Cold Husband Burning Regret: The Divorce He Couldn't Handle novel Chapter 118

Mrs. Fontaine was one of Professor Carstairs' favorite customers at this boutique—a VIP, no less. The sales assistant, who owed a good chunk of her commission to Mrs. Fontaine's lavish spending, wouldn't dare show her anything short of deference.

She fussed over Mrs. Fontaine, serving her tea and making sure she had the plushest seat.

"Dr. Sterling, how much do you even make in a month?" Mrs. Fontaine sneered, stroking the LV handbag in her lap, her disdain barely concealed. "Honestly, what are you doing in a place like this? Young people these days—don't let vanity get the better of you. If you can't afford it, don't embarrass yourself."

Charlotte let out a laugh. "So Mrs. Fontaine, spending the money your husband embezzled to spoil yourself isn't vanity? I wonder how Director Fontaine, sitting in his cell, would feel if he knew how you're blowing his dirty money."

"You little witch! How dare you bring that up!"

Just the mention of it sent Mrs. Fontaine into a rage.

Mrs. Rayburn glared at her, snorting, "You old hag. Threaten my daughter again and you'll get what's coming to you."

"Who are you calling old, you wrinkled cow?"

Mrs. Rayburn ducked behind Charlotte, poked her head out, and snickered, "Oh, I'm a wrinkled cow? Who's the real old hag here?"

"You—" Mrs. Fontaine started, but then the sales assistant gave her a discreet nudge. She forced herself to swallow her anger, putting on the air of someone rising above the squabble. "No wonder—birds of a feather flock together. Trash attracts trash."

Charlotte stepped closer, her voice laced with meaning. "Exactly. Birds of a feather. Otherwise, why would Mrs. Fontaine stoop to such lows for someone like Tricia?"

Mrs. Fontaine stiffened, averting her gaze. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, you know exactly what I mean. Especially when it comes to Conrad. You're quite familiar with him, aren't you?"

Charlotte's gaze pinned her in place, making every twitch of Mrs. Fontaine's face betray the truth.

Clutching her handbag tighter, Mrs. Fontaine lifted her chin and refused to admit anything. "Who's Conrad? Never heard of him. You're delusional."

"Clear the place." Wesley handed his card to the sales assistant, who froze, eyes wide.

It was—

The legendary black card: the ultimate status symbol.

Mrs. Fontaine gaped. "A black card? That's impossible…"

The sales assistant's hands shook as she ran the card through the reader. Her knees nearly gave out. Part of her job was to serve clients of this caliber, and she'd been rigorously trained—not just to remember their names, but their backgrounds. In all of Vandalia, fewer than five people held this black card. In The Capital, only the Howard family's patriarch. And the initials on this card—WR—could only mean one thing.

He was the son of Eldermere City's wealthiest man.

"Mr. Rayburn… I am so sorry," the sales assistant stammered, bowing and returning the card with both hands. The arrogance she'd shown before had vanished without a trace.