Cold Husband Burning Regret: The Divorce He Couldn't Handle novel Chapter 25

A tall man leaned casually against the hood of his car, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Pale smoke curled around his face, blurring his features, but his deep-set eyes swept over the men's coat draped around her shoulders, unreadable and cold.

Jonathan glanced at Charlotte, then turned his attention to Evander. "Waiting for someone, Mr. Howard?"

Waiting for someone...

Tricia had already left the hospital. Who could he possibly be waiting for?

Could it be… her?

The idea flashed through Charlotte's mind, and she almost wanted to laugh at how absurd it sounded.

Evander exhaled a thin stream of smoke, flicked the cigarette to the ground, and crushed it under his shoe. His gaze, sharp as ice, landed on Jonathan. "Is it your hobby, Mr. Pembroke, to meddle in other people's business?"

Meddle in other people's business...

The words struck Charlotte in the chest, knocking the color from her lips.

So all along—Tricia scheming against her tonight—had it been his idea?

Her blood ran cold at the thought, a chill creeping into her hands and feet.

Jonathan noticed the change in Charlotte's expression. Narrowing his eyes, he looked back at Evander. "Funny, I always thought helping a lady in trouble was called being a gentleman, not meddling."

Evander's brow tightened.

Jonathan was about to say more, but Charlotte suddenly tugged his sleeve, her voice barely above a whisper. "Jonathan, could you take me home, please?"

She was shaking.

Jonathan glanced at Evander, then nodded to Charlotte without another word.

But before they could leave, Evander's voice cut through the chill night air: "Charlotte."

She froze.

He never used her name in front of others. He'd always been careful to keep their connection secret.

So what was this now?

She didn't turn around, just started to walk away.

"Didn't you hear me calling you?" His voice dropped, heavy and commanding.

Charlotte's hand, still bandaged from her earlier injury, twisted as she braced herself—fresh blood seeping through the gauze.

That coat on her—another man's—seemed to burn holes in his vision.

He reached out and yanked it off her shoulders.

The damage beneath—scrapes, bruises—was suddenly exposed.

Evander went still, his face turning to stone. "Who did this?"

Look at him, she thought. Such a convincing act.

Charlotte felt a wave of despair rise within her. She dug a crumpled document out of her purse and hurled it at him, her voice trembling. "Wasn't this your plan all along? You sent Tricia to lure me into that dinner, to humiliate me?"

Evander's eyes flickered to the paper on the ground, frowning.

Charlotte's pent-up hurt finally boiled over, her voice raw and furious. "Evander, if you hate me so much, you could divorce me any time you want! Why make someone else do your dirty work and put me through this?"

Evander said nothing, his gaze locked on her.

Charlotte spun on her heel, desperate to leave before she suffocated.

"Charlotte, if you walk away now, I'll pull the lawyer off your brother's case."