Regretting the Wife He Threw Away novel Chapter 472

Lorna strode into the room, flopped onto the couch, crossed her legs, and let out a dramatic sigh. “How much longer am I supposed to play this wretched, universally despised villainess?”

Stewart turned, taking in Lorna’s insolent, slouched posture on the couch, but he was used to her antics by now.

“Ferdinand’s reached out to the Wentworths.”

Lorna paused mid-stretch. “So he’s finally going back to his roots?”

He nodded. “Looks like it.”

She snorted. “Stealing your wife and kids wasn’t enough for him—now he’s after your assets too, huh?”

Stewart’s dark eyes chilled. “We can leak the news about that Northside property.”

Lorna arched a brow, draping herself over the back of her chair to study him. “Accelerating your little trap, are we?”

“Someone out there is even more impatient than we are. We can’t drag this out any longer.”

…

Over the weekend, Briony devoted herself to the kids.

Little Mario seemed perfectly content as long as he was with Nina, not once complaining about homework.

Carol, on the other hand, took several calls from Lorna. Each time, she’d step outside to answer, and when she returned, her face was troubled.

Briony knew exactly what was going on—Lorna was hounding Carol about Mario’s homework again.

Briony had seen the assignments. Most of them were well beyond what a four-year-old should be expected to tackle, and there were so many of them. At that age, kids’ fingers are still so delicate, but Lorna insisted on Mario grinding through endless exercises every day. Briony didn’t approve of her methods at all.

But she also knew she couldn’t bring her son home to live with her, at least not yet. So she never said a bad word about Lorna in front of Mario.

He was too little to understand the conflicts between adults, and Briony couldn’t bear the thought that he might end up afraid of Lorna because of it.

After dinner on Sunday, Briony personally drove Mario back to Southcreek Manor.

She only accompanied him as far as the front gate, letting Carol take him inside.

Briony watched them disappear into the house before turning her car around.

In the darkness, her taillights faded slowly into the night.

Stewart drew his gaze back from the window and turned toward the ink painting hanging beside him.

The figure in the painting had a cold, severe profile; only the eyes and brows betrayed any emotion, but even that was nothing but a chilling indifference.

Just as Briony had once described him.