All Chapters of The Unwanted Wife: Chapter 221 - Chapter 230

I looked at Regan — his clothes soaked, his face bruised and streaked with rain and blood. My breath hitched. Before I knew it, I was already stepping toward him, my hands twitching, aching to reach out — to wipe the blood away, to ask why he came. But I stopped myself. Forced my feet to stay still. Drew in a deep breath.I stood there, watching my father and brothers disappear into the house, the door left slightly ajar behind them. My pulse was still racing, my clothes sticking to my skin when a shadow fell over me.I turned—only to see Regan standing there, holding an umbrella over my head. His face was bruised, blood trailing from a small cut on his lip and eyebrow, but his voice… it was soft, low, that same deep tone I used to know.“You’ll get sick,” he said simply.I just stared at him for a moment—at his beautiful blue eyes. My heart stumbled, confused, and before I could stop myself, I slapped his hand away. The umbrella tilted to the side, his arm moving slightly from the for

“You with Elaine tonight?” I asked, breaking the silence.Paul shook his head. “Nah. She’s out with her friends. Some dinner thing.”I nodded. Paul — the good uncle to Ethan, the one-year-married cousin who somehow made love look easy. He had the life I used to imagine for myself. Before everything cracked.He tapped the bar with his knuckle. “You think it will be worth it in the end?”“She didn’t ask me to come,” I said. “She didn’t ask me to stay away either.”Paul frowned. “That’s not an answer.”I turned to him, finally meeting his eyes. “I don’t have one. I don’t know either, Paul but I am hoping it is. God, I hope it is”He leaned back, watching me like he was trying to figure out if I’d completely lost it. Maybe I had.“Look,” he said, softer now. “I get it. You love her. But showing up like that? It’s not romantic, Regan. It’s reckless.”I didn’t respond. I just stared at the rain streaking down the window, remembering the way it felt on my skin when she looked at me — really

“Next time,” I said finally, forcing a calm tone, “try not to get punched in the face for it.”That made him chuckle under his breath — a low, quiet sound that almost made me smile too. Almost. I kept my eyes on the stars instead, pretending to be completely unbothered, even though my pulse was far from calm.He was still watching me. I could feel it — that searching gaze. And no matter how much I tried to act cool, a part of me still remembered what it felt like when he leaned on my shoulder in the rain.And I hated that it still mattered.Regan cleared his throat softly, as if gathering courage to start. “So—”“I want to order more,” I interrupted, setting my wine glass down.He blinked, startled. “More?”“Yes.” I waved to the waitress. “Can I have the menu again, please?”The waitress nodded quickly, handing it to me. I scanned the list, pretending to be deeply invested, even though I could feel Regan watching me curiously.When she came back, I smiled sweetly and said, “All of the

Without thinking, I opened my door again and rushed over.“Regan?” I called, pulling open his car door.He looked up, startled — pale as a sheet, sweat still clinging to his forehead. His eyes widened at the sight of me, then softened almost immediately.“You should go,” he murmured, voice faint.“Are you okay?” I asked again, this time with sharper emphasis.“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” he insisted, but the words barely carried any strength.“Don’t lie to me!” I snapped, the worry spilling into anger. “You look like you’re about to collapse!”And then—he smiled. Of all things, he smiled. Without saying another word, he reached into his glove compartment and pulled out a small vial and syringe. My heart stopped as he calmly rolled up his sleeve.“What the hell are you doing?!” I shouted, stepping closer.He chuckled weakly, the sound breaking in his throat. “Relax. It’s for my stomach,” he said, his grin tilting slightly. “I can’t eat too much.”I froze. The words hit harder than I expect

2 hours later, the doorbell rang.I didn’t move. I assumed it was a rider — the usual knock-and-go delivery. I was curled up on the chaise in my room, a book open but unread in my lap.Then came a knock on my door.One of the maids peeked in, her voice gentle. “Ma’am, someone’s asking for you at the door.”“For me?” I blinked, surprised. “Who?”She shrugged. “He didn’t say.”I nodded and stood, smoothing the folds of my dress as I walked out. I didn’t rush. I still thought it was a delivery — maybe something Marianne ordered, or a parcel from the estate.But when I opened the door, my breath caught.Regan stood there.Still in his suit — the jacket gone, his white shirt slightly wrinkled, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His dark hair was tousled, like he’d run a hand through it too many times on the drive over. The soft glow of the sun caught the sharp lines of his jaw, the faint bruise still lingering near his cheekbone, and the veins along his forearms that flexed as he held the