Cold Husband Burning Regret: The Divorce He Couldn't Handle novel Chapter 158

After her husband’s death, Rachel realized the only person she could truly rely on now was her daughter. She desperately wanted Charlotte to find her birth parents, yet at the same time, she was terrified Charlotte might leave her behind if she did. The thought made her feel horribly selfish.

A pang of shame crept over Rachel.

Charlotte, oblivious to her mother’s inner turmoil, continued chatting. “You know, Mr. Rayburn actually saved my life once. I passed out from heat exhaustion on the street, and he was the one who took me to the hospital. If not for him, I might’ve ended up as roadkill.”

Rachel paused, then managed a smile. “That sounds like fate.” But her smile faded as another thought struck her. “If only I could have that kind of luck, to run into my own daughter. After all these years, I have no idea where she is, or how she’s doing.”

Picking up on her mother’s sadness, Charlotte stood and moved to her side. “Mom, do you actually want to find her?”

“There isn’t a moment that goes by when I don’t,” Rachel sighed. “But I don’t even know what she looks like now.”

Charlotte nervously licked her lips. Rachel’s biological daughter, the one who’d been sold away, couldn’t be much older than herself. If she could help her mother find her, wouldn’t that be a wonderful thing?

“Mom, when you had her, did you leave her with anything? Maybe a keepsake, or does she have any birthmarks?”

Rachel fell silent for a few seconds, eyes dropped. “All I remember is a little red birthmark on her wrist.”

…

At noon, Charlotte returned to the hospital.

As she passed the reception desk, a nurse called out to her. She turned, just as the nurse handed her a bouquet of blue roses. “Dr. Sterling, Mr. Pembroke asked me to give these to you.”

“Oh my gosh, Dr. Sterling! Is Mr. Pembroke trying to win you over?” Another nurse joined in, her eyes bright with envy.

Charlotte could only smile awkwardly. Jonathan had sent her flowers again. It wasn’t as if she could refuse, so she accepted them, her cheeks tinged pink.

Tucked inside the bouquet was a card and a small velvet jewelry box.

The box was stamped with the Cartier logo.

She opened the card. In Jonathan’s familiar handwriting, it read: For my dearest Charlotte.

It was exactly the sort of thing he’d write.

But he knew she wasn’t divorced yet…

Standing outside her office, arms folded, Tricia watched the whole scene unfold, a self-satisfied smile on her lips. An idea struck her, and she quickly sent Evander a message.

By evening, as Charlotte left the hospital, she spotted Jonathan waiting outside, pacing nervously.

She hesitated, then walked over. “Jonathan.”

“Charlotte?” He looked up, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry about today. The flowers and the jewelry—they weren’t from me.”

She blinked. “They weren’t?”

Even if her feelings for him were only gratitude, in this moment, Jonathan felt his resolve waver.

After dropping Charlotte off at home and watching her go inside, Jonathan pulled out his phone and messaged Tricia: If you value our partnership, stop acting on your own. Mess this up, and I’ll make sure you never set foot in the Howard house again.

Tricia, sitting in her son’s hospital room, scowled at the message. Still, she needed Jonathan, so she couldn’t afford to start a fight: Don’t you have feelings for her too? I’m trying to help.

Not your business.

Tricia scoffed and snapped her phone shut.

Those men must be blind. Charlotte was pretty, sure, but what did she have that Tricia didn’t? Just wait—once she had Evander wrapped around her finger and became Mrs. Howard, she’d make sure he worshipped the ground she walked on.

Meanwhile, Rachel was cooking dinner when the doorbell rang.

Hands full, she called out, “Lottie, could you get the door?”

“Coming!” Charlotte hurried down the stairs. But when she opened the door and saw who was standing there, her face fell instantly. She tried to shut the door, but the man pressed his hand against it, his eyes dark and unreadable.

“What, not happy to see me?”

“You—” Charlotte started, anger flaring, but she swallowed it down, lowering her voice. “What are you doing here?”