All Chapters of Making Her Ex-husband Regret : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Find him, leave no stone unturned!” Logan was yelling into his phone, “Find my son in whatever hidey hole my wife thinks she can keep him in and bring him back safe to me.” There was a muffled “yes sir” from the phone before he ended it. He paced the balcony impatiently and in a rage, he threw his phone against the wall. It shattered. “Damn it.” He muttered. How did she know to hide Christopher? Did someone tell her something? The only person he had actually discussed his plans with was Christa and he knew she wasn't stupid enough to go blabbing it to Marybeth. Wait. He stopped pacing. She could have gone to her to gloat and might have accidentally let something slip, something that would have alerted Marybeth to his plans. He dismissed those thoughts immediately. Christa hadn't had time to go anywhere; she had been with him that whole time since they left the hospital. It was hard to imagine her doing so. He relaxed slightly then another thought entered his head. What about phon

It was the day of the funeral. The sky was dark with thunder clouds, and lightning struck at intervals, shedding little glimpses of light on the Renfry home. Marybeth was at the dining table, eating a small breakfast before she left. Logan walked into the somewhat chilly room. He glanced absentmindedly at Marybeth before he sat at the table and began to serve himself.She stared at him for a moment debating whether or not she should tell him about what today was. The last time, when she told him about her son’s death he dismissed her, claiming she was lying. What would he say now?“What?” He said to her,“What?” She repeated his question.“You were staring at me.” He pointed out.“Oh, sorry I didn’t realize.” She said turning her face back down to her meal.They continued to eat in silence till the sound of a fork clattering on the table filled the room.“Listen, Marybeth,” Logan spoke, “About last night- with Christa, nothing-”“Please, Logan.” She raised her hand, “Don’t talk to me

Over at the Renfrys, our dear Christa was plotting, again. Her mind raced with the possible ways she could delay Logan’s attending the ceremony. She wanted him to disappoint his wife and son because she was starting to feel he had forgotten his goal- to dumb that old maid wife of his and be with her. But that was why he had her, to remind him in the moments when he forgets that which he is meant to do.Dressed in an extremely short red gown, her hair falling in loose curls around her shoulders and her lips painted red and in a surly pout she set out to find him. She didn’t have to look far, for he was in the master bedroom trying to decide what he would wear.“Logan.” She called out to him softly, her body resting on the door, her figure posed in a seductive stance. But perhaps trying to pick a color was really taxing because it did not seem like he heard her.“Logan.” She tried again, this time a bit louder, yet still nothing. Frustrated but not discouraged, she padded closer to him

The steady beeping of the monitor was the only sound that filled the room. Logan sat beside an unconscious Christa who lay on the bed, her head wrapped in a bandage and her right leg in a cast. There was a knock on the door and he turned around expectantly.“Doctor, good afternoon. So what’s the update?” He said in greeting to the doctor.“Good afternoon Mr Renfry. You’re the one who brought Miss Lance here?” The doctor asked, his tag read Sterling.“Yes, Doctor Sterling.”“I see, and how exactly did she get so hurt?” Sterling asked.“Well, sir, I had to leave for an event, but she didn’t want me to, so she rushed after me down the stairs, then slipped and fell,” Logan explained.“Really?” It was quite obvious that the doctor did not believe Logan’s version of events: “Well, we’ll wait for her to wake up, then we’ll see if her story collides with your story.”“Collaborates with my story? What happens if it doesn’t?” Logan asked, looking down his nose at the doctor.“We’d have to call

Logan had left the hospital, to go get Christa her favorite ice cream, or at least that was what he told her. He just needed to get out of that hospital. He was tired of seeing to her needs, being at her beck and call, and he couldn't complain because everyone in the hospital looked at him as though he was responsible for her bruises, so he had to treat her well, so they'd quell such stupid thoughts. Hospitals annoyed him to no end. People who were beneath him thought they could order him around and tell him what to do. He pulled up to a fast food restaurant, eager to have some oily goodness in his body. He walked up to the counter. “Two large fries, a burger, and a cola.” He said to the kid at the counter. “Uh…” The boy stalled, his floppy hair leaking from his cap and blocking his view. He flipped his head repeatedly, trying to get his hair out of his eyes. “Would that be all, sir?” He spoke in the unhurried, monotone drawl that teenagers enjoyed talking with. It was like they