Regretting the Wife He Threw Away novel Chapter 668

Briony met his gaze, her lips pale but curling into a faint smile. “At this point, playing what-if only brings more trouble,” she said softly.

She rose to her feet and looked away, her voice as gentle as a midnight breeze drifting into the man’s chest. “I’ve let it go. You should, too.”

…

Upstairs, in the guest bedroom.

Cedric Clarke eased open the door. The small nightlight glowed softly in one corner.

On the big bed, Aster was sprawled out, fast asleep.

Cedric stepped inside, eyes sweeping the room.

No sign of Stella.

He paused, assuming she wasn’t there—until he heard something from the bathroom. A muffled sound: a woman trying to stifle her sobs.

Cedric’s heart seized, as if caught in a vise.

He rushed to the bathroom, grabbing the handle, but the door wouldn’t budge. It was locked from the inside.

Leaning his forehead against the door, he lowered his voice. “Star, can you open the door?”

The crying stopped for a moment, but Stella gave no reply.

He tried to coax her, voice hoarse. “It’s my fault. I was an ass. Just open up, okay? I’ll get down on my knees and beg—whatever you want.”

Still nothing.

Cedric grew frantic. Stella had lost her temper before, but she’d never shut herself away like this, crying alone.

He realized his words tonight must have really hurt her.

“Star, I said the wrong thing. Will you please come out? Hit me if you want, just don’t lock yourself away and cry. I’m worried about you.”

Still no answer.

Out of options, Cedric turned and left the room.

Downstairs, Briony and Stewart were about to head to the backyard when they saw Cedric coming down again.

“What’s wrong?” Briony asked.

“Star locked herself in the bathroom.”

Briony fell silent.

“Do you guys have a washboard?” Cedric asked with a grimace.

Briony hesitated, then pointed toward the laundry room. “You can check in there.”

“Thanks.”

Cedric found the old washboard and then got the bathroom key from Briony. Without another word, he hurried upstairs.

Stewart rubbed his nose, half-amused. “Didn’t know that still worked.”

Briony glanced at him.

Briony knew how to keep things light between friends. She smiled, lips curving softly. “Of course. Next time, you’ll be the first to know.”

…

It was nearly midnight when the evening wrapped up.

Briony personally walked Maynard out to the gate.

He’d had a few drinks, so his assistant was there to drive him home.

Under the streetlight, the collar of his black shirt was unbuttoned at the top, revealing the clean lines of his neck. His suit jacket hung over one arm, the other hand resting on the open car door.

His brows were thick, with a natural curve that gave him an air of warmth and optimism. Tonight, with a bit of alcohol in his system, his eyes—which always seemed to be smiling—looked especially languid.

He looked at Briony, eyes dark and deep. “I heard a voice tonight,” he said, out of nowhere.

Briony blinked in confusion, frowning slightly. “What?”

“There’s a voice inside me. It keeps nudging me, telling me to ask you something.”

Briony pressed her lips together, meeting his gaze. She already had an inkling where this was going.

“Briony, think about me, will you?” Maynard’s voice was low, more serious than before. This wasn’t the first time he’d confessed his feelings, but tonight, he seemed especially earnest.

“I really like you. I used to think we had all the time in the world, so even when you turned me down, I wasn’t worried. I figured we were both still young, that we’d get to know each other better, and maybe you’d come around. But now…”

He paused, throat working as he swallowed, his tone growing even more sincere. “Briony, just give me the chance to be there for you. Let me take care of you—officially. Please?”