HIS REGRET (Ex-Husband wants Me Back) novel Chapter 381

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**Shadows of the Past – By Emma Clarke**

**Chapter 381**

The man hesitated, momentarily taken aback, the intensity of his earlier bravado fading into uncertainty. His voice, when it came, was laced with a hint of frustration. “Then we’ll be waiting,” he muttered, abruptly rising to his feet. His narrowed gaze locked onto Daven’s, as if silently challenging him to engage in a confrontation.

Fists clenched tightly at his sides, his jaw set in a rigid line, he had pushed every button he could think of to elicit a reaction from Daven Callister. Yet, to his dismay, the man remained an unyielding fortress of calm. Nothing unfolded as he had anticipated; the tension in the air dissipated without a single spark igniting.

One by one, the group filed out of the room, their earlier bravado evaporating into the night. The two men exchanged subdued nods with Daven, their previous aggression noticeably absent. The young woman, her voice barely above a whisper, offered an apology, “I’m sorry, sir… we troubled you.”

Daven turned towards her, his expression softening as he offered a faint, reassuring smile. “It’s quite all right. I’m glad we could have this conversation tonight. Rest assured, we’ll work towards a solution.”

As the door clicked shut behind them, Arsen erupted, his voice a mixture of disbelief and frustration. “Sir, with all due respect—why didn’t you say anything? He was provoking you the entire time! It felt like you were the one in the wrong!” He ran a hand down his face, attempting to dispel the mounting frustration.

Daven rose with deliberate slowness, carefully smoothing the fabric of his sleeve. “Because I needed to grasp their true intentions,” he replied, his tone measured.

“Do you think that was clear enough?” Arsen’s frown deepened, skepticism evident in his eyes.

“Clear enough,” Daven affirmed, picking up a tablet resting on the table. “Those two were merely following along. The woman was clearly terrified. Only one person was genuinely voicing concerns.”

“Exactly, sir. And he was exceedingly aggressive,” Arsen pressed, his frustration palpable.

“Indeed. Far too aggressive for someone claiming to be a local resident,” Daven said, fixing his gaze on Arsen. “His speech didn’t resonate with someone who had been affected by the project. Everything he articulated felt rehearsed, as if he were reciting lines from a well-crafted script used in protests against new developments near relocated areas. His phrasing was too polished. Too deliberate.”

Arsen paused, digesting the implications. “A narrative?” he echoed, a flicker of realization crossing his features.

“Yes,” Daven continued, his brow furrowing in thought. “He struck me as a hired speaker. His body language starkly contrasted with the other three. He didn’t present himself as someone who had been wronged—he spoke as if he were trying to incite chaos.”

Arsen exhaled sharply, the weight of the situation settling heavily on his shoulders. “So you’re convinced he’s not local?”

“Absolutely, Arsen.” Daven picked up a folder from the table, determination flaring in his eyes. “Find out who he is. Now.”

“Right away, sir.” Arsen spun on his heel, his footsteps echoing with urgency.

“And one more thing,” Daven added, his voice firm. “Secure his full identity before he makes another move. If someone sent him to stir the pot, we need to uncover who is behind this—and who else might be involved.”

Arsen nodded, his expression tight with resolve. “I’ll check the field officers’ database. There should be photographs from previous community meetings. If his face doesn’t match any of the locals… then you’re right.”

***

The weight of the night pressed heavily on Daven’s shoulders. Yet, he had no choice but to forge ahead. He had weathered storms far worse than this, particularly the chaotic days following the death of his father, David Callister.

In those early days, with little experience to guide him, he had dragged himself through countless sleepless nights. Not even the numbing effects of alcohol could dull the relentless pressure that bore down on him. But he persevered, and his efforts bore fruit, just as he had hoped.

The Callister Group had blossomed into a globally recognized powerhouse. Their network was robust, their finances stable, rarely shaken by internal strife. That was why the sudden uproar surrounding the JiangShe project, which had begun to ripple through social media, was so unsettling. It felt too orchestrated, too deliberate to be a mere coincidence.

“I need sleep,” Daven muttered to himself, methodically unbuttoning his shirt, each pop of the fabric echoing his fatigue. “I can’t afford to lose my footing here.”