Regretting the Wife He Threw Away

Stewart's brow was furrowed tight.

There was something deeply unsettling about the way Xenia Cooper spoke—a glimpse into a mind teetering on the edge.

“Xenia, you need to see a psychiatrist," he said quietly.

“Oh, but I have!” Xenia replied with a twisted smile. She stood, sauntered over to him, and reached for his collar as if to straighten it, but Stewart recoiled, his expression full of disgust.

He backed away as if she were venomous. The look in his eyes was the way you'd look at someone completely unhinged.

Xenia arched an eyebrow, tilting her head with a mocking little smirk. "All your chastity for Briony has come to nothing, you know. She and Maynard just made their relationship official. With the way Maynard's family operates, it won't be long before they pressure Briony into marriage. For the sake of the baby, for the family's reputation—she'll have no choice but to give in.”

"Bryn won't,” Stewart said, his voice firm, full of conviction.

She laughed, her lips a slash of crimson. "Oh yeah? Want to make a bet?"

Stewart had no intention of humoring her. There was nothing to be gained from arguing with a woman this unstable.

He turned to leave.

"Stewart.” Her voice stopped him in his tracks.

He hesitated, shoulders tense.

Xenia stared at his back. “Really—let's make a bet. Don't you want to know if Briony still cares about you?" Stewart's frown deepened.

She circled around to face him, meeting his eyes.

"You're hoping, aren't you?" she teased, her smile sharp. "You still can't let her go, but it seems like she's already moved on."

"Stewart, does it really sit right with you? You signed that agreement with me for her sake. And now, she's about to marry another man for someone else's child. If you ask me, you've been made a fool of."

The woman before him radiated a chilling, almost serene madness.

Stewart understood now-her mind was warped, but it wasn't about hatred for any one person. She didn't just hate him, or Briony, or anyone in particular.noveldrama

She hated everyone. She hated the world.

A memory flashed-Vernon's voice in the hospital: “My mom's insane."

Xenia Cooper really was insane.

Thinking of Vernon, Stewart felt something twist inside him.

That boy was smart-painfully mature for his age. But Xenia never stopped pushing him, training him, molding him.

Stewart closed his eyes, old memories surfacing—the ache of his own childhood.

He couldn't save the boy he once was, but now, with his own son and daughter healing him, he wanted to do something for Vernon.

He let out a weary sigh. “Xenia, you're sick. Get help."

She laughed, sharp and wild, as if hearing the punchline to a cosmic joke. "Me sick? I was perfectly healthy when I donated bone marrow to Briony-all the tests said so. The doctors said I could live to a hundred! I'll be there to see Vernon grow up, get married, have a family. I'll be a grandmother."

"If you keep tormenting him like this, you'll be lucky if he grows up normal at all.”

Xenia scoffed "He's my son. I'm

raising him to be the best, not torturing him. You grew up in a powerful family, Stewart-you know what it's like. You survived the Wentworths' family wars-sowhy can't Vernon do the same? He can, and he will. He's going to be the best damn heir the Neonova Syndicate has ever seen. My son will be the strongest, the brightest-no exceptions."

Stewart realized there was no point arguing with her.

His face hardened as he brushed past her and walked out.

The office door opened, then shut with a dull click.

He was gone.

Silence settled over the room, thick and suffocating.

Xenia turned to her desk, picked up her slim silver cigarette case, and slipped a cigarette between her lips. The match hissed; she drew in a lungful of smoke.

The nicotine soothed her, quieting the feverish voices ricocheting through her mind.

She slumped back in the leather chair, eyes closed, chain-smoking three cigarettes in a row before she finally felt "calm."

With a flick, she spun the chair toward the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Rising, she walked to the glass, exhaled a cloud of breath, and traced a number in the condensation―30.'

She stared at the mark, and for the first time in a long while, a ghost of a smile flickered in her deadened

eyes.