Cold Husband Burning Regret: The Divorce He Couldn't Handle novel Chapter 201

She was simply too beautiful.

Everyone in the village knew about their family’s dim-witted, unmarried son… No matter how wealthy they were, not a single woman was willing to marry a man like him—a man well into middle age and not right in the head.

So when they brought home a girl so young and stunning, it was impossible not to raise suspicions. Was she some poor soul they’d lured in, someone to pity?

After all, this wasn’t the first time.

Naturally, the aunt sensed the villagers’ stares and muttered gossip. She smiled and announced, “This is my niece, Charlotte Sterling—Xavier’s daughter.”

“Xavier’s daughter?” An elderly woman eyed Charlotte, then gave Abigail Sterling a meaningful look. “You really are willing to let her go, aren’t you?”

Abigail snorted. “Girls grow up and get married. What’s there to be unwilling about?”

The old woman could only sigh, powerless to change anything.

“Wife! My wife!” A man in a groom’s suit was being helped over. He was in his forties, his face twisted from childhood polio. His words came out thick and slurred, and his mind was stuck at the level of an eight-year-old child.

The aunt hurried to greet him. “Elmo, this is your bride now. You must be good to her, you hear?”

“I’ll be good! I’ll be good to my wife!” Elmo grinned, drool slipping down his chin, and when he looked at Charlotte, a shy flush crept onto his face. “Pretty.”

Charlotte stood perfectly still, her face a mask of cold indifference. She heard nothing—none of the whispers, none of the laughter. Her mind was a thousand miles away from this grim little gathering.

She waited. Watched. Then, finally, she saw her chance.

Just as they tried to bring Elmo closer, she suddenly shoved him aside.

Elmo toppled to the ground and burst into tears.

His parents rushed to him in a panic.

Abigail Sterling jabbed a finger at Charlotte’s face, shouting, “Are you out of your mind, you ungrateful girl?”

As every eye turned to Elmo’s wailing, Charlotte shoved past the crowd and made a break for the door.

Everyone turned to stare. The scene was imposing—almost intimidating.

Natalie stepped out first, flanked by bodyguards. She raised a parasol to shield herself from the sun, then opened the car door for Evander Howard.

Evander unfolded himself from the car, all long legs and effortless confidence. He wore a tailored charcoal suit, the jacket buttoned neatly, a blue diamond pin gleaming on his lapel. His shirt was open at the collar, a sharp V at his throat.

He took the umbrella from Natalie and strode forward, his entourage close behind.

The aunt froze at the sight of the luxury cars and the formidable procession. Clearly, these people weren’t ordinary guests.

Elmo’s father, ever the opportunist, hurried over with a broad, hopeful smile. “You folks here for the wedding?” he called, trying to guess which side of the family had sent such impressive relatives.

But Evander’s eyes were on Charlotte.

In that sea of dark suits, she stood out—a vivid flash of red, her eyes bright with unshed tears, so heartbreakingly lovely it was impossible to look away.