Regretting the Wife He Threw Away

Chapter 237

News of Quentin being taken away by detectives spread like wildfire through Northborough's upper crust.

Lauren was in the middle of afternoon tea with the other ladies when Mrs. Quinlan suddenly let out a gasp.

"Lauren, isn't this your eldest son?" she exclaimed, turning her phone toward her.

Lauren snatched the phone, her heart pounding. On the screen was a photo of Quentin being escorted away by two detectives. He had draped his coat over his hands, but anyone with half a brain could guess what was hidden underneath— handcuffs.

"This... this can't be!" Lauren stared at Mrs. Quinlan in disbelief. "Where did you get this?"

"From the ladies' group chat, of course!" Mrs. Quinlan replied, retracting her phone with almost gleeful certainty. "The photo's the real deal. Lauren, you'd better hurry home and check on things. Quentin's holding the whole Lockwood family together right now if he's really in trouble, your family is going to be in a world of pain!"

Lauren's face paled. She grabbed her purse and rushed out without another word.

The other women watched her go, their eyes sharp with disdain.

Mrs. Prescott sniffed. "Saul only has Quentin, and now Saul's an invalid. If Quentin ends up behind bars, that'll be the end of the Lockwood family."

Helga gave Mrs. Prescott a sidelong glance, her tone loaded with meaning. "Not so fast. If the Lockwoods fall, that might not be such a good thing for you, either."

"Helga's right," Mrs. Quinlan chimed in. "That Mrs. Lockwood is a piece of work. Word is, before she married into the Lockwoods, she was tangled up with the last heir of the Kensingtons. He died, and she waltzed right into the Lockwoods' arms."

Mrs. Prescott wrinkled her nose. "Some women are just born schemers, always using men to climb up. Seems like every man she's ever gotten close to has met a bad end."

Helga sipped her tea, smirking. "Men only behave themselves when they're six feet under, ladies. So, a word to the wise-keep your wits about you."

...

to find her youngest son, Jason, jangling his car keys as

one was the hardest

you going?" she

date," Jason replied, whistling as he grinned, all carefree swagger. "Don't

his sleeve. "Did you hear

just heard,” Jason said, eyeing her curiously. "How do you know

it!" Mrs. Prescott sighed, frowning. "Aren't you close with Clarke's youngest? Have you asked him what's

days," Jason replied, giving her a look. "Mom, what's gotten into you? Why do you suddenly care about Quentin Lockwood? We don't even do business with the

are hanging by a thread with Quentin holding things together. If something happens to him, that's

riddance! They've always treated Rosita like dirt-if

are you going to grow

my date if I keep standing here.

dashed out the

son's retreating figure and shook her head with a

husband, Gavin Prescott, coming down the stairs. He was immaculately dressed, his hair slicked back and

a business dinner

blinked-business dinners were routine. "Just don't drink too much. Try to come

know," Gavin said, patting her shoulder

run late,

sweetly.

a warm smile

murmured to herself with a chuckle, "Cologne, tonight?

her husband took pride in his appearance, so

...