Cold Husband Burning Regret: The Divorce He Couldn't Handle novel Chapter 87

"Where did he go?"

"He left—said something urgent came up." The nurse paused, remembering something. "Oh, right. He paid your bill, too. Kind young man, that one."

Charlotte lowered her eyes, still clueless about the stranger who had brought her to the hospital. She doubted she'd ever get the chance to repay his kindness.

…

Evander returned to Tranquility Manor that afternoon. When he pushed open the bedroom door, the room was empty.

Only then did it hit him—Charlotte still wasn't back.

He grabbed his phone and dialed her number.

Turned off.

A sudden realization struck him: it was nearly impossible to catch a cab out in that remote suburb. A knot formed in his stomach. He snatched his coat and hurried out the door.

As he reached the front yard, a solitary figure came into view—a slim woman, her silhouette softened by the setting sun. The golden light brought a flush of color back to her pale cheeks, making her look heartbreakingly beautiful.

The tension in Evander's posture melted. He strode over and took her wrist, pulling her forward so abruptly she nearly stumbled into his arms.

"Why is your phone off?" His voice was sharp.

Charlotte blinked, caught off guard by the interrogation. She answered quietly, her face unreadable. "It died."

Her phone battery had run out back at the hospital.

A kind nurse had slipped her some change so she could take the subway home.

But the nearest station was still over a mile from Tranquility Manor. For the first time in her life, she'd walked so far in a single day.

Far enough that the backs of her ankles burned where her shoes had rubbed them raw, and her toes ached with every step.

Evander stared at her calm expression, and something inside him twisted. His voice was rough. "You could have called me, you know."

Charlotte looked up at him, surprise flickering in her eyes. "And what would that have done? Would you have left Tricia behind to come pick me up?"

He paused, turning to look at her, his eyes dark and inscrutable. "Are you trying to make a deal with me?"

She held his gaze. "And if I am?"

A strange, unreadable look crossed his face. "And what makes you think you're in any position to bargain with me?"

"Let my brother off this time," Charlotte said steadily, "and I'll give Tricia the title of Mrs. Howard. I'll step aside."

He'd be thrilled to hear that—his precious white knight finally free to take her place at his side. She'd held him captive for six years.

Now, at last, he could be free.

And so could she.

But the reaction she waited for never came.

Suddenly, Evander closed the space between them, backing her against the wall. His palm gripped her jaw, eyes glinting with winter frost—cold, fierce, and fleeting. "You begged my grandmother for this position, Charlotte. Now you think you can just hand it over? Don't flatter yourself. I don't care who holds the title of Mrs. Howard. You want to negotiate with me? You're not even close to qualified."