The CEO’s Regret: Begging Her Firefighter Ex-husband

Chapter 3

Lucas was discharged from the hospital the following morning.

With his right leg locked inside a heavy walking cast, he relied on a pair of metal crutches to make his way out to the taxi stand.

He took a cab back to their downtown apartment, intending to pack his uniforms, personal records, and his late parents' keepsakes before heading to the base dorms.

The moment he unlocked the front door and stepped into the foyer, he froze.

Two large designer suitcases stood beside the entrance shoe rack.

A boy's cartoon backpack hung from the brass coat hook, and a small pair of blue sneakers sat directly in the spot where Lucas always kept his work boots.

Julian Miller walked out of the kitchen holding a freshly squeezed glass of orange juice.

"Lucas?" Julian paused, his face quickly shifting into a look of delicate, fragile surprise. "You're back already? Claire said you'd be in the hospital for at least a week."

Before Lucas could answer, Claire emerged from the living room wearing comfortable loungewear.

"The doctor discharged you?" Claire asked, looking at his crutches. "You should have called me. I would have sent the company driver."

Lucas looked at the luggage by the door, his jaw tightening.

"Why is Julian's luggage in our hallway?"

Claire followed his gaze, her voice taking on an easy, dismissive tone.

"Reporters from the local news have been staking out Julian's apartment building since the wreck. Leo was terrified by all the cameras, so I told Julian they could stay here until the investigation blows over."

"You moved them into our home?" Lucas asked, his voice cold.

"It's just for a few days, Lucas," Claire said with a frown. "Julian is a single father with a four-year-old son. Did you honestly expect me to let them get harassed by the press?"

Lucas shifted his gaze toward Julian.

Julian took a small step behind Claire, lowering his eyes with an expression of performative guilt.

"Lucas, please don't be angry with Claire," Julian said softly, his voice trembling slightly. "It was entirely my fault. I told her we could stay at a cheap motel near the docks, but Claire insisted that Leo needed a proper home environment. If our presence makes you uncomfortable, Leo and I can leave right now... even if we have to sleep in the car."

"Julian, stop it," Claire said immediately, turning to comfort him. "You are not sleeping in any car. You don't have to apologize for keeping your son safe."

Lucas leaned heavily on his crutches, watching the two of them.

He had been home for less than two minutes, and his wife was already defending another man under their roof.

Then Lucas noticed the door at the end of the corridor.

It was wide open.

Lucas dragged his cast forward, the rubber tips of his crutches squeaking against the polished floorboards.

He stopped at the entrance of what used to be his private study.

The room was completely unrecognizable.

His heavy oak desk—where he had spent five years writing rescue debriefs late into the night—was gone.

The display shelf that once held his service commendations, his rescue medals, and the framed photographs of his deceased parents had been cleared out entirely.

In their place stood a small children's bed with bright dinosaur sheets, surrounded by plastic toy bins and picture books.

"Where are my things, Claire?" Lucas asked, his knuckles whitening on the handgrips.

Claire walked up behind him, sounding impatient.

"I had the housekeeper pack everything away neatly. Leo needed a quiet room to sleep in, and this was the only spare space in the house."

"Where are they?"

"In the hallway storage closet," Claire replied casually. "Nothing was damaged. You can unpack everything once Julian's housing is sorted out."

Lucas turned around slowly to face her.

"My parents' photos? My service medals? You threw them into a storage closet?"

"I didn't throw them away!" Claire said, her voice rising with annoyance. "They are packed in boxes! Why do you always have to make an issue out of every small thing?"

Lucas stared at her in absolute disbelief.

His parents had passed away in a car accident during his third year of service. Those few photographs and his father's watch were the only things he had left of them in this world.

Claire knew that better than anyone. She had been there when he carefully polished each frame and placed them on the shelf when they first bought this home.

Yet she had dismantled his sanctuary and boxed up his memories without even asking him.

"Claire, those are my parents' belongings," Lucas said, his voice shaking with restrained anger.

"And they are completely safe in cardboard boxes!" Claire shot back. "Leo is a child who just went through a traumatic accident. Can't you show a little bit of compassion?"

Before Lucas could speak, hurried little footsteps sounded from the living room.

A four-year-old boy ran down the corridor, wrapping his arms around Claire's knees.

"Mommy! I drank all my juice! Are we going to the park now?"

Claire's cold expression melted instantly into a warm, gentle smile.

"Good boy, Leo," Claire said softly, kneeling down to smooth his hair. "Auntie Claire has to finish talking to Uncle Lucas first, okay? Go play with your toys."

Lucas stood rigid in the hallway.

The boy had called his wife Mommy without the slightest hesitation, as naturally as if he had been doing it for months.

Julian walked over with an embarrassed, flustered smile.

"Leo, what did Daddy tell you?" Julian scolded gently, pulling the boy back. "You have to call her Auntie Claire."

Leo pouted, burying his face into Claire's skirt. "No! She's my mommy!"

Julian looked up at Lucas, his eyes filled with delicate helplessness.

