HIS REGRET (Ex-Husband wants Me Back) novel Chapter 380

**Shadows of the Past – By Emma Clarke**
**Chapter 380**

“Where could they possibly be?”

Arsen quickened his pace, trailing behind Daven not out of a lack of stamina, but rather because he was still poring over the documents that a JiangShe staff member had just forwarded to him. The suddenness of tonight’s meeting was unsettling; it felt as though it had been thrust upon them without warning. Why not schedule it for tomorrow? Surely there had to be a more convenient time. Was there truly no alternative?

“I instructed them to wait in the lounge of the branch office, Mr. Daven,” Arsen informed him, trying to keep his voice steady despite the whirlwind of thoughts racing through his mind.

Daven nodded, his expression unreadable. “Ensure that even if they are kept waiting, they are treated with the utmost respect.”

“Of course, sir.”

The sleek car designated to transport Daven to the branch office was already stationed outside, gleaming under the streetlights. They made their way there, and as they drove, Daven listened intently to Arsen’s brief updates, absorbing every detail.

Before long, they arrived at the branch office. A senior manager from JiangShe was waiting to greet them, his demeanor serious as he quickly summarized the situation at hand. One of the representatives had been particularly vocal—almost provocatively so—creating an atmosphere thick with tension.

“We advise caution, Mr. Daven,” the manager cautioned, his voice low and urgent. “Our personnel are strategically positioned around the lounge, remaining discreet, just as you instructed.”

Daven nodded, his demeanor calm and collected. “There’s no need for alarm. I merely wish to confirm a few things.”

The manager, along with the staff who were eager to conclude their business for the night, and Arsen himself, exchanged glances filled with uncertainty. It was clear that none of them had the slightest inkling of Daven’s intentions. The hope that everything would resolve smoothly hung in the air like a fragile thread.

“Good evening,” Daven greeted politely as he approached the four representatives who had taken to protesting earlier that day, voicing their concerns about compensation and the project’s ramifications.

“Good evening, Mr. Daven.”

One of the representatives stepped forward, a smile plastered on his face, though his eyes were sharp and calculating, sizing Daven up. “I hope we haven’t disrupted your evening.”

“Not at all,” Daven replied, a faint smile gracing his lips as he pulled out a chair in the center of the room. “So, what matters would you like to discuss?”

“Mr. Daven, we cannot allow this project to proceed. The damage it inflicts is far too great for all of us.”

The speaker was the man clad in a dark shirt—the most vocal of the group from the very beginning. His presence seemed to amplify the tension in the room, causing Arsen to clench his jaw in response.

When Daven inquired about his name, the man replied curtly, “You don’t need to know who I am. But I certainly know who you are.”

Arsen felt his patience being tested. Individuals like this often pushed boundaries, seeking to provoke.

“Sir, could you please articulate your objections in detail?” Arsen interjected, striving to impose some order on the discussion. “Let’s go through them one by one to avoid any misunderstandings—”

“No need to break it down like that!” the man shot back, his voice dripping with disdain. “Our request is crystal clear: halt the project. Immediately. There’s no need for lengthy explanations. We want it stopped. Right now!”

His tone was laced with arrogance and an air of menace.

His preparedness for confrontation was palpable, almost overwhelming.

Arsen straightened, his posture firm. “This is my final warning. Please manage your tone.”

“And if I refuse? What will you do—throw me out? Go ahead. Just remember this: I will not cease my fight until that project is terminated.”

The other two representatives exchanged anxious glances, clearly unsettled by the man’s bravado. Daven observed this exchange, noting the young woman beside them, who appeared desperate to escape the confines of the room.

After several minutes of escalating tension, Daven finally broke his silence. His voice was calm—almost unnervingly so for a situation of this magnitude.

He tapped his fingers rhythmically on the table, his gaze locked onto the man opposite him. Occasionally, he turned his wedding ring between his fingers, a quiet habit he employed to ground himself amidst the chaos.

Don’t take the bait.

“Very well. I have listened to everything you wished to convey. Arsen will document each of your points, and I will provide you with an official response within two days.”

“That’s insufficient,” the man interjected sharply. “If you fail to give us a satisfactory answer, I will take this matter directly to court.”

Daven regarded him for a moment, as if weighing something unspoken. “Very well,” he replied with a simple nod. No defense offered, no challenge issued, no flicker of emotion betrayed his inner turmoil—even though the entire exchange had been grating. It was frustrating to have someone shout like that when everything had been agreed upon previously.

Why stage a protest now, of all times?