Regretting The Wife He Threw Away

"Sorry, I didn't think it through. I just assumed that since Stewart stepped in to help at the start, he'd see things through to the end-just the kind of person he

is."

Cedric Clarke paused, then added, "Ms. Kensington, I know you're not the type to interfere in other people's relationships. If anything I've said or done before has offended you, I want to sincerely apologize."

"No need for that, Dr. Clarke," Briony replied with a faint smile. "Stewart and I aren't even friends. I'd appreciate it if you didn't bring him up around me anymore. People might get the wrong idea."

Cedric nodded in agreement. "You're right. I'll keep that in mind from now on."

Just outside the hospital room, the door left slightly ajar, a man peered in through the crack, watching Briony.

Her profile looked almost ghostly pale, a thick bandage wrapped around her forehead-enough to make anyone's heart ache at the sight. But her eyes were calm and distant, and her voice when she spoke was cold, betraying no emotion whatsoever.

Stewart's dark brows knit together as he watched for a moment. Then, suddenly, the corner of his mouth curved into a cold, humorless smile.

After a brief pause, he tore his gaze away and left without another word.

A nurse pushing a cart of supplies passed by, glancing at the trash can beside the corridor-where a perfectly arranged fruit basket sat on top.

"Who on earth would throw away such a beautiful fruit basket?" she wondered aloud.

and the fruit inside looked like

a minor. The victim's parents were immigrant workers; the accused, four local rich kids. Cases like this were always a minefield-class divides

the past few days, Stewart had barely had

his best to reassure them, promising he'd do everything possible to win their case, and then asked

out

pinching the bridge of his

all night," Cedric said. "I really think you need to step in and help Mack. If you're going

paused, eyes narrowing.

me this favor. The Kensingtons aren't the type to back down easily,

involved?" Stewart let out a short, cold laugh. "Did Briony put you up

was my

to the Kensingtons than ask me for help. What makes you think she'd accept it

at a loss for

humiliate herself, why should you play the saint?" Stewart's voice was icy. "If

Stewart hung

eyes and pressed his lips together hard. Since yesterday, there'd been a fire smoldering in his chest that he couldn't name

"Mr. Wentworth?"