Cold Husband Burning Regret: The Divorce He Couldn't Handle novel Chapter 568

"Drug poisoning?" Jacques frowned. "She's in the hospital. How could she be poisoned?"

"This was an oversight on the hospital's part," the doctor explained patiently. "We are currently investigating whether it was human error or something else. We will inform you as soon as we have answers."

"I'm giving you three days. Otherwise, I'll have to involve the police."

As the responsible party, the doctor had no choice but to grimly agree.

Once the doctor had left, Jensen turned to Jacques. "Jacques, this is clearly the hospital's fault. Let them give us an explanation. If we drag the police into this, the publicity won't do us any good."

Before Jacques could reply, Miranda shot Jensen a look of utter disbelief and laughed. "We don't even have the full story yet, and you're already telling us whether or not to involve the police?"

"Miranda, Jensen was just offering a well-intentioned reminder. Why are you taking your anger out on him?" Ilse said, naturally defending her husband.

"Hah. Anyone who didn't know better would think you two had something to do with this."

Miranda's sharp retort made the couple's faces tighten. Jensen, in particular, looked unnerved.

He quickly averted his gaze, terrified of betraying his guilt.

Soon, a nurse came out to update the family, informing them that the matriarch's condition had stabilized for the time being.

While Miranda and Jacques were relieved, the couple behind them was not. Jensen unconsciously clenched his fists. But then he remembered that his mother had been asleep when he'd swapped the medicine—she couldn't possibly know it was him. A sense of calm slowly returned.

"Who is Jacques?" the nurse asked, reappearing at the door.

Jacques stepped forward. "I am."

"Please put on a sterile gown. The matriarch wants to see you."

As Jacques followed the nurse to the men's changing room, Jensen's eyes tracked him, his gaze turning cold and sinister as he balled his hands into fists at his sides.

At seven o'clock, Charlotte left the institute. The sky was already dark, with only the glow of streetlights casting a warm, yellow halo on the ground.

Evander was leaning against his car, arms crossed. A long, gray trench coat draped over his frame as if it were made for him. The man was a natural-born model.

Charlotte walked toward him. "Have you been waiting long?"

He'd actually been waiting for half an hour, but the thought of seeing her made any wait worthwhile. "Not at all. I just got here."

He took her bag, opened the car door for her, and gallantly placed a hand over the top of the doorframe to prevent her from hitting her head. "Are you hungry? What would you like to eat?"

Charlotte settled into the passenger seat and fiddled with the seatbelt. After a moment's hesitation, she said, "...I'm not really in the mood for eating out."

Evander, one hand still on the car door, leaned in, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Oh? So you'd rather have... what I'm making?"