The Officer's Runaway Wife & Secret Son novel Chapter 65

The slap was solid. The little warmth remaining in the room vanished instantly.

Rhys's face turned to the side, a red mark quickly blooming on his skin. His eyes were terrifyingly dark.

That slap the other night—he had startled her. He could write that off as a lovers' quarrel.

This was different.

"Do you know what you are doing?"

Clara's palm tingled. She hid her hand behind her back, unable to stop the shaking.

"I do."

"You know what?" Rhys retorted. "I went out specifically to buy you those almond cookies. How are they leftovers?"

"The commercial street by the convention center. I checked the time; you waited in line there for about twenty minutes."

Rhys's expression shifted. "You tracked me?"

"Not tracking. Just happened to pass by."

Clara looked at his face, finally seeing a crack in his composure. "I was across the street. I watched you buy them before I called you."

The lie was exposed. Rhys remained silent, offering no further denial.

"I did go, but the schedule for the lecture was tight. I didn't have time to line up again."

Clara: "So, aren't they just what she didn't want?"

"Stop making it sound so ugly," Rhys said, his voice hardening. "You can make a scene, you can lose your temper, but there's a limit."

"You act so shamefully, yet you're scared to hear it called what it is?" Clara almost laughed. "If I had no limits, that box of cookies would be in your face right now."

"Margot is used to relying on me. You're her family, can you just—"

"No, I can't. I'm not her mom, and the Huntingtons don't pay me. She's never treated me like family. I have no obligation to babysit her."

"Do you have to be so petty?"

"Yes, I am petty."

Clara pointed at the door. "Since you won't let me leave, then take your toothbrush and get out. I don't want to see you."

Rhys stood motionless, impatience written on his face.

In past arguments, she would cry and get angry, but she had never looked at him with eyes like this.

He said in a low voice, "This is my house. I'm not leaving."

Clara nodded. "Stay if you want."

She rushed into the master bedroom and locked the door from the inside.

Because it had been sitting out for a whole day, grease had seeped through the bottom of the bag, and the formerly crispy crusts had turned soggy.

Just like before, Rhys had prepared breakfast for her. A sticky note was weighed down on the table.

[My attitude was bad last night. Something urgent came up at the precinct. There is soup in the pot; remember to eat it while it's hot. Wait for me to come back tonight.]

Clara grabbed the sticky note and crumpled it into a ball. Along with the greasy paper bag of cookies, she threw it all into the trash can.

Her stomach cramped painfully—likely from the intense anger the night before.

Clara remembered Noah's words and stopped punishing her own body.

She had half a bowl of hot soup and called Daniel.

"Miss Bridges?" Daniel answered quickly.

"It's me. I've made up my mind."

"Are you sure about the divorce?"

"Yeah. Please send me the formal version of the agreement. For the asset division, just go with the simplest plan you suggested before."

"Got it. Aside from the assets, is there anything else to add?"

Clara glanced at the trash can and replied, "No. Just make it as fast as possible."