The Officer's Runaway Wife and Secret Son novel Chapter 403

Clara pretended not to hear his self-deprecating confession, her mind drifting elsewhere.

Owen's scent today had been very distinctive.

In room 2808 at the Harborview Hotel, when Margot had shown her the scar, the air had been filled with the exact same smell.

Margot's poor health was common knowledge, and the medicinal scent clinging to her was impossible to cover up completely.

How could a playboy like Owen, who only cared about money and sleeping with internet celebrities, have such an intimate scent on him?

Unless he had been in very close contact with Margot privately, spending a long time in that kind of environment.

Clara's fingers tightened around her water glass.

Margot's obsession with Rhys had long since reached a pathological, frenzied level. In her world, she saw Rhys as her only lifeline, her exclusive possession.

She was willing to weave lies and destroy everyone around her just to gain Rhys's attention and guilt.

How could a woman so fixated on Rhys turn around and get involved with someone like Owen?

For revenge?

Did she think that hooking up with one of his former degenerate friends would provoke him on some level? Or was Owen helping Margot with something recently?

Thinking back to Owen's parting shot, dripping with malice—"That's Rhys for you, always so sentimental"—a chill crept into Clara's heart.

The lesson from four years ago was still fresh in her mind.

Every time she tried to untangle the relationship between the three of them, she was the one who ended up hurt.

Margot was a madwoman. Her score with Rhys was something Rhys needed to face himself.

Clara took a few deep breaths, forcing herself to temporarily push aside those conspiracy theories.

-

When it was time for dinner, Rhys had put his heart into it, preparing several dishes that not only looked appealing but were all of Clara's old favorites.

Simon glanced at the spread as he pulled out a chair and sat down.

He used to come over for a free meal occasionally and had tasted Rhys's cooking before. He knew Rhys had only learned to cook because Clara was a terrible cook who always managed to cut her fingers.

Back then, Clara would lean against the kitchen island, watching his back with her eyes full of joy. She would sneak a bite from the freshly cooked dish, hissing from the heat.

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