Cold Husband Burning Regret: The Divorce He Couldn't Handle novel Chapter 98

"Charlotte, do you enjoy pushing my buttons?"

Evander's grip tightened around her wrist, digging in until pain snapped Charlotte out of her fog. "So Mr. Howard is just as arrogant as I thought. Pushing your buttons? Do I look like I have the time or reason?"

Evander didn't reply. His eyes, steady and unreadable, fixed on her as if he could see straight through her every move.

"Let me go! That hurts!"

The pressure on her bones became unbearable. She couldn't hold back anymore; her eyes stung with frustrated tears.

Evander let go instinctively.

Charlotte yanked her wrist free, rubbing the red marks where his hand had been. She'd had enough. "Evander, what do you want from me?"

She didn't get it.

Hadn't he always acted like she was invisible?

So why couldn't he just ignore her now?

"I told you not to get too close to Jonathan."

"Oh, so I'm supposed to answer to you? I never asked you about you and Tricia, so what gives you the right to meddle in my life?"

His face stayed blank, impossible to read. "That's different."

Charlotte's curled fingers went white as she dug her nails into her palm. Her heart felt cold and hollow, yet she laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. "Right. Of course it's different. She's your first love, the one no one else can compete with. So you get to cozy up to her, rekindle old flames, even cheat—is that it?"

She thought exposing his hypocrisy might make him angry, might force him to defend himself.

But Evander's voice was calm, almost too calm. "I haven't cheated."

Charlotte stared at him in disbelief, her silence thick with scorn.

"If that's not cheating, then what is? Do I have to catch you two in bed together before it counts?"

"Charlotte." Evander's face went utterly blank. His eyes were dark, poisonous. "Don't make wild assumptions about me and her. I've told you before—whatever is between us, leave her out of it."

"Huh? Tricia, what did you just say?"

Genevieve stared at her, astonished.

She couldn't have misheard, could she? Tricia never swore, never raised her voice. She was always sweet, always gentle. Had she really just said that?

Tricia realized too late what she'd blurted out. Flushing, she forced a smile. "It's nothing. Since Evander's busy, let's just go eat by ourselves."

Genevieve hesitated, but nodded and hurried to catch up. But she was sure—she hadn't misheard anything…

…

Evander's car rolled to a stop under the broad shade of a sycamore tree near the police station.

He lowered the back window. Sunlight poured into the car, cutting harsh shadows across his face. He sat there, motionless, the light and dark flickering over his features.

Director Sinclair hurried across the street toward him. "Mr. Howard."