Scarlett heard the insistent knocking and got up to open the door.
Her head throbbed from last night’s drinking. One hand pressed against her aching temple as she opened the door with the other.
Seeing Patrick standing there, her expression immediately soured.
“What are you doing here?”
Patrick’s gaze swept over her attire, his tone accusatory. “You were at a nightclub last night, driven home by Wesley, weren’t you?”
Scarlett ignored his attitude. “You’re not sleeping and instead interrogating me about this in the middle of the night? Don’t you think that’s a bit pointless?”
“What I do has nothing to do with you.”
Patrick stepped forward, trapping Scarlett against the doorframe. He gritted his teeth. “Scarlett, don’t forget we’re not divorced yet. You’re still my wife, not Wesley’s.