"Lucas, please don't take it the wrong way," Julian murmured, biting his lip. "Leo's mother abandoned him when he was just a baby, so he's always lacked maternal warmth. Claire has been so sweet to him that the poor boy gets confused. I've corrected him so many times, but he just loves her so much."

Claire placed a protective hand on the child's back, glaring at Lucas.

"He's only four years old, Lucas. Don't glare at a child."

Lucas hadn't said a single word to the boy.

Julian sighed heavily, pulling Leo toward the front door with a look of deep distress.

"Claire, this really isn't right," Julian said, his voice cracking with emotion. "I can see how much pain our presence is causing Lucas. We'll pack our bags right now. We don't want to be the reason your marriage falls apart."

"Julian, stay where you are!" Claire ordered firmly.

Julian looked down at his son, his eyes glistening with tears. "No, Claire... Lucas nearly died on that ship, and now he comes home to find strangers in his house. It's only natural that he hates me. Leo and I will find a shelter. We'll be fine."

Claire stepped directly between Julian and Lucas, her chest heaving with indignation.

"He is offering to pack up and leave just to spare your feelings, Lucas!" Claire demanded, pointing a finger at him. "Julian has lost his vessel, his career is on the line, and he's raising a son all by himself. Can't you be a little more generous for once in your life?"

Lucas looked past her shoulder at Julian.

Julian was standing with his head bowed, one hand resting on his son's shoulder, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touching the corner of his lips before he quickly wiped it away.

He had played Claire like a fiddle, turning her into his personal guard dog while painting Lucas as a heartless monster.

And Claire had fallen for it completely.

Lucas let out a long, quiet breath, the tension leaving his shoulders.

"Julian doesn't need to leave," Lucas said evenly.

Claire's face relaxed, a look of triumph flashing across her features.

"Good," Claire said, crossing her arms. "I'm glad you're finally coming to your senses."

"I am moving out," Lucas said.

Claire's smug expression vanished instantly.

"What?"

"Let them stay," Lucas continued calmly. "I only came back to collect my things."

He turned on his crutches and made his way toward the master bedroom.

"Lucas! Stop right there!" Claire shouted, marching after him.

Lucas pushed open the bedroom door, pulled a heavy canvas duffel bag from the closet, and began tossing his uniform shirts and trousers inside.

Claire blocked the wardrobe, her eyes blazing with anger.

"What kind of childish tantrum is this?" Claire snapped. "You're walking out of our home because I gave shelter to a helpless father and son for three days?"

Lucas zipped the duffel bag without looking at her. "I told you yesterday at the hospital. I want a divorce."

Claire let out a sharp, mocking laugh.

"Are you still clinging to that ridiculous threat? You're injured, your leg is broken, and you're letting your petty jealousy run your brain!"

"I'm not jealous, Claire," Lucas said, slinging the strap of the bag over his shoulder. "I'm finished."

"And where do you think you're going to stay? The base dormitory? For how long?"

"Until the apartment I rented is ready for move-in."

Claire went dead silent.

Her eyes flickered with genuine shock. "You... you already rented an apartment?"

Lucas didn't answer. He adjusted his crutches and limped down the hall toward the storage closet.

Inside the narrow closet, his life had been stacked in dusty cardboard boxes beneath an old vacuum cleaner.

Lucas pulled open the top box. Inside lay his framed graduation photo, showing his late parents smiling proudly beside him.

The glass frame had a deep crack running across his mother's face.

Lucas gently traced the cracked glass with his thumb, a dull ache twisting in his chest, before wrapping it in a towel and sliding it into his bag.

He couldn't carry the heavy boxes with his cast, so he took his parents' keepsakes, his passport, and his official credentials, leaving the rest behind.

When he limped back into the foyer, Claire was waiting by the door, her face pale with cold fury.

Seeing that he was truly walking out with his bags, her proud, corporate arrogance took over.

"Lucas Cole, do you even realize what a divorce means?" Claire asked, her voice hard and venomous.

She stepped closer, looking down at his crutches with total condescension.

"You're a rescue worker with a broken leg living on a government stipend! Without me, you couldn't even afford the mortgage on a place like this! You think you can walk out of my life and keep your pride?"

Lucas looked at her quietly, his eyes showing neither anger nor pain.

"I don't care about your money, Claire."

Claire’s expression hardened, her voice dropping into a cold, authoritative chill.

"Fine. Walk out then," Claire said, looking at him with unwavering certainty. "Let's see how long your pride lasts on your own."

"Just remember this, Lucas," she added, her tone sharp and unyielding. "If you ever regret this and want to come back to this marriage, you'll have to get on your knees and apologize to Julian before I ever let you back through that door."

Lucas looked at the woman he had loved with all his soul for five years.

There was no sadness left in his eyes. Only a quiet, profound exhaustion.

"You don't have to worry about that, Claire," Lucas said softly.

He reached down, pushed the heavy front door open, and stepped out onto the welcome mat.

"There is nothing left in this marriage for me to ever come back to."

Lucas pulled the door shut behind him with a firm, decisive click, leaving her and her pride completely behind.