Cold Husband Burning Regret: The Divorce He Couldn't Handle novel Chapter 410

When Charlotte stepped into the restaurant that evening, she realized Evander was the only other guest.

He stood beneath the warm glow of the lights, sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up to his forearms, lighting the candles on the table one by one.

Behind him, the city’s neon lights shimmered outside the tall windows, tracing the seductive outline of the night skyline.

In another time, she might have found the scene romantic.

She slowed her pace, uncertain, and stopped at the table. “What’s all this supposed to mean?”

He snuffed out the lighter and gave her a faint smile. “It’s been a long time since we shared a proper dinner together. I thought we could do this right, for once.”

Charlotte gathered herself. “You really didn’t have to make it so formal.”

He gave a small shrug. “Maybe this is my last chance.”

She stared, thrown by his words—it sounded like he was pleading for sympathy. She pulled out her chair and sat down. “Don’t make it sound like you’re dying. You’re not exactly terminally ill.”

Evander let out a quiet laugh. “Should I take that to mean you’d miss me if I were gone?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She ignored him and waved the waiter over to order.

Evander just watched her, smiling silently.

Throughout the meal, he barely touched his food. Finally, he glanced up at her. “You know, in all these years, we’ve never had a real date, have we?”

She paused, unsure how to respond.

He cut his steak slowly, unhurried. “I always figured we’d make up for it on one of our trips, but we never got the chance.”

“Evander, what are you really trying to say?”

He answered with something else. “I still owe you a proper wedding.”

Wedding…

Charlotte’s face darkened. She set down her fork and knife. “So this is what tonight’s about? You wanted to say all this?”

“Thank you for your help.”

“Just doing our job.”

Charlotte rose to leave, but a plainclothes detective approached the counter, flashing his badge. “The suspect brought in a couple days ago for corporate espionage—her name’s Tricia, right?”

The officer at the front desk nodded. “Yes, that’s her.”

“There’s a murder charge on her record. If anyone tries to bail her out, and you let her go, you’ll be held personally responsible. Is that clear?”

The duty officer stiffened, realizing the seriousness of the matter.

Charlotte watched the detective walk away, feeling a weight lift from her chest. It looked like Tricia wouldn’t be getting out anytime soon.

Meanwhile, Tricia was still in the holding cell, anxiously waiting for Zoe Donovan to show up. Zoe had connections at the station; if she’d been able to cover up what happened with Hiram Sterling, surely she could help post bail.

She shared the cell with three other women. One of them, a middle-aged woman with cropped hair, eyed Tricia up and down and sneered. “Hey, I heard you’re something special—paid off some officers here before and left someone crippled, didn’t you?”