Dear Billionaire, I'm Not Your Wife Anymore! - Chapter 11: Chapter 11

I thought Braden would stop ahead and let me out alone, but he never had that intention.
I had to be patient and sit quietly in the passenger seat, letting him take me to that unknown "place."
The black Rolls-Royce Phantom sped through the snowy landscape. The scenery flew by outside—white snow everywhere, cold clear light—while my mood was particularly gloomy.
Finally, the car entered a private villa.
When getting out, a servant in formal attire came forward to open the car door for me.
As soon as I stepped out, the oncoming cold wind made me instinctively pull my coat tighter.
The villa's interior was extremely luxurious. A servant guided us through polished corridors into a small banquet hall. Three-tier crystal chandeliers hung from the dome ceiling, each prism refracting brilliant light, as if decorating the entire ceiling into a flowing galaxy.
I stood still until a man beside Braden stood up to greet us.
"Braden, you're here." He spoke warmly, but his gaze quickly fell on me.
"This must be Mrs. Kingsley! First time meeting you, pleased to meet you." He had a meaningful smile at the corner of his mouth, his gaze somewhat bold.
I instinctively straightened my back and replied with pursed lips, "Hello, I'm Charlotte."
"I'm Charles Anderson. I'm hosting this little party tonight."
As he introduced himself, I suddenly remembered—the second son of Anderson Real Estate, quite well-known.
Two other men also stood up, clearly familiar with Braden.
Braden briefly introduced them. The names were unfamiliar to me, but I assumed they were all wealthy heirs from powerful families.
"Mrs. Kingsley, juice or alcohol?" A servant approached and asked politely.
"Juice, thank you." I replied politely, took the orange-red drink, and used the opportunity to move to a corner, trying to attract as little attention as possible.
Just then, four more people entered the hall—two men and two women. The front pair held hands tightly like a married couple, while a man and woman walked side by side behind them—I immediately recognized that woman.
Linda.
She wore a black form-fitting evening dress with a purple shawl draped over her shoulders. Her makeup was exquisite, diamond earrings sparkled under the lights, and she looked like a page from a jewelry magazine—noble, alluring, dazzling.
The moment our eyes met in the air, her expression clearly froze, then her lips curved into an ambiguous smile.
She hadn't expected me to be here. I could see her smile mixed with annoyance and disdain.
Just as I decided to ignore her, the elegant gentleman beside her approached with a friendly smile.
"Mrs. Kingsley, do you remember me?"
I was slightly startled. He looked familiar, but I couldn't recall his name.
"I'm Gavin Mitchell. I attended your and Braden's wedding." He said.
I replied with a polite smile, "Mr. Mitchell, hello."
Honestly, I had no memory of him. That day, I was completely absorbed in Braden's presence and paid no attention to others.
"Mrs. Kingsley, we meet again." Linda also approached, her tone light as if we were acquaintances.
I held my juice as if I hadn't heard her speak, simply looking away.
Her smile immediately became somewhat strained, and she couldn't help but glance toward Braden with barely concealed resentment.
She thought Braden would appear at this party alone, thought tonight was their "date," never expecting me to come too. I clearly saw her emotional changes—from surprise to displeasure to forced politeness.
I had only been standing there for a few minutes when I already felt a strong desire to leave.
Everyone here was too familiar, too comfortable. Their every word and laugh showed they belonged to the same circle. And I was just an "outsider" temporarily dragged in.
What was Braden's purpose in bringing me here?
Was it to make me see their relationship clearly? Or to make me look foolish and out of place in front of these people?
As I was thinking, I suddenly heard a slight commotion at the entrance. I instinctively looked up—
And in that instant, I felt like I'd been struck.
Cole Maverick.
How could he be here?
That face—even after all these years, I would never forget it. His upright figure, the black suit making him look even more composed.
Those eyes behind silver-rimmed glasses were still gentle—my most respected and closest senior.
He was talking with a middle-aged man beside him when he suddenly sensed my gaze. He turned his head, scanned the banquet hall, then fixed his eyes on me.
His steps paused, clearly also stunned.
After a few seconds, he said something quietly to his companion, then slowly walked toward me.
My hand holding the juice glass couldn't help but tighten, and my heart traitorously beat faster.