away from the hotel, away from Lucas, away from everything. My only thought was escape.

I found myself at the beach, collapsing onto the sand. The tears I'd been holding back finally broke free, racking my body with harsh, ugly sobs.

"Fuck you, Lucas Shaw!" I screamed into the darkness. "You miserable, pathetic excuse for a man! ”

I pounded the sand with my fists, years of pent-up rage pouring out.

"You worthless piece of shit! I hope your dick falls off! I hope Serena gives you every STD in the medical books! I hope your precious company crashes and burns!"

My voice grew hoarse as I hurled every curse I could think of into the night. "I was never yours! Never! You hear me? NEVER!"

I don't know how long I sat there, crying and cursing until my throat was raw.

Eventually, my sobs quieted to hiccupping breaths.

I wrapped my arms around my knees, staring out at the dark water, feeling utterly alone.

Then I felt something settle across my shoulders—a jacket, warm and smelling faintly of expensive cologne.

I startled, looking up to find Ethan Quinn standing beside me, his expression concerned in the dim light.

"Ethan?" I gasped, hastily wiping my tears. "What—what are you doing here?"

He lowered himself to sit beside me on the sand, seeming unconcerned about his obviously expensive pants. "Business trip. Quinn Global has investments in Honolulu."

"In the same resort where I happen to be staying?" I asked, unable to keep the suspicion from my voice.

A small smile touched his lips. "Pure coincidence. I was walking along the beach and heard someone... expressing themselves quite colorfully."

Heat rushed to my face. "You heard all that?"

"Enough to know you're having a difficult evening," he said diplomatically.

We sat in silence for a moment, the sound of waves filling the space between us.

"Would you prefer to be alone?" he finally asked.

I considered his question, surprised to find that I didn't want him to leave. "Actually, no. I could use the company."

Ethan nodded and offered me his hand. "Walk with me? The night air might help clear your head."

I took his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. We began walking along the shoreline, the warm water occasionally lapping at our feet.

We talked about neutral topics—the island, restaurants he recommended, a funny story about his last visit.

His calm presence was soothing, and I found my breathing returning to normal, the knot in my chest loosening slightly.

What I was unaware of was that Serena Foster, lurking in the shadows, had taken a photograph of Ethan and me walking together from behind, which she then sent to Lucas.

The next morning, I was awakened by aggressive pounding on my hotel room door.

I groaned, rolling over to check the time: 6:38 AM. Much too early for whatever this was.

The pounding continued. With a sigh, I dragged myself out of bed and to the door, not bothering to check the peephole.

Lucas stood there, his face a thundercloud, a small bandage visible near his hairline where I'd hit him.

He thrust his phone in my face, displaying a dark but recognizable photo of me and Ethan on the beach.

"This man," he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "Who the fuck is he?"