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."

...

her youngest son, Jason, jangling his car keys as he prepared

her three sons, this one was the

going?" she demanded, stepping in

whistling as he grinned, all carefree

Prescott tugged his sleeve. "Did

her curiously. "How do you

sighed, frowning. "Aren't you close with Clarke's youngest? Have you asked him what's going

her a look. "Mom, what's gotten into you? Why do you suddenly care about Quentin Lockwood? We don't even

are hanging by a thread with Quentin holding things together. If something

always treated Rosita like dirt-if the

thirty-when are you going to

I keep standing here.

Jason dashed out the

watched her youngest son's retreating figure and shook her head with

Prescott, coming down the stairs. He was immaculately dressed, his hair slicked back and a faint trace of cologne

got a business dinner tonight, so I

routine. "Just don't drink too much. Try to come

Gavin said, patting her shoulder with his usual tenderness as he

late,

smiled sweetly. "I know,

warm smile

him leave, Mrs. Prescott murmured to herself with a

husband took pride in his appearance, so she didn't

...