The Ex-Wife's Burning Elegance

Rachel glanced at Haynes and noticed his expression had darkened, his gaze toward her turning icy cold.

Stella, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to the growing tension and kept pressing on, her tone light and relentless. "So, when was the first time you two held hands? Who made the first move? Where did you go on your first official date after you became a couple? Ever planned any romantic surprises for each other?"

She had transformed into an inquisitive journalist, firing off questions one after another.

With every question Stella asked, Rachel could feel the atmosphere around Haynes grow colder and more forbidding. A thin sheen of sweat began to form on her forehead.

Stella was doing this on purpose-wasn't she?

If Stella had chosen to lash out, it would have been easy to dismiss her as petty and jealous. But instead, she was taking the opposite approach: prying into their past with a sweet smile, making herself the target of Haynes's displeasure.

It was a calculated move-Stella was deliberately making Haynes dislike her.

Rachel tried to dodge, her voice faltering. "Honestly... I don't really remember all those details from back then."

Stella tilted her head, feigning surprise. "But Ms. Pearce, you remember exactly how you first met Haynes. How could you forget something as important and meaningful as your first date or who held whose hand?"

She shot Haynes a sly, ambiguous look.

went on with a faint, mocking smile. "But if you

expression flickered, caught

dig for more details. If she said she didn't, Stella

Rachel realized she was only

I'm going to say hi to

retreat before

course. I'll be waiting to hear more

before turning to Keen. "Keen, you must be tired after all that archery practice. Want to take a break?" Keen was drawing his bow, aiming at the target. At Rachel's words, he lost

Rachel said gently, "Don't worry, Keen. You're just starting

again, concentrating hard. But as he was about to release,

I know you

and the arrow

hovered, offering him water, dabbing his forehead with a towel-fussing over him more than any

of feeling cared

constantly interrupting, was starting to get

With

couldn't land a

down the bow and