Cold Husband Burning Regret: The Divorce He Couldn't Handle novel Chapter 206

“An accident?” The old woman let out a dry laugh. “Charlotte’s brother, her parents—Tricia was there every time something happened. And you want me to believe it was just an accident?”

Evander pressed his lips together, silent. He’d wondered about these things himself, but deep down, he’d never wanted to believe Tricia was capable of real malice.

He’d known Tricia for a decade. They’d even been in love once.

Six years ago, he’d been powerless to defy his family and fight for her. He carried that guilt. Even knowing Tricia could be calculating—even knowing she’d set Charlotte up before—he’d always seen them as petty schemes, nothing truly dangerous.

The old woman closed her eyes and sighed, her voice heavy. “If I’d known marrying you would bring her nothing but misery, I never would’ve agreed in the first place. And now, even after consenting to your divorce, I can’t help but wish you two could work things out.”

Evander’s brow tightened. “You talk about consent, but wasn’t it your idea in the first place for her to marry me? You and she drove Tricia away. You never once cared what I thought.”

The old woman paused, startled, then gave a short, incredulous laugh. “Yes, I made Tricia leave. But that had nothing to do with Charlotte.”

“When Charlotte married you, she had no idea about you and Tricia.”

He fell silent, leaning back against the headboard, lost in thought.

“Enough,” she said finally. “If you want a divorce, then get one. Whatever debt the Howard family owed Charlotte, we’ve repaid it.”

Miranda stared at her in shock. “Mother, but Charlotte’s carrying our family’s child. Even if they divorce, shouldn’t we at least wait—”

“The choice about the child is hers,” the old woman cut in, her tone resolute. Leaning on her cane, she left the room.

Jacques followed her out.

Evander stared out the window, his expression unreadable, shadowed.

…

Charlotte arrived at the hospital around eight that evening. It was her mother-in-law, Miranda, who’d called and asked her to come.

She lingered outside the room for a moment before quietly pushing open the door.

Evander was propped up against the bed, bare-chested with only a jacket draped over his shoulders. White bandages were wrapped tight around his waist.

He picked up a lighter, lit a cigarette, and took a couple of quick drags—ignoring the hospital’s no-smoking signs. The smoke caught in his throat, and the coughing tore at his injury, making him wince with pain.

Charlotte remained motionless, her eyes unreadable.

Suddenly, he let out a short laugh. “It’s obvious you hate me. Do you want a divorce?”

At that, Charlotte’s eyelids fluttered.

He leaned back, exhaling smoke, his eyes sharp and humorless. “But I, Evander Howard, believe in widowhood, not divorce. As long as I’m alive, you’re not getting rid of me.”

Before she could respond, he stubbed out his cigarette in a glass of water, the ashes hissing as they died.

He picked up a pair of scissors from the bedside table and climbed out of bed.

Dragging his injured body, he walked over to her and pressed the scissors into her hand.

She instinctively pulled back, but he tightened his grip, turning the blades so the sharp end was pointed at his heart. “Go on—right here. One thrust and you’re free.”