Cold Husband Burning Regret: The Divorce He Couldn't Handle novel Chapter 114

She moved like a marionette, settling on his lap, stripping away his clothes with a shamelessness that wasn't her own.

Her hands stopped at his belt, fingers resting on the cold metal after the last button gave way. The air conditioning in the room was arctic, the chill seeping through her skin, making her shiver uncontrollably.

He leaned back against the sofa, unmoving. "Why'd you stop?" he asked, voice low.

Charlotte drew a shaky breath.

So be it. Like being bitten by a stray dog, she told herself.

She reached for his belt buckle, but before she could undo it, his hand clamped around her wrist. She lost her balance and toppled forward—her protest muffled as he forced her lips open with a rough, demanding kiss.

"Mmm—"

The deeper he pressed, the more she recoiled inside, unable to cross that invisible line. She started to resist him, pulling away.

Evander pinned her wrists, holding her down, his grip tightening.

Desperate, Charlotte bit him, hard, until she tasted the faint tang of blood. He released her at once, his face darkening, expression shuttered in an instant.

She froze.

Crap…

"I…I'm not ready for this," she stammered.

His hand gripped her chin, dragging her closer. "Is it really so hard to do what you used to?" he murmured.

Is it hard? How could it not be?

Back then, she'd been naïve—no, foolish. Too blind to see her own limits, overestimating her worth.

She'd known he never loved her, yet still thought she could win his heart.

In the end, she was nothing but the clown in her own tragedy.

She was the one who should feel wronged.

The weight of it all crashed over her. Tears welled up and spilled freely, sliding down her cheeks like pearls snapped from a string, falling onto his knuckles.

Evander stiffened, as if burned.

Charlotte gazed up at his always-cool, handsome face and blurted out, "Do you love me?"

A deep crease formed between his brows, as though the question were beneath him. "The title of Mrs. Howard could be yours—if you behave."

Of course he dodged the question. She'd expected as much.

Charlotte let out a knowing, hollow laugh.

She could be Mrs. Howard, but the woman he loved could never be her.

"If I do as you say, will you stop using Hiram to threaten me?"

Natalie stirred her instant coffee, then sat back down. "It was Mr. Howard's decision."

"Mr. Howard…" Sabina swayed, her confidence faltering. "But—why? Who is she to him?"

"That's none of your concern," Natalie replied coolly. "All you need to know is that it's time for you to go."

"I know Miss Winthrop! She's the one who hired me!" Sabina tried to play her last card. "Natalie, you know about Miss Winthrop and Mr. Howard's relationship—if I ask her to intervene—"

"Miss Sabina." Natalie set down her coffee, cutting her off. "That won't work on me. If you're so sure of yourself, take it up with Mr. Howard."

Sabina's face fell. Realizing she wouldn't get anywhere, she bit her lip and walked out.

…

Charlotte had just arrived home when her mother, Rachel, called her, voice tentative. "Lottie, did Evander say anything?"

Charlotte punched in her code, stepped inside, and pulled off her shoes, her bare feet sinking into the carpet. She bit her lip. "No, nothing. I'll ask him again later."

"Alright, sweetheart, but—don't be so stubborn, okay? Sometimes, it's alright for a woman to bend a little. Being too headstrong…it only makes things harder for yourself."

Charlotte offered a few noncommittal words, then hung up, unwilling to argue.

Forty days left.

Swallowing her pride wouldn't kill her.