Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 558

Bang!

“What the hell is this supposed to mean?!”

The hospital room reverberated with the crash—a folding chair toppled over, and a crumpled red invitation was hurled to the floor by Sophia Pembroke, landing with a dramatic roll at the feet of a man in gleaming oxblood shoes as he walked in.

Nathaniel bent down and picked it up.

His expression was unreadable as he smoothed the invitation open.

Peonies bloomed across the paper, and at the top in neat script it read, ‘To Mr. Nathaniel.’ It was addressed to him. The date was absurdly soon. Below, the venue. And at the bottom, the signatures of the two people hosting the engagement.

Mila and Forrest.

Daphne Hall.

One day. That’s all it took for everything to turn upside down.

Now, silence pressed in, heavy and absolute.

But Sophia was never one for silence. She kicked the fallen chair, pointed furiously at the only other person in the room—Nathaniel—and launched into a tirade. “You useless waste of space! I gave you a chance, and you blew it! Yesterday, I told you to talk to her about that ridiculous teacher business—couldn’t you see the opportunity? You couldn’t even set up a single date! And now she’s suddenly engaged? What are you good for, huh? And what, she only sent you an invitation? Am I, Sophia Pembroke, supposed to not exist? Does she not know who runs the Pembroke family?”

She was practically shaking with rage.

After deciding she was done playing games with Lysander, Sophia had made up her mind—she’d bring Mila into the family, under the guise of marriage. She still had an unmarried brother, and since he actually liked Mila, why not?

So when Mila had come by yesterday, wanting to talk about some teacher whose name Sophia couldn’t even remember, she’d dragged Nathaniel along.

And what came of it?

Not even a lousy dinner, much less a date.

And now—this engagement invitation.

Was Mila messing with her? Deliberately provoking her?

Nathaniel, for his part, seemed entirely unfazed by the verbal assault. Maybe he was just used to it. His face didn’t change; he barely seemed to register any emotion at all. His gaze stayed fixed on the wrinkled red invitation in his hands.

Only when Sophia’s shouting finally lost steam did he speak, his voice soft. “Sis. Maybe this is for the best.”

He looked up, meeting Sophia’s eyes—her neck still wrapped in gauze, her face flushed with anger. He said quietly, “I told you before. Mila doesn’t like me. She never will. And honestly, I don’t want her to. I like things just the way they are.”

“What are you trying to say?” Sophia’s tone turned cold.

“I’ve never wanted to get married,” Nathaniel answered, his eyes dropping.

He could still hear the echo of shattering glass, the vicious arguments between men and women, the sickening sounds that used to come from the next room at night. The parade of strange women’s faces he barely recognized… He’d had a disaster of a father, a man who never cared about anyone, and Nathaniel saw no reason to pass on that kind of legacy. Julian Pembroke was the one exception, a fluke.

“Sophia,” he said.