Cold Husband Burning Regret: The Divorce He Couldn't Handle novel Chapter 137

With strangers present, Rachel quickly wiped away her tears and stood up, her voice steady but subdued. “Jonathan, you’re here.”

Over the past three days, Jonathan had been helping with all the arrangements after Xavier’s passing, so Rachel had come to appreciate him.

Jonathan nodded. “I was worried you’d be overwhelmed.”

Rachel gave a tired, bitter smile. “It’s alright. Just lay him to rest. There’s no need for a ceremony.”

She thought, perhaps, her husband’s spirit would not want to witness the scene that had just played out.

Rachel carried Xavier’s ashes to the cemetery. Only four people were there: herself, Charlotte, Jonathan, and Jonathan’s driver.

The funeral was done.

…

Howard Manor.

Evander stared absently at his phone, lost in thought. For three whole days, Charlotte hadn’t come home. Not a single call, not even a message.

“Evander!” Miranda burst into the study, fuming. “Have you lost your mind? How could you let that little brat move into the Howard family home!”

Evander put his phone away and lifted his gaze, eyes heavy-lidded. “He’s just a child.”

“He’s not your child! Why are you getting involved?” Miranda was on the verge of exploding. “What, don’t want to have your own so you need someone else’s?”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as if to gather himself. The fatigue was etched into his handsome features. “He’s just staying at the manor for a while.”

“I don’t approve!”

He let out a low chuckle. “It’s not as if you’ll have to look after him.”

“Evander, are you really that dense or just pretending? If you keep him here, what will people think? What about Charlotte?”

Miranda wanted to pry open his head to see if he and his father shared the same brain, the same stubborn ideas.

She opened the door to find the living room flooded with light.

Evander sat at the bar, a cigarette burning between his fingers. The ashtray was overflowing with butts—far more than he ever smoked in a day. Normally, he barely touched the stuff, only having one on rare occasions. But now, even with the extractor fan running, the smell of smoke hung in the air.

He looked up at Charlotte, snuffed out his last cigarette, and spoke in a hoarse, gravelly voice. “You’re back.”

Charlotte ignored him, face expressionless. She stepped past him, changed her shoes at the door, and walked straight to the bedroom to fetch her suitcase and begin packing.

Evander came in, saw her, and hurried to grab her arm. “Where are you going?”

Without hesitation, Charlotte spun and slapped him—once, twice, across the face.

She raised her hand again, but he caught her wrist. “That’s enough, Charlotte!”

“It’s not enough.” Charlotte’s eyes blazed with anger and pain, her voice trembling with barely restrained control. The love she’d once felt for him had burned itself out, leaving only bitterness and hate. “Evander, you and Tricia—you’re both despicable. You both deserve nothing.”