Her Divorce Lawyer Want Her novel Chapter 61

Freya was fast asleep.

She’d slumped in the passenger seat, her head tilted just a bit to the side.

Even as she was dozing off, there was a tiny crease between her brows.

Ryan eased the car into his driveway and cut the engine, but he didn’t rouse her.

He just angled his head and watched her there in the quiet.

Freya was a knockout–he’d clocked that ages ago.

But getting this close, soaking her in during the hush? Yeah, first time for everything.

Her eyes were massive; lids closed, you could still see those lashes stretched out like wings.

A cute button nose, petite lips–but damn, they were plump and perfect.

Except now they were pale as chalk, her whole face drawn and weary from the grind.

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Regret twisted in his gut. He never should’ve jerked her around today, dragging her over with that fake fridge fiasco and the impulse coffee maker buy.

If he’d had any clue she’d barrel in that night ready for war, he’d have given her the afternoon off–let her snag a real breather.

But…

Fifteen years in the making. He’d finally hit the jackpot: her split from Liam.

Man, the rush when that call hit his phone–he’d buzzed alive, every nerve ending firing like fireworks.

Freya? She didn’t remember their meet–cute.

He sure as hell did. Crystal clear.

Middle school days: she was the total package–stunner with brains to match, acing everything. Boys couldn’t shut up about her; girls seethed with jealousy.

Before long, the petty types amped it up, slinging dirt: whispers of her messing around with shady off–campus dudes, even scraping together an abortion story.

Classic teen crap–gorgeous girls caught slut–shaming flak, while the awkward ones got bullied into the ground.

He’d had enough. Time to collar one of those yapping instigators, send a message, kill the bullshit once and for all.

Fists clenched, knuckles popping, he was homing in on the worst offender mid–spew when–bam–the classroom door exploded open.

In stormed Freya, a pint–sized spitfire with a scowl that could curdle milk. She beelined for the guy and hurled her bottle’s contents square in his face.

He yelped, arms windmilling. “What the fuck is that?”

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Chapter 61

“Concentrated sulfuric acid,” she fired back, steady as steel–not some wide–eyed kid, but a pint–sized warlord. “Feeling the burn now? Ever stop to think how bad you’d fuck someone up with your lies?”

“Sulfuric acid?” The dude lost it, pawing at his face with frantic fistfuls of tissue.

A couple classmates caught stray splashes–they scattered like roaches, bolting for the bathrooms to flush or sprinting to the faculty lounge to tattle.

The ringleader was already shaking half to death, but he spun around to an empty room–everyone gone but Ryan, lurking a few paces back.

“Ambulance–dude, call one. I’m begging you,” he croaked, voice splintering.

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