Cold Husband Burning Regret: The Divorce He Couldn't Handle novel Chapter 217

Evander took a slow sip of his soup, watching her for a reaction. When she remained unmoved, he asked, “What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?”

She snapped out of her thoughts, closed the container, and shook her head. “No, it’s really good. Thank you.”

He frowned slightly, his voice gentle. “You don’t have to be so polite with me.”

Just then, his phone rang.

It was Tricia’s nanny.

He declined the call, but she immediately phoned again.

He picked up, his tone curt. “What is it?”

“Sir! Miss Winthrop tried to take her own life!”

The nanny’s voice wasn’t loud, but in the quiet living room, Charlotte heard everything.

Tricia attempted suicide? Charlotte found that hard to believe.

Evander fell silent, glancing over at Charlotte.

She managed a calm smile. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

“Charlotte.” He hesitated, then met her eyes with a complicated look. “I’ll handle things as quickly as I can. Wait for me.”

He grabbed his suit jacket, slipped it on, and left.

As the door clicked shut behind him, the smile faded from Charlotte’s face. She picked up her phone and texted Lana, telling her to take the next couple of days off.

When Evander arrived at Tricia’s apartment, the nanny was a mess—white as a sheet and frantically calling for an ambulance.

He strode into the bathroom and saw Tricia sprawled in the bathtub, one arm dangling over the edge, her wrist bleeding freely, staining the water red.

“Tricia!” Evander rushed over, shouting for the nanny to bring the first-aid kit.

Snapping out of her panic, the nanny scrambled to find it. Evander pressed his hand over Tricia’s wound to stem the bleeding, trying to keep her conscious.

Tricia’s eyes fluttered open. “Evander… don’t save me. I deserve this… Please, look after Hans for me.”

“It’s not mine.”

“Then whose is it?”

“Tricia’s.”

Miranda was momentarily speechless. Her initial panic evaporated, and she straightened up. “So that woman’s hurt, and you called me here for that? I thought something had happened to you!”

“Mom, was I ever kidnapped?” Evander’s brow furrowed deeply. “Why can’t I remember anything about it?”

Miranda froze. “You… why would you ask that?”

“So it’s true.” Evander let out a short, hollow laugh. “There are things I’ve forgotten, aren’t there?”

“Evander, did you… did you remember something?”

He leaned against the wall, eyes clouded. “Something like that.”

Fragments of memory that didn’t seem to belong to him kept surfacing—strange yet hauntingly familiar. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quite piece them together.