Chasing His Cold Wife Novel

In the executive office of the Fletcher Group, Vincenzo Fletcher was watching a video.

On the screen, his wife, Lucinda Duncan, was beating up his mistress, Pauline Holland.

Shouting, cursing, and the sounds of objects crashing filled the room through the speaker.

The clip ended with Lucinda bracing herself against the wall. Her slightly curled hair was pinned up, exposing the pale line of her neck. One of her knees was scraped and swollen, blood slowly oozing from the wound.

The pain made her gasp, yet her face remained as cool and composed as ever.

Vincenzo switched off the phone and leaned back in his chair. The lazy smile on his lips vanished. He slowly spun a pen between his fingers, his expression cold and unreadable.

Lucinda hated losing her temper, especially in public. She valued dignity too much, and her emotions rarely stirred. So this time, she must've been really pissed.

Vincenzo absentmindedly lit a cigarette. It burned quietly between his fingers, ash falling away, but he never brought it to his lips.

After a while, he grabbed his coat, draped it over his arm, and headed to Lucinda's place.

Their marital home was a villa in the suburbs—remote, inconvenient for commuting. So Lucinda had bought herself a spacious riverfront apartment in Zenith Oaks, right beside the Kile River.

Vincenzo rarely came home anyway, so he let her live as she pleased. He had only one condition: the apartment had to keep his things.

The elevator opened directly onto her private floor. He pressed his finger against the scanner, only for the screen to display access denied. He tried again, and the result remained the same.

A moment later, he realized that Lucinda had deleted his fingerprint.

With a sneer, he rang the doorbell.

Seconds later, the door opened. Lucinda stood there with one hand on the knob. Their eyes met, both filled with the same cold indifference.

Suddenly, she felt that she shouldn't have opened it in the first place.

"Why did you—"

Before Vincenzo could finish, she slammed the door shut in his face.

Her assistant, Wendy Greene, noticed the tension in her face. "Ms. Duncan, who was that?"

"No one. Just a nut," Lucinda replied flatly.

At her words, Vincenzo let out a short, incredulous laugh from outside the door.

Wendy blinked, a pen still caught between her teeth. "A nut? From where?"

Lucinda looked down, skimming the contract in her hand as she gave a casual response, "No idea. Maybe he escaped from the asylum."

A soft chime sounded as a WhatsApp voice message from Vincenzo popped up: "Open the door."

He sounded irritated, which was rare for him. His voice was usually flat and lazy, whether during business negotiations or in everyday conversations. Now there was a sharp edge to it, as if he might kick the door open at any moment.

Lucinda ignored it, flipped her phone face down, and went back to the file.

The door opened before she even finished the page.

She wasn't surprised. Zenith Oaks was a Fletcher Group development, after all.

Wendy, however, froze the moment she recognized Vincenzo.

He was the head of Ashford's richest family, a man whose influence controlled half the city.

She let out a small breath and shot to her feet, clutching her bag. Smoothing her hair, she was ready to bolt. "Ms. Duncan, I've got some work to do. Gotta go. I'll send you the case analysis later."

"OK." Lucinda closed the file and walked her out.

Once the door shut, the air in the room seemed to thin, leaving Lucinda feeling slightly breathless.