Boss, Your Wife Signed the Divorce Agreement Before the Wedding novel Chapter 863

"Shut your mouth!"

Dr. Hayes cut Sylvia off icily, refusing to give the woman another glance. Instead, she bored into her son. "If this is true, Quentin, you are to cut ties with this woman completely. She wasn't the only one who drove Lydia to her death. You... you have blood on your hands too!"

How could she not be livid?

She had watched Lydia grow up. She loved that girl with everything she had.

Knowing this agonizing truth now, she wanted to tear Sylvia apart with her bare hands.

But more than that, she was terrified that Quentin's years of companionship with Sylvia had blossomed into real affection, leading him to show mercy. If he dared to defend her, Dr. Hayes would never forgive him.

"Grandma, we need to focus on Sierra right now," Julian intervened, shooting Sylvia a frosty glare. As much as he wanted to wring the woman's neck, this wasn't the time for an interrogation.

Sylvia reached out to grab Quentin's hand.

He violently threw her off like a reflex.

"Transfer the blood," he ordered the staff coldly, refusing to look at Sylvia.

Sylvia's desperate objection had practically confirmed the truth.

He would rip the exact details out of her once Sierra was stabilized.

Sylvia stared at Quentin's unrelenting, frigid expression, frozen in place as if struck by lightning.

Raelynn looked up, aggressively swallowing down her own fury.

She stared at Quentin's desolate face, her voice dripping with venom. "What good is remorse now? A man who refused to trust his own wife is no different than her executioner."

She despised his self-righteous arrogance.

She despised his misguided compassion and refusal to see the truth.

If Sylvia was detestable, then Quentin was downright abhorrent!

Her words drained the remaining color from Quentin's face. Staring at Raelynn, it was as if he were looking at a ghost. Over twenty years ago, Lydia had looked at him with that exact same expression—a potent mix of disappointment, mockery, and absolute disgust.

And now.

Their daughter had taken the knife he threw all those years ago and plunged it right back into his chest.

"Raelynn..." Quentin choked out, his throat feeling as though it were lined with broken glass.

Raelynn turned her back on him.

He watched Raelynn from behind. She had her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her fingers digging so violently into her own flesh it was a wonder she didn't bleed. Dressed in a thick, belted beige trench coat, she stood completely rigid—a portrait of stubborn defiance and forced bravado.

Though she had spoken to Quentin with absolute finality.

Every word had been a double-edged sword, slicing into her own heart just to ensure no one saw her break.

After a long pause.

He let his eyes flutter shut briefly.

With a silent sigh, he walked over and shoved his suit jacket toward her with his uninjured hand. "Hold this for me. My arm hurts."

Raelynn's eyes shifted, and she looked up at him with a blank expression.

Completely ignoring whether she agreed or not, Sebastian reached out, pried her death grip off her own arms finger by finger, and forcefully shoved the jacket into her hands.

"Sunny, I said it hurts,"

He repeated firmly.

Raelynn's lips pressed into a tight line. The overwhelming tempest of grief and rage that Sylvia, Quentin, and her mother's tragic past had whipped up was abruptly, forcefully derailed by his interruption.