Cold Husband Burning Regret: The Divorce He Couldn't Handle novel Chapter 228

Wasn’t it just that Evander had found out she’d sent those messages to Charlotte?

Did he really have to go this far?

A thought struck her, and she dialed Genevieve’s number.

But this time, Genevieve didn’t pick up.

Tricia was beside herself with frustration. After turning it over in her mind, she realized her only option was to go to the old family estate—after all, her son was still there.

She took a cab across town and told the security guard at the gate she was Hans’s mother.

The guard didn’t recognize the name and assumed she was there to cause trouble. He was about to send her away when Genevieve stepped outside.

“Genevieve!” Tricia called out, forcing a smile.

She expected Genevieve to come to her rescue, like always, maybe even stick up for her. But this time, Genevieve’s response was cold and distant. “What are you doing here?”

Tricia hesitated, thrown off by the change. “Genevieve, what’s gotten into you? Of course I’m here to see Hans. I called you, why didn’t you answer?”

In the past, Genevieve would have greeted her with a warm “Tricia” this and “Tricia” that, practically falling over herself to be friendly.

Now, the chill in her voice made Tricia’s heart sink with unease.

Genevieve folded her arms, eyeing her. “You’re really here to see my brother, aren’t you? You don’t care about your son.”

“Genevieve, how can you say that?” Tricia’s eyes welled up with tears.

Genevieve stared her down, unmoved. “Stop pretending. My brother told me everything. You abused Hans, pushed him down the stairs, and tried to frame Charlotte’s family for it. I never thought you could be that kind of person!”

Tricia’s face went blank with shock. She grabbed Genevieve’s arm in desperation. “Genevieve, what are you saying? I would never push Hans down the stairs—”

“The injury on his leg is proof enough!” Genevieve shook off her hand. “He’s your own son, and you still did it. You’re terrifying.”

The thought made Tricia laugh bitterly, her eyes growing darker by the second.

Behind the floor-to-ceiling window, Evander watched her leave, his expression a tangle of emotions. Every piece of damning evidence in his hands pointed back to Tricia—and all of it had been handed over by Jonathan.

How ridiculous.

He clenched his fist, crumpling the stack of papers in his grip.

He remembered now: the day Charlotte’s father died, he’d played a part in it. The ambulance never arrived in time—not because of a tragic accident, but because he had made sure it wouldn’t.

Evander closed his eyes, the memory of Charlotte’s desperate, hate-filled gaze tightening painfully in his chest.

“Mr. Howard.” Natalie approached after ending a call. “When you escaped from those kidnappers years ago, some villagers saw you. You were with a girl. You’d passed out, but she was still conscious. They said her name sounded like Tricia.”

Evander let out a low, bitter laugh, his eyes suddenly frosty. “Why…”