My coldhearted ex demands a remarriage

Chapter 68:

The woman entered the room with a tray, her movements deliberate and her eyes radiating contempt. “Mr. Norris instructed me to attend to you,” she announced, her tone dripping with disrespect.

Carrie was stunned by the servant’s audacious behavior towards the lady of the house. Kristopher’s disdain for her seemed so profound that even a new employee felt emboldened to treat her with such blatant disregard. It felt less like care and more like an assignment to manage an inconvenience. While Lise was known for dramatizing her illnesses to garner attention—and Kristopher would typically go to extraordinary lengths for her—he had coldly delegated his own wife’s care to a servant during her fever.

“You can leave now. I need to freshen up,” Carrie said casually, throwing off the covers.

The servant remained motionless.

“Mr. Norris instructed you to take the medicine after breakfast.”

Carrie’s voice turned glacial. “Kristopher asked you to care for me, not to issue orders.”

The servant’s expression shifted. “What do you mean?” Without hesitation, Carrie asserted, “I’m still his wife. I would appreciate a modicum of respect.”

Seeing the servant’s continued silence, she added firmly, “That’s enough. You may go now. I won’t repeat myself.”

The maid glared but did not dare challenge her, eventually turning and departing. Once alone, Carrie exhaled and went about freshening up. After slipping into clean clothes and grabbing her bag and phone, she headed for the door. She peeked into the living room—empty.

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Without wasting a moment, she booked a ride and slipped out of the house like a thief escaping captivity. The crisp air greeted her, but her momentary relief was interrupted by the incessant ringing of her phone. Her steps faltered as she slid into the waiting cab. Sitting in the backseat, she dug the phone out of her bag, her brow furrowing when she saw the caller ID. Tristan.

Carrie’s frown deepened, memories tugging at her like an unwanted tide. In the early days of her marriage to Kristopher, Tristan had practically hounded her, calling incessantly. He’d shamelessly invoked their shared bloodline to demand favors, whether it was insider stock tips, business deals, or invitations to high-society galas for Yara to snag a wealthy husband. But Carrie had never been one to dance to anyone’s tune, least of all Tristan’s. Her refusals were firm and final. When it became clear he couldn’t use her as a pawn, Tristan dropped the pretense of fatherly affection.

Two years had passed without so much as a word between them. And yet, here he was, calling out of the blue. The timing wasn’t lost on her. Their recent encounter, coupled with news of her impending divorce, had likely stirred his interest. The phone buzzed persistently, on the verge of stopping. She hesitated, weighing her options, before finally answering. Her tone was frosty, the warmth of civility stripped away. “What is it?”

Tristan began with a facade of paternal concern, his words subtly laced with criticism. “Two years without returning home, and now that you’ve ascended the social ladder, you’ve forgotten your father. You truly have a cold heart…”

As Tristan’s harsh words filled the phone, Carrie subtly moved the device away from her ear, her gaze drifting to the car window.

On the sidewalk, an elderly man approached a young woman emerging from a store, her arms laden with grocery bags. With gentle care, he offered her an ice pop and took the heavy bags from her hands, allowing her to enjoy her treat while walking beside him. Their striking resemblance would leave no doubt about their familial connection. Though the daughter appeared to be around Carrie’s age, her father’s eyes still saw her as a child needing protection.

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