The Officer's Runaway Wife & Secret Son novel Chapter 133

Since that phone call was hung up, the phone hadn't rung again.

Rhys checked the screen several times. Aside from work group chats, there were only a few promotional text messages for the holiday season.

He had gone to Clara's parents' house twice more. He hadn't dared to ask about her directly, so he tried to beat around the bush, only to be met with cold shoulders again.

Her parents clearly didn't know about the miscarriage, nor did they know where Clara was.

Even Simon, who usually guarded her like a pitbull, had been unusually quiet.

Quiet enough to make Rhys restless.

In the past, when Clara threw a tantrum, the routine was always fixed.

She would ignore him, run off, post a vague complaint on social media visible only to him, or delete his fingerprint from the lock and change the code to his birthday backwards.

She would wait for him to coax her, and he would wait for her to give him an opening.

It was an unspoken agreement between them.

Once they went through the motions, everything would be fine.

The lock at Riverside Court beeped, and the door opened.

Rhys changed his shoes and habitually looked toward the living room sofa.

Still empty.

He was just about to go shower when the doorbell suddenly rang.

Rhys’s brow twitched.

Clara was back.

She liked to ring the doorbell to make him open the door. The moment it opened, she would cling to him like a koala.

He strode to the entrance and pulled the door open.

"Cla—"

The eager syllable died in his throat.

Instead of that vibrant, radiant figure, Veronica West stood there, supported by Margot.

"Why did you take so long?" Veronica complained, pushing past him to walk inside.

But now, Margot was putting them on.

She kicked off her high heels and was about to slide her feet in.

Rhys spoke instinctively. "Put them back."

Margot froze, one foot raised, awkwardly balancing in the middle of changing shoes. She looked up blankly. "What's wrong?"

He stared at the slippers, Clara’s gaze suddenly flashing through his mind.

*Which home? The one where you bring other women to spend the night whenever you want? The one where you even keep a spare toothbrush for them?*

That was a thorn in Clara's heart.

At the time, he thought Clara was being unreasonable and dramatic.

But now, seeing Margot acting as if it were natural to slip her feet into Clara’s shoes, he suddenly felt a wave of nausea.

"Put the shoes back," Rhys repeated. "Clara bought those. She doesn't like other people touching her things."

Margot’s face paled. She stood there helpless. "But... didn't I wear these last time I came? My feet are just a bit cold. I didn't mean anything by it. Clara wouldn't be that petty, would she?"