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.

as they tried to bring Elmo closer,

the ground

to him in a

finger at Charlotte’s face, shouting, “Are you out

1/2

15:13

Chapter 201

past the crowd and made a

froze, stunned–until the aunt shrieked,

up her skirts, and sprinted

they were already after her

a passing vehicle at the edge of

her anger boiling over. She marched straight up to

crumpled to the ground, ears

even if you don’t want

the others to drag Charlotte

to budge, kicking and struggling with the

a convoy of sleek black cars pulled up

to stare. The scene was

out first, flanked by bodyguards. She raised a parasol to shield herself from the sun, then opened

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,