My Coldhearted Ex demands a Remarriage by Eva Blackwood

Chapter 244 Elizabeth pivoted, catching sight of Alexander standing nearby, a bottle of juice in his hand.

The 7-Eleven convenience store loomed behind him.

“Mr.

Clark,” she greeted, her anger carefully veiled beneath a veneer of casual composure.

“Oh, nothing.

Just a close encounter with a reckless driver who nearly struck me.”

Her smile bloomed—elegant and distant, a delicate flower of polite restraint.

Despite the warmth, her eyes remained guarded.

Alexander played along, feigning ignorance.

“Indeed, dangerous drivers seem to be everywhere these days.”

“Yes.” Elizabeth nodded, her response perfunctory.

“What brings you here, Mr.

Clark?”

After two seemingly chance encounters, suspicion was taking root.

Was Alexander following her?

“Just passing through,” he replied, jiggling the juice bottle.

“I was thinking about grabbing a bite but haven’t settled on a place.

Stopped for a drink to quench my thirst.”

Though their meeting appeared coincidental, Alexander had lingered long enough to overhear Elizabeth’s earlier outburst about Elijah.

The pieces were falling into place—their affectionate display in Foxfire County was merely a performance.

about

It made sense.

were genuinely loving, why would she be alone on the street at night, vulnerable to potential

whispers about divorce held more truth

Elizabeth could respond,

might I have the honor

retreated, increasing the

dined at the Norris Mansion,” she declined, purposefully emphasizing

Alexander’s eyes swept theatrically around

at least ten miles

walk here alone?

James?”

her face as she tucked a wayward strand

before heading to the

take a walk, digest my meal, and

Alexander saw his opportunity.

I know a place at Orkset Tower with a breathtaking view

once—surely a dinner isn’t too much to ask

make her

her, his persistent kindness

this was a chance to probe his true

smile was

put it that way, this meal

take

car’s right over there,” Alexander gestured,

Elizabeth settled into the passenger seat, an unsettling sensation of being watched crept over

scanned the bustling street through the window but saw

as a metropolitan landmark, its 160 stories piercing the city’s

dining establishments to entertainment venues, with a crowning observation deck that promised panoramic views

the 150th floor, where astronomical rent allowed only a single French revolving

luxury, transforming mere dining into

chandeliers hung like liquid starlight, their authenticity setting them apart from mere

cast rippling patterns across the room, evoking the

a white grand piano, her melody floating through the space like a gossamer thread, weaving