Cold husband burning regret

Regret Novel 201

Everyone in the village knew about their family’s dim–witted, unmarried son… No matter how wealthy they were, not a single woman was willing to marry a man like him–a man well into middle age and not right in the head.

So when they brought home a girl so young and stunning, it was impossible not to raise suspicions. Was she some poor soul they’d lured in, someone to pity?

After all, this wasn’t the first time.

Naturally, the aunt sensed the villagers‘ stares and muttered gossip. She smiled and announced, “This is my niece, Charlotte Sterling–Xavier’s daughter.”

“Xavier’s daughter?” An elderly woman eyed Charlotte, then gave Abigail Sterling a meaningful look. “You really are willing to let her go, aren’t you?”

Abigail snorted. “Girls grow up and get married. What’s there to be unwilling about?”

The old woman could only sigh, powerless to change anything.

“Wife! My wife!” A man in a groom’s suit was being helped over. He was in his forties, his face twisted from childhood polio. His words came out thick and slurred, and his mind was stuck at the level of an eight–year–old child.

The aunt hurried to greet him. “Elmo, this is your bride now. You must be good to her, you hear?”

“I’ll be good! I’ll be good to my wife!” Elmo grinned, drool slipping down his chin, and when he looked at Charlotte, a shy flush crept onto his face. “Pretty.”

Charlotte stood perfectly still, her face a mask of cold indifference. She heard nothing–none of the whispers, none of the laughter. Her mind was a thousand miles away from this grim little gathering.

She waited. Watched. Then, finally, she saw her chance.

tried to bring Elmo closer, she

the ground and

to him in a

a finger at Charlotte’s face, shouting, “Are you out of your mind, you

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15:13

Chapter 201

eye turned to Elmo’s wailing, Charlotte shoved past

aunt

shoes as she ran, grabbed up her skirts, and sprinted barefoot down

they were

for help, desperate, but before she could flag down a passing vehicle at the edge of the village, a gang on

pride in tatters and her anger boiling over. She marched straight

Charlotte crumpled to the ground,

tell you, even if you don’t want to get married

signaled for the

kicking and struggling

as her panic and despair reached their peak, a convoy of sleek black cars pulled up and parked in a

The scene was imposing–almost

bodyguards. She raised a parasol to shield herself from the sun, then opened

unfolded himself from the car, all long legs and effortless confidence. He wore a tailored charcoal suit, the jacket buttoned neatly, a blue diamond pin gleaming on his lapel. His shirt was open at the collar, a sharp V at