My coldhearted ex demands a remarriage

Chapter 76:

Before Carrie could untangle her muddled thoughts to respond, Camille had snatched her bag from the table and disappeared like a thief in the night.

Carrie, left in a storm of dizziness and discomfort, slumped deeper into her chair. Her head spun like a rogue carousel, and her stomach churned with the fury of a storm-tossed sea. Abandoned in a room full of unfamiliar men, the irritation she had previously suppressed surged with renewed force.

Perhaps emboldened by her solitude, one of the toy boys sauntered over. He had the smug confidence of a bargain-bin version of Kristopher, all swagger and no substance. Leaning far too close for comfort, he whispered in her ear, “Miss, you know, I could give you a ride home later.”

His breath, sour with alcohol, curled against her ear, making her skin crawl. Carrie wanted to recoil, but the alcohol had stolen her strength, leaving her anchored to her seat in a foggy stupor.

Taking her silence as encouragement, the young man grew audacious. His hand, unwelcome and intrusive, crept onto her thigh, his fingers trailing over the fabric of her pants with feigned delicacy.

The establishment catered primarily to middle-aged women and clients with unconventional preferences. A young, attractive woman like Carrie was a rare find. The young man’s calculations were clear: if he could initiate a connection with her, a more prosperous future might await.

His flirtatious advances sent chills down Carrie’s spine, momentarily cutting through her alcohol-induced fog. Reflexively, she shoved him away. Lurching to her feet, she stumbled backward, inadvertently sending a row of bottles crashing to the floor.

An instantaneous silence fell over the room. The previously boisterous young men now regarded her with the chastened demeanor of schoolchildren caught in mischief. Suppressing the nausea rising in her throat, Carrie delivered a cold, razor-sharp command: “Get out.”

A few of the toy boys, sensing the storm brewing, scrambled to their feet and made their way to the door without a word. But not the Kristopher wannabe. He lingered, his face flickering with indecision. Clinging to some misguided bravado, he forced a grin and lifted a glass of wine as if that could smooth things over. “Miss, if this bothers you, I can—”

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“Get out!” Carrie cut him off, her disgust as palpable as the shattered glass at her feet. She jabbed a finger toward the door, her patience snapping like a dry twig. “Or do you want me to report you?”

At that precise moment, the door to the opposite room swung open. Albin casually draped his jacket over his shoulder as he exited, his eyes widening at the scene before him. Carrie stood amid the dispersing toy boys, her hair slightly disheveled and cheeks flushed with anger. Even in her moment of rage, she possessed an undeniable allure.noveldrama

Albin’s lips curved into a teasing smirk as he turned toward Kristopher. “Isn’t that your wife, Kristopher—”

The moment he caught Kristopher’s dark, thunderous expression, the rest of his potential observation died in his throat. A heavy silence descended upon the room. The others, their gossiping instincts crushed beneath a wave of pure terror, wished they could vanish instantly.

The fear of potentially witnessing Kristopher’s humiliation sent icy tremors through their bodies. Sensing the growing tension, Albin clapped his hands in a brisk, commanding gesture. “Alright, everyone, the show’s over. Go home, mind your own business, and keep your mouths shut.” It was a lifeline thrown to a drowning crowd.

Relieved, they murmured hasty affirmations of silence, scurrying off like mice fleeing a prowling cat. Within moments, the once-bustling hallway was deserted.

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