Too Late to Love Her: When She Divorced, He Fell Apart-Chapter 9: They Delighted in It, Wishing to Hold a Great-Grandchild by Tomorrow

Chapter 9: Chapter 9: They Delighted in It, Wishing to Hold a Great-Grandchild by Tomorrow
Claire almost choked on her water.
She set down the glass, looked at him calmly, and said, "Tristan Lockwood, don’t disgust me."
"When you disgusted me, you didn’t hold back."
Tristan stretched out his long legs, grabbed her wrist, and naturally placed an ice pack in her palm.
She looked up and saw that half of his face was already swollen with blood seeping out. She lowered her eyes and moved to his side, tightening her palm to press the ice pack against his cheek.
Byron Lockwood really slapped Tristan like he was disciplining a grandson, with real force. It took almost half an hour of icing for the swelling to slightly reduce.
Claire’s right hand became sore from holding it up, so she switched to her left hand. As soon as she lowered her right hand, Tristan’s large hand covered her arm and gently began to massage it.
He was a doctor, and his massage technique was naturally up to par. Claire’s numb muscles slowly began to relax.
"Aren’t you curious why I got hit?" he asked.
Her eyes flickered slightly, and she said with a hint of mischief, "With all the messes you’ve made, isn’t getting hit normal?"
Tristan lowered his eyes and met her gaze.
For a while, he raised his eyebrows slightly, "You seem quite happy to see me get beaten up."
It was indeed something worth celebrating.
Claire kept it to herself; she didn’t plan to continue the topic, but Tristan kept staring at her with deep meaning in his dark eyes, his thumb gently rubbing the inside of her arm.
She thought seriously for a few minutes before looking back at him and saying, "You told Grandpa about the divorce."
His eyes grew darker as he stared at her for a while before his lips moved, "Are you willing?"
"No."
Claire didn’t hesitate, and at the same time, she withdrew the hand holding the ice pack for him and tossed it back onto the table, leaving his face to continue swelling.
Tristan wasn’t surprised by her answer. Instead, he reached out to brush her hair calmly, saying, "Think it through. Is being entangled with me, where we both dislike each other, really the life you want?"
"It’s you who won’t live properly," Claire said lightly. "In the two years of marriage with you, have I ever wronged you? Instead, you’re the one who’s constantly rebellious, looking like you’re starving for women and will die without them."
She intentionally painted him as a lustful scoundrel, which somewhat helped her vent her frustrations.
Perhaps because of the slap, Tristan’s brain was temporarily out of order. Not only was he not angry, but he he held her chin and said deeply, "Aren’t you the one who knows best whether I’ve had enough?"
Claire nodded in agreement: "It’s not that great."
This time, his face finally darkened. He directly pulled her onto the sofa, wrapping his arms around her and pressing her down.
Claire pushed against his chest, frowning in rejection: "We’re at Grandpa and Grandma’s house, don’t mess around."
"They’d be delighted, itching to have a great-grandson by tomorrow."
Tristan’s hands were already being quite unruly.
Claire was feeling it too, but she couldn’t accept doing it in the living room of the elderly, so it took quite some convincing to get Tristan into the bedroom.
Afterwards, Claire was held in Tristan’s arms, his hand gripping her slender waist. Suddenly, he casually asked, "Do you love me?"
If it were another man, asking this question after the act, Claire might think the person was emotionally invested as well as physically.
But this was Tristan, someone emotionally invested was out of the question. His heart wasn’t with her. She guessed he hadn’t given up on persuading her to divorce.
"With your family background, even if we divorce, there’s an eight or nine out of ten chance you’d be forced into marrying another prominent family. Tristan, you should be grateful that I married you; at least when you’re out there fooling around, money can settle things between us."
"If you need money, Grandpa and Grandma wouldn’t let you go without."
Claire was in Tristan’s arms, his chin resting on her forehead. She couldn’t see his expression, just heard his voice, which was quite indifferent, not knowing what he was thinking.
"With your current conditions, divorcing me and finding someone you like who also cherishes you wouldn’t be hard."
What Tristan said was quite dignified.
Claire thought to herself, the Lockwood family’s genes were indeed strong. Not only was Tristan skilled with a scalpel, but his eloquence was also remarkable, so much so that she almost wanted to recruit him for her law firm.
She didn’t speak for a long time, so he thought she was wavering. Just as he was about to continue, she broke free from his embrace and got out of bed wearing nothing.
"For that woman, you’re not only willing to take a slap from Grandpa, but also humble yourself to persuade me calmly. Truly impressive."
Claire took a bath towel from the closet, wrapped it around herself, and absentmindedly glanced at Tristan, saying, "Aren’t you afraid I’ll get curious and investigate everything about that woman’s background?"
"Try it and see."
His tone was lazy, but there was a frightening sense of pressure in his eyes, as he returned to his usual indifferent demeanor.
Claire indeed wanted to test it, but not now. Now she felt sticky all over and needed a shower.
After her shower, while she was drying off, she heard a phone ringing outside. It was Tristan’s.
She didn’t pay it any mind at first, but Tristan seemed to be out of the room. Annoyed by the noise, Claire went out to take a look and saw it was an unregistered number calling.
If it were a spam call, it wouldn’t usually bombard like this. She had a premonition it was that woman calling, so she directly answered it.
"Tristan."
The woman’s voice entering Claire’s eardrums was delicate and melodious, like a wind chime. Claire imagined the princess from the fairy tales she read as a child, the one who found even a pea uncomfortable under a hundred mattresses.
"My wound hurts a bit, I don’t know if it’s infected."
The woman’s tone was quite reserved, quite alluring. If not for being a woman herself, it would be hard to discern that seductive undertone.
"If your wound hurts, go to the hospital and get it checked," Claire advised bluntly. "Or have your legs broken and can’t walk, so I need to inform Tristan to come get you?"
There was no response from the other side; they immediately hung up the call.
With just a few words, Claire immediately judged that the woman knowingly involved herself as "the other woman".
Otherwise, she wouldn’t have hung up so silently.
Claire calmly set down the phone, discreetly deleting the call record, and memorizing the woman’s number.
A few days later, while meeting with a client whose case had just been settled, Claire received a call from Tristan.
"You messed with my phone."
Tristan’s voice was cold, clearly having discovered her actions and calling to question her.