Cold Husband Burning Regret: The Divorce He Couldn't Handle novel Chapter 50

Evander had half a mind to avoid her altogether, but the way she spoke—like she didn't care whether he came home or not—made him frown.

He stepped closer, his gaze raking over her with unabashed intensity. "This is my house. I'll come back whenever I damn well please."

Charlotte instinctively shrank back, but he reached out and pulled her into his arms. Damp strands of her hair clung to her pale skin, and in her panic, her clear eyes looked even more heartbreakingly beautiful.

A dark beauty mark near the corner of her eye only made her seem more vulnerable, a touch of sorrow in her delicate features.

His warm fingertips brushed over that little mark, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. God, had it really been months since he last touched her?

She knew that feverish look in his eyes all too well. Flustered, she tried to push him away. "The box is empty…"

"I bought more." His voice was thick, his palm pressed firmly to the small of her back as he buried his face in the curve of her neck.

The air between them crackled, heavy with unspoken want.

Even Charlotte was startled by how quickly things escalated.

Before she could catch her breath, he swept her up and carried her to the bed.

The mattress dipped beneath their weight. He caged her against him, his body radiating heat—just like always, every inch of him capable of burning her alive.

For a moment, Charlotte's mind flashed back to the first time he'd touched her.

It had been her first time—ever.

But there'd been no gentleness, nothing tender; he'd used her like a piece of discarded cloth, rough and careless, leaving her with nothing but pain and a lingering sense of violation.

Every time after that, she'd recoiled from his touch.

But because she loved him, she'd tried her best to please him, to make herself into something he could use—a machine to absorb his frustration.

And now, this clumsy attempt at foreplay—what did it even mean?

Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut, tears slipping out despite herself. She didn't move to meet him, nor did she resist, but her body betrayed her, tense with rejection—and Evander noticed.

At the crucial moment, he stopped.

He hovered above her, his eyes locking onto hers—full of accusation and emptiness, as if bracing for a firing squad.

"Evander, um... Hans wanted to know if you're coming by tonight?" Tricia's voice was tentative.

"I'll be there soon."

"Okay."

Tricia hung up, finally able to breathe again.

At least she still mattered to him—her and the child.

Evander didn't make it to the hospital until almost half past nine. Hans's face lit up the moment he walked in. The boy pleaded, "Uncle, can you stay with me tonight? Please don't go."

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Evander looked down at the child's wide, trusting eyes and felt a pang of guilt. "Alright. Go to sleep—I'll stay right here."

Only then did Hans close his eyes.

Tricia, fresh from a shower, came back to see the two of them together. Smiling softly, she walked over to join them.