Cold Husband Burning Regret: The Divorce He Couldn't Handle novel Chapter 390

Charlotte stared at the face before her. It was flawless, almost eerily so, as if perfection itself could be unsettling. She’d already guessed there was plastic surgery involved, but even so, there was no denying that the woman’s eyes and brows bore a striking resemblance to her mother’s.

That must be why she’d felt a strange sense of familiarity the first time they met.

Snapping out of her reverie, Charlotte spoke up. “Since you and my mother are twins, why are you doing this to me?”

Zoe’s expression turned cold.

Charlotte pressed on, “You tampered with Loretta Donovan’s DNA test, didn’t you? You really couldn’t stand the thought of the Rayburn family finding me, could you?”

Zoe swirled the tea in her cup, her face clouded and somber. “I never thought the Rayburns would actually manage to find you. It’s been more than twenty years, after all. Who could have guessed that your mother—lost in her own mind—would recognize you? Crazy as she is, she’s sharper about some things than you’d think.”

“But she’s your sister…”

“Enough!” Zoe slammed her teacup down. Tea splashed across the table. She glared at Charlotte, her eyes blazing with anger, hurt, and resentment. “You don’t understand a thing. Sister? We might have shared the same face, but in our family’s eyes, there was never any equality between us.”

“Laurinda only came into the world a few seconds before me, and yet that made her the Donovan Group’s eldest daughter. She got all the love, all the attention, all the resources. Just because we had different personalities—she was charming, always knew how to win the elders over, while I refused to grovel or play their games. I wanted to prove myself, and for that, I was always found lacking. And here’s something else: the one who was originally supposed to marry your father was me.”

Charlotte froze.

“Surprised?” Zoe’s laugh was sharp. “That’s right. The Rayburns wanted me as their match from the very start. I was the one who first met your father.”

She slowly lifted her hands. “Do you want to know why I always wear these gloves?”

Before Charlotte could answer, Zoe took off her lace gloves, deliberate and unhurried. The backs of her hands were marred by deep, ugly scars—the aftermath of several skin grafts.

Charlotte stared, speechless, her mind blank. “What happened…”

“There was a fire years ago. It burned my face and hands. Why do you think I had surgery? My face was destroyed.” Zoe’s gaze lingered on her ruined, lifeless hands—no beauty left, only scars. Her voice cracked with regret. “I studied sculpture. My hands were my life. The fire took that from me—I can’t create anything perfect anymore.”

Her eyes glistened for just a moment, then hardened again. “While I was trapped in my darkest days, my so-called sister was marrying into the Rayburn family, basking in the spotlight. She knew exactly who I loved, but she stabbed me in the back anyway!”

As Zoe’s figure disappeared into the hallway, Charlotte’s hand clenched at her side.

Was it the blood connection?

…

At the hotel.

“What’s the matter? Ever since Charlotte left, you haven’t been interested in playing against me,” Jacques teased.

“You’re overthinking it,” Evander replied, absently rolling a chess piece between his fingers. “I was just reminded of someone who disappeared a long time ago.”