The Last Time I Loved Him (Autumn and Ryan) novel Chapter 18

Chapter 4

“What did you say?” Ryan stood frozen, staring at me like he’d misheard. “Emma?”

I picked up a pen, signed each page of the divorce papers, and pushed them toward him.

“I said, I want a divorce,” I repeated.

Ryan loosened his collar, frowning. “Are you losing it? Who’d want you, a woman past her prime, after me?”

So in Ryan’s eyes, I was “past my prime” at thirty.

I tossed the pen at him. “Ever heard ‘thirty is the new twenty“? By the way, after the divorce,

I won’t be your assistant anymore. Give me a few days to brief my replacement on your

schedule.”

My directness drew a mocking laugh from him.

He pointed at me, eyes flashing with impatience. “Emma, you’re playing with fire, and you’re going to get burned!”

As if on cue, Olivia’s ringtone filled the room. Ryan didn’t answer, just fixed me with a

threatening stare.

“Weren’t you the one always talking about having a baby before thirty? I know you’re ovulating this week.” His voice turned calculating. “I’m giving you three seconds to take it

all back.”

Last year, on my 29th birthday, I’d turned my fertility tracking into a shared calendar event, scheduling our attempts at starting a family. Ryan didn’t know I’d stopped marking.

those dates last month.

The ringtone echoed through the room like a countdown. Three seconds passed, and the last thread between us snapped.

“You’ve got nerve, Emma. Let’s see how long you can keep this up!” He stormed out of the house.

The Las

The moment the door slammed, I picked up my phone and scheduled an appointment at the clinic for the day after tomorrow.

At the clinic, the doctor looked at the ultrasound

is progressing normally. Are you sure you do nd hesitated. “Ms. Mitchell, the pregnancy

want to discuss this with the father?” Just

then, my phone lit up with a trending notification. A clip from last night’s film gala.

The camera caught Ryan and Olivia sitting together, exchanging shy glances and secret

smiles.

Then Olivia, emboldened by the crowd and cameras, kissed Ryan. He grabbed her neck, pulling her close. I muted the audience’s screams by closing the video.

I accidentally opened a high–res photo from one of the reporters. There, on Ryan’s throat, were two small bite marks..

On our wedding night, when Ryan was still a struggling actor, he’d pinned me to our bed, teasing me. He’d guided my head to his throat, his voice husky: “Emma, bite me.”

Only when my teeth marked his skin did he finally hold me close, kissing my hair repeatedly.

–

“It hurts this isn’t a dream. Emma, I really married you.” Back then, I was his dream come

true.

I locked my phone and closed my eyes. “Go ahead, doctor.”

It wasn’t as painful as I’d imagined. Afterward, I felt strangely lighter. The next morning, post–discharge, I met my replacement at a nearby coffee shop. To ensure they wouldn’t face the same treatment I had, I’d chosen a male assistant. I reviewed the final details with Max

Phillips.

“Why are you leaving? Ryan’s amazing. So many people would kill to be his assistant, he

said.

I gave a slight smile. “I’m getting too old. This job needs someone young and hungry like