𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐑 || 𝐋.𝐌 ✓

➢Chapter 23- This is not a love story

"All set." Charlotte slid the divorce agreement across her desk. "Since you already have the L/n squared away, this is pretty straightforward. There's really nothing else do to but sign it."

There wasn't. Y/n had already moved her things out of the mansion. She did so tearfully, not caring that Brooke and the come-and-go staff saw her wearing sweats, bawling as she packed up her things.

Almost four weeks ago, in Lucius's private suite, he'd made love to her. She let him, unable to stop herself from telling him she loved him.

Twice.

Immediately after, he'd led her into the shower. Silently, they stood in the steam, Lucius soaping her body as she shivered, feeling everything too much. He didn't confess that he loved her, which she assumed meant he didn't. He'd done it for her. He'd given her one last hit of Lucius Malfoy before he asked her to say good-bye to him permanently.

"Take the divorce papers with you when you go," he'd said, scrubbing her back with a washcloth as she stood in the water. "The sooner we wrap up loose ends, the easier the transition will be."

She still didn't know if he meant for her, him, or the press.

She hadn't seen him since.

There was no reason to. She didn't live in the mansion any longer, and there was no reason to go to the hotel. Carl was right. The L/n was squared away, so there wasn't anything left to do but sign on the bottom line.

Charlotte handed her a pen.

"It's been a month, Y/n," she said. "Put yourself out of your misery and move on."

According to the IvyGate, Lucius had. They posted a photo of him and Grace having lunch and reported that the brunette had "fallen hard for her sexy employer."

Y/n didn't think it was true, but it made her feel a little better to imagine it was. Hating him was easier. After she'd slapped him, she should've turned and walked out.

Then she wouldn't have dangling "I love yous" to contend with.

"Y/n."

"I know." Y/n tried to smile, but the reflected pain in her best friend's eyes was so prevalent, tears welled in her own. Crying hadn't solved a damn thing, so Y/n accepted the quill and scrawled her name next to Lucius's.

"He never owled or send a patronus. Not even to see if I'd signed yet," Y/n said numbly.

"I'm sorry."

"So am I."

Everything they'd had, gone with the stroke of a quill.

"I'll drop these off for you," Charlotte called as Y/n left.

Y/n didn't respond. She walked out of Carl's office and headed straight back to the L/n.

* * *

The rustling of plastic sounded in the room and Lucius cracked his eyes open. Sunlight pierced his retinas, so he slammed them shut again.

"No housekeeping," he grumbled, unsure why the maid was here. He'd instructed her to come by once a week, and he remembered before he broke the seal on a bottle of sixty-year-old scotch last night that he'd hung the DO NOT DISTURB sign.

The numbers on the clock blurred, focused, then blurred again: 11:43. He couldn't remember the last time he's slept past eight. Well, whatever. He was due a sick day, probably had a hundred of them in queue. Hungover counted as sick. And anyway he was in charge.

He turned his face into the pillow, his skull aching like someone had split it with an axe. Today's hangover wasn't something he felt like dealing with. Neither was yesterday's. Or the one he'd had the day before. They'd become his new routine.