Chapter 6 Breaking Point

Jane: POV

"Shit! Serena acted with deliberate intent," I muttered under my breath.

"Lucas, she grabbed my hand and—"

"I saw you hit her," he cut me off, reaching Serena and pulling her protectively against him. "Everyone on this beach saw it."

I glanced around, noticing the stares from nearby sunbathers. From their angle, they’d only seen Serena reel back, not her grabbing me.

"This is ridiculous," I said, shaking my head. "You two deserve each other."

"We’ll discuss this later," Lucas growled, his arm around a now-sobbing Serena. "Go back to the room before you cause any more scenes."

I gathered my things, feeling the judgmental glances from other beachgoers. As I walked away, I heard Lucas comforting Serena, his voice just loud enough to reach me.

"Don’t worry, baby. She’ll be gone soon enough."

‘Wretched Lucas. He’s truly lost his senses,’ I thought bitterly.

That evening, after dinner in the hall, I resolved to have a heartfelt discussion with Ethan about divorce. Even with my family’s situation looming over me, I couldn’t keep living like this.

The elevator ride to Lucas’s floor felt endless. Each floor number lighting up brought a fresh wave of determination mixed with dread. Reaching his door, I paused, listening. No sounds—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 mussed, looking surprised.

"Jane?" A smug smile spread across his face. "Finally come to apologize for 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 doing this in the hallway."

I hesitated, then walked into the suite. The room was immaculate, housekeeping having erased any trace of his activities with Serena. I stood near the window, keeping distance between us.

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

"The point?" He laughed coldly. "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, voice dropping. "You forget I hold all the cards."

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

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

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

"Isn’t it obvious? We’ve been married a year, and I’ve never touched you." His eyes roamed over me. "Maybe that’s why you’re so eager to leave—you’re curious what you’re missing."

"Don’t be disgusting. I would never—"

"We’re still married, Jane." He moved quickly, 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 until my legs hit the bed. "You’re my wife. This is what married people do."

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

He shoved me onto the mattress, his weight pinning me as he forced his mouth on mine. I twisted away, the taste of his scotch making me gag. His hands were rough, tearing at my clothes.

"Stop fighting," he growled, fumbling with my pants while holding my wrists. "You might even enjoy it."

Panic surged as I felt his fingers at my waistband. I bucked and twisted, but his weight held me down. His mouth moved to my neck, biting hard enough to hurt.

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

As his grip loosened slightly, I saw my chance. I wrenched one hand free, grabbed the bedside lamp, and swung it hard against his head.

Lucas reeled back with a shout. I scrambled off the bed, heart pounding.

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

I backed toward the door, lamp in hand. "Don’t ever touch me again."

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

I dropped the lamp and ran, slamming the door behind me. Outside, the night air shocked my lungs. I ran blindly from the hotel, collapsing onto the beach sand. Tears broke free, racking my body with sobs.

"Fuck you, Lucas Shaw!" I screamed into the darkness. "You miserable, pathetic excuse for a man! I hope your company crashes and burns!"

My voice grew hoarse as I cursed until my throat was raw. Eventually, my sobs quieted. I wrapped my arms around my knees, staring at the dark water, feeling utterly alone.

Then, a jacket settled across my shoulders, warm and smelling of expensive cologne. I startled, looking up to find Ethan Quinn beside me, his expression concerned.

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

He sat beside me on the sand, unconcerned about his expensive pants. "Business trip. Quinn Global has investments in Honolulu."

"In the same resort where I’m staying?" I asked suspiciously.

A small smile touched his lips. "Pure coincidence. I was walking and heard someone… expressing themselves colorfully."

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

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

We sat in silence, the sound of waves filling the space. "Would you prefer to be alone?" he asked.

I considered, surprised I didn’t want him to leave. "Actually, no. I could use the company."

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

I took his hand, letting him pull me up. We walked along the shoreline, talking about neutral topics—the island, restaurants, a funny story from his last visit. His calm presence soothed me, the knot in my chest loosening.

Unbeknownst to me, Serena Foster, lurking in the shadows, had taken a photo of us walking together and sent it to Lucas.

The next morning, aggressive pounding on my hotel door woke me at 6:38 AM. Groaning, I dragged myself to the door without checking the peephole.

Lucas stood there, face like a thundercloud, a bandage near his hairline. He thrust his phone in my face, showing a dark but recognizable photo of me and Ethan on the beach.

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