HIS REGRET (Ex-Husband wants Me Back) novel Chapter 226

**Shadows of the Past – By Emma Clarke**
**Chapter 226**

Chris leaned back in his chair, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “That’s precisely what we’re working on,” he replied, his voice steady yet tinged with frustration. “Our team is diligently compiling a comprehensive dossier. But you know how slippery Harold is. Even the authorities are having difficulty pinning him down.”

Daven interjected, his voice sharp and unwavering. “He can’t hide forever. Every move he makes leaves a trail, a breadcrumb for us to follow. I refuse to sit idly by while he escapes justice for this.”

Chris met Daven’s gaze, his expression serious. “I share your determination, Mr. Callister. But we must tread carefully. Do not let your guard down. While the media may have its sights set on Harold, he could very well have allies lurking in the shadows, individuals with far more influence than we can imagine. And remember—anyone who has worked with him will be under scrutiny. Your name is no exception.”

Daven’s fists clenched, the tension in his body palpable. “I understand,” he replied, his voice low but firm. “That’s precisely why I’ve assembled my own team. I’ve meticulously gone through every document, every contract, every transaction I ever had with Harold. I won’t leave a single crack for him to exploit against me.”

“Good,” Chris responded, a flicker of approval crossing his face. “The more evidence we gather, the tighter the net we can cast around him. I won’t let him slip away, but we must be patient; it will take time.”

Daven nodded stiffly, though the fire in his eyes revealed the simmering fury that still churned within him. “I want only one thing, Chris. Ensure that Harold has no room left to breathe.”

“Trust me, that is my goal as well,” Chris assured him, an unspoken understanding passing between them.

The atmosphere in the room thickened, heavy with unvoiced thoughts, broken only by the relentless ticking of the clock on the wall. Daven took a sip of his coffee, now lukewarm, trying to steady the storm brewing in his mind.

Just then, a knock shattered the silence. A staff member entered, bowing slightly as he spoke. “Mr. Chris, I apologize for the interruption. There’s a guest here who insists on seeing you. He claims it’s urgent.”

Chris frowned, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Who is it?”

The staff member swallowed nervously before responding, “Mr. Cale Miller.”

“Why would he need permission to come in?” Chris muttered to himself, irritation creeping into his tone.

In that moment, Cale strode in uninvited, a confident smirk plastered on his face. “At least I know basic manners. Unlike you.”

Chris narrowed his eyes, irritation flaring. “What brings you here? Aren’t you supposed to be in Hong Kong?”

—

**Two days earlier.**

The old warehouse on the southwest docks felt like a relic from a forgotten era, a place where time itself had come to a standstill. The air was thick with the pungent scent of sea salt mingled with rust, a sharp tang that clung unpleasantly to the back of the throat. Sunlight streamed through gaping holes in the corrugated metal roof, casting thin, slanted beams that sliced through the swirling dust motes. Each gust of sea wind sent the loose hinges on the door shrieking, a faint, eerie wail that deepened the oppressive gloom within.

“How long do you plan to keep me locked up here?”

Cale cracked open a beer with a flick of his wrist, the sound sharp in the stillness. “I don’t know. Maybe until I get bored.”

BANG!

James slammed his fist onto the wooden table with all his might. Snacks and beer cans flew in all directions, but the table itself remained steadfast. The only thing broken was his own hand, blood oozing across his knuckles from the impact.

“Damn it, you’ve ruined the taste,” Cale muttered, his gaze hardening into a cutting glare. “You really know how to kill a mood.”

Without warning, he hurled the half-full can straight at James’s face. Foam erupted everywhere, drenching James in cold beer, the liquid trickling down his jaw and neck.

“Don’t cross the line,” Cale warned, his tone low and dangerous. “You’re moving too fast if you expect me to free you, James. Wouldn’t it be better to enjoy a little rest first—before you return to a woman who’s half broken?”

James wiped the beer-soaked remnants from his face with a sleeve, his other hand curling into a fist as his chest heaved with repressed rage. “Don’t pretend you care. I know exactly what you’re doing. You’ve been cornering Vanessa in the press. You’re making her fall harder by keeping me here, aren’t you?”