Regretting The Wife He Threw Away

News of Quentin being taken away by detectives spread like wildfire through Northborough's upper crust.

Lauren was in the middle of afternoon tea with the other ladies when Mrs. Quinlan suddenly let out a gasp.

"Lauren, isn't this your eldest son?" she exclaimed, turning her phone toward her.

Lauren snatched the phone, her heart pounding. On the screen was a photo of Quentin being escorted away by two detectives. He had draped his coat over his hands, but anyone with half a brain could guess what was hidden underneath— handcuffs.

"This... this can't be!" Lauren stared at Mrs. Quinlan in disbelief. "Where did you get this?"

"From the ladies' group chat, of course!" Mrs. Quinlan replied, retracting her phone with almost gleeful certainty. "The photo's the real deal. Lauren, you'd better hurry home and check on things. Quentin's holding the whole Lockwood family together right now if he's really in trouble, your family is going to be in a world of pain!"

Lauren's face paled. She grabbed her purse and rushed out without another word.

The other women watched her go, their eyes sharp with disdain.

Mrs. Prescott sniffed. "Saul only has Quentin, and now Saul's an invalid. If Quentin ends up behind bars, that'll be the end of the Lockwood family."

Helga gave Mrs. Prescott a sidelong glance, her tone loaded with meaning. "Not so fast. If the Lockwoods fall, that might not be such a good thing for you, either."

"Helga's right," Mrs. Quinlan chimed in. "That Mrs. Lockwood is a piece of work. Word is, before she married into the Lockwoods, she was tangled up with the last heir of the Kensingtons. He died, and she waltzed right into the Lockwoods' arms."

Mrs. Prescott wrinkled her nose. "Some women are just born schemers, always using men to climb up. Seems like every man she's ever gotten close to has met a bad end."

Helga sipped her tea, smirking. "Men only behave themselves when they're six feet under, ladies. So, a word to the wise-keep your wits about you."

...

Mrs. Prescott returned home to find her youngest son, Jason, jangling his car keys

sons, this one was the

ready-where are you going?" she demanded,

on a date," Jason replied, whistling as he grinned, all carefree swagger.

on!" Mrs. Prescott tugged his sleeve. "Did you hear

her curiously. "How do

close with Clarke's youngest? Have you asked

a look. "Mom, what's gotten into you? Why do you suddenly care about Quentin Lockwood? We

The Lockwoods are hanging by a thread with Quentin holding things together. If something happens to him, that's it for

They've always treated Rosita like dirt-if the Lockwoods go under, it's

thirty-when are you going to

late for my date if I keep

dashed out the

watched her youngest son's retreating figure and shook her head with

sight of her husband, Gavin Prescott, coming down the stairs. He was immaculately dressed, his hair slicked back and a faint trace of cologne in

gently. "You're back? I've got a business dinner tonight, so I

routine. "Just don't drink too much. Try

said, patting her shoulder with his usual tenderness as

might run late, though. Don't wait

Prescott smiled sweetly. "I

her a warm smile

leave, Mrs. Prescott murmured to herself with a chuckle, "Cologne, tonight?