I Left Him after He Chose The Sister-in-law

Leonidas’ hard, stern gaze finally softens, his face still unreadable. “Didn’t you say you’ve been dying to try that new Italian place that just opened? I already got us a reservation through Uriel.”

Clementine huffs a frustrated sigh and steps right around him. “I’m too stressed out to eat right now.”

Leonidas catches her arm gently, tilting her chin up with his palm. “Let me check if those mouth sores are acting up again. You’ve been eating garbage out there with no one to cook for you. Come home.”

Clementine stares into his deep, dark eyes. The concern looks totally genuine.

Some days, she swears he’s got a split personality.

Ice cold when he’s distant, burning hot when he’s sweet. And she’s right in the middle of this messed up emotional tug-of-war.

She yanks away from him. “You’re the reason I’m stressed out. Just divorce me, and I’ll be fine again.”

Leonidas’ mouth presses into a hard, thin line. “Don’t even think about it.”

A white Bentley glides to a stop right in front of them. Mckenna steps out, holding a big bouquet of soft pink tulips. “Congrats on the new job.”

Clementine accepts the flowers with a thank you.

Mckenna glances over at Leonidas. “Uncle, I booked a private room to celebrate Clementine. You wanna come along?”

Leonidas stares at the pastel bouquet in silence for a beat, then turns back to Clementine. “You sure you want to go with her?”

Clementine hesitates. “Mckenna, I’m so wiped from work. Let’s do it another day, okay? I’ll host, we can invite everyone.”

Even though she was dead set on getting a divorce, she didn’t want to burn bridges or ruin her reputation around the city.

Leonidas’ shoulders relax just a little.

That’s when a red sports car screeches to a halt right in front of them, driven by a woman in oversized sunglasses that hide half her face. “Hey, Clementine!”

Clementine’s face lights up. “Liberty! You’re back!”

“Hell yeah I am. And I’m ready to drag you out to dinner to celebrate your soon-to-be freedom.”

Clementine and Liberty had been attached at the hip since preschool, all the way through high school. A year ago, Liberty got shipped abroad for grad school—word is she wrote three tearful goodbye letters begging to come home before her dad finally caved.

Liberty’s little comment makes Leonidas frown so hard, you swear he could crush a fly between his eyebrows. Liberty swallows nervously, but she’s Uriel’s sister, and Leonidas’ oldest friend. She doesn’t back down.

Clementine ends up picking Liberty’s car. Mckenna jokes, “Looks like ‘Lady Marshall’ takes this round.”

As the two women pull away, Leonidas stands and watches them go, his silhouette sharp against the setting sun.

The three of them head to that buzzing new Italian spot. Even with a reservation, there’s still a wait, no way around it.

Parking’s a nightmare, so Mckenna heads off to hunt for a spot. Liberty, who’s both impatient and dying for the bathroom, tells Clementine to drop her brother’s name to skip the line.

The place is owned by one of Uriel’s friends, but the hostess takes one look at Clementine’s casual outfit, assumes she’s just causing trouble, and ignores her completely.

Clementine’s about to just leave when she overhears a woman in a sharp blazer picking up a pre-order for “Mr. Lopez,” listing off every dish by name.

Clementine freezes, her mouth pressing tight.

The name “Lopez” paired with “Mr.” is one of a kind in this city.

She squints a little, and realizes that’s Samara’s personal assistant—Yasmin, right?

“One moment please,” the hostess says, checking her system and calling Leonidas to confirm the order. Seconds later she’s smiling at Yasmin. “Your order will be right up.”

Clementine huffs a bitter laugh, but her eyes start to burn.

See? The same man who just fussed over her ten minutes ago is already arranging another woman’s dinner.

Are all men secret masters of multitasking, just built to juggle whatever comes their way?

Yasmin feels Clementine staring, turns, and gives her a polite little smile, like they’re total strangers. But any idiot knows Yasmin’s been to the Lopez family estate a hundred times—she’s definitely met Clementine before.

Clementine catches a flash of open challenge in Yasmin’s eyes.

But she’d already made up her mind to move on. Who Leonidas prioritizes shouldn’t hurt her anymore.

She’s just getting ready to leave when three tall men walk in, with Leonidas right at the front.

He spots his assistant Yasmin immediately, and she greets him. “Mr. Lopez… Ms. Stephens, if you’re in a rush, we can push your order to the front.”

Just then, the packed takeout order arrives.

Leonidas explains it simply. “Samara wanted to try this place’s food. Let her take this one first—they can whip up another set fast.”

His words couldn’t be clearer: Samara comes first.

Clementine thought she was past the pain, but her heart still twinges anyway.

She tries to play it cool, handing Mckenna a shopping bag. “This shirt is for you.”

Leonidas grabs her arm hard, voice sharp. “Who was this supposed to be for? You’re giving away something I bought for you?”

Clementine yanks her arm out of his grip. “Don’t make a scene here, Mr. Lopez. If you want one, I can grab you another one anytime.”

The two men with Leonidas snicker.

A muscle throbs in Leonidas’ temple. That’s twice today she’s flipped his own words right back on him. How had he never noticed how sharp she was before?

Before the standoff can go any further, Mckenna and Liberty’s table is ready, so Clementine walks away.

In the private dining room, Liberty cackles when she hears the whole story. “Hell yeah! That’s exactly how you treat a jerk. Clem, that shirt you bought couldn’t have worked out better if you planned it.”

For the record, the shirt wasn’t actually meant for Leonidas at all—it was always Mckenna’s. He’d spilled water on his old one earlier that day, so Clementine stopped to grab him a new one to change into later.

Mckenna chuckles. “Who knew a plain shirt could be such a perfect power move?”

Laughter bubbles through the whole room.

Meanwhile, the air in the private room next door is so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Leonidas pours himself vodka, one hand on the glass, the other clamped around the bottle, refilling the second it’s empty. He hasn’t touched a single dish on the table, and he’s already halfway through the bottle of top-shelf vodka.

Barrett, one of the guys with him, taps his knuckles against the table. “Hey, man. Did we come here for pasta or for you to drink yourself into a meltdown?”

Leonidas says nothing. Barrett sighs. “You’re this twisted up over Clementine, your niece? Word around town is she’s been making noise about divorce lately.”

Leonidas looks up. “We’ve been married two years.”

“Alright, alright, Clementine it is. But if you don’t love her, just cut the cord. Save everyone the headache.”

Leonidas’ gaze goes dark as pitch.

Unfortunately, Barrett’s too oblivious to drop it. He nudges Uriel, who’s sitting next to him. “What d’you think, Uriel?”

Uriel shoves his elbow away. “Don’t drag me into your crap.”

“Hey, I just—” Barrett stops, the pieces clicking into place. “Wait a minute. You actually love her? Then stop acting like a stubborn jackass and do something about it.”

Leonidas looks down at his glass. He wants to love her, god knows he does. But every time he looks up and sees her looking right through him, like she’s waiting for someone else, he can’t help but shut down and pull that cold, cold mask back on.