Chapter 273
Trey had clearly heard Angela’s words, but whatever faint tenderness once existed between them no longer stirred. He only gave a brief, distracted smile.
There had been a time when he truly believed Angela was the woman who understood him best. She had endured everything beside him, swallowing grievances for the sake of their shared life.
But that belief had gradually eroded.
The moment she used their child and private matters as leverage, something in him shifted permanently.
Compared to her carefully maintained composure, Khloe’s emotions were stark and real—she loved, she hated, she struck when hurt and never pretended otherwise.
Angela, by contrast, could resent him deeply and still speak of affection with a calm, practiced softness that now felt hollow.
“By the way,” Angela said after a pause, “didn’t you keep some of Khloe’s research papers?”
Trey looked at her. “Why?”
“Nothing important.” She moved closer, her tone lighter now. “I’m just curious. I want to study them. Maybe I can learn something from her work.”
“You can’t just read textbooks?” Trey sighed. “Why do you need hers specifically?”
Khloe’s research wasn’t ordinary reading material. It was specialized, unpublished work. Back when they were married, she had trusted him enough to leave those documents with him. He had never shown them to anyone.
“Please,” Angela said softly, leaning into him. “I’m really curious about her. If I understand what makes her so capable, I can improve myself too.”
Her voice softened into something almost coaxing.
In the end, Trey gave in.
He got up and retrieved a USB drive from a locked drawer. It was something he kept on him most of the time—important enough that he rarely let it leave his sight.
“Here,” he said. “But don’t share it with anyone. One week. Then return it.”
Angela’s eyes brightened immediately. “Got it. Thank you.”
She leaned in and kissed his cheek lightly.
Trey didn’t react much.
That night, the weather shifted.
Rain came down in heavy sheets, thunder rolling across the city in dull, distant bursts.
Charlotte jolted awake at the sound, instinctively checking the windows. Locked. Secure.
Then—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A sudden, forceful pounding at her door made her freeze.
Her breath caught.
It was past midnight. She hadn’t ordered anything, and no one should be here.
She stepped cautiously toward the door.
“Who is it?” she called out, voice tight. “I’m calling the police.”
She leaned toward the peephole.
Nothing.
The hallway outside was empty.
Her heartbeat sped up.
Then the knocking came again—louder this time.
She stumbled back a step.
“Stop playing games!” she snapped. “I really will call the police!”
A voice finally came through, low and rough, broken by fatigue.
“It’s me… Ethan.”
Charlotte froze.
Ethan?
Her fear spiked instantly. “What are you doing here? Are you here for revenge?”
Silence for a moment.
Then a weak, exhausted laugh.
“Revenge…?” he muttered hoarsely. “Not worth my effort.”
Before he could finish, he bent forward and retched violently again.
Charlotte stared in disbelief.
This… was not what she had expected from someone supposedly seeking revenge.
She hesitated.
“Should I call you a cab? Or the police?”
She even considered calling Khloe—but the time on her phone made her stop.
1:00 a.m.
She couldn’t bring herself to wake her.
Outside, Ethan groaned and leaned heavier against the door.
“I’m not here for revenge,” he said, irritated. “Open the door. I just need somewhere to sit for a while.”
“Why my house?” Charlotte shot back. “Can’t you go home?”
“I don’t want to.”
He coughed, dragging in a rough breath.
“And this is your fault today, Charlotte.”
Charlotte frowned. “My fault?”
Ethan’s voice darkened with lingering resentment.
“My hand is still injured because of you. And after everything, you repay me by teaming up with Khloe and embarrassing me.”
To him, Charlotte had become a contradiction—soft-looking, harmless on the surface, yet capable of turning on him without hesitation.
And that was exactly what made tonight even more intolerable.