?<strong>Chapter 607:</strong>


    “Kristopher, no!” Albin threw his weight onto Kristopher’s arm, struggling to hold it down.


    “Do not make a scene here. Gracie’s funeral went smoothly. Are you really going to ruin it now?”


    Albin turned to Daxton, his tone venomous. “And you—get out of here. Still trying to stir the pot? Should I call Carrie back to see what a maniptive bastard you really are?”


    Daxton adjusted his suit with practiced nonchnce, shing an infuriatingly calm smile before walking away.


    Kristopher let out a slow breath, brushing off Albin’s grip. “I’m heading back to Norris Group,” he said curtly.


    Albin hesitated, ncing toward the car that had carried Camille and Carrie away. “Kristopher,” he began, his tone lighter, almost pleading, “let me work with you for a while. I cannot stand being idle these days.”


    The Ripples Complex apartment, shared by Carrie and Camille, was spacious but carried an undercurrent of cluttered coziness. It was less about the size and more about the emotional weight they both brought into the space.


    Camille had insisted on taking the sofa downstairs, leaving Carrie the upstairs bedroom. “It’s better for my projects,” she had reasoned.


    After Gracie’s funeral, Carrie had plunged herself into work, her grief manifesting in a flurry of activity.


    Kristopher had seemingly vanished from her world, his absence an unexpected relief.


    Daxton, on the other hand, had a knack for appearing at just the right moments. Sometimes he would show up with a bag of fresh seafood or a box of perfectly ripe fruits; other times, the deliveries came via courier.


    That afternoon, Camille stood over a box of lobsters Daxton had dropped off, raising an eyebrow. “I do not think Daxton sees you as just a friend,” she teased, nudging Carrie with her elbow. “All these deliveries? It’s a ssic move.”


    Carrie rolled her eyes, brushing thement aside. “Maybe he just feels bad for me being alone. Who tries to woo someone with lobsters? If anything, it feels more like a care package.” Carrie had once wondered if Daxton liked her, but in the end, she realized he didn’t.


    Camille smirked, unrelenting. “Oh, this is clever. Roses and choctes? Too obvious, and you would never ept them while still married. Lobsters, cherries, and blueberries? Those are your favorites. He knows what he is doing.”


    Camille lifted a box of lobsters and carried it to the kitchen. “Cherries, sweet blueberries, lobsters, crabs… hasn’t he sent all your favorites?”


    Just as Carrie opened her mouth to reply, the doorbell rang. Camille, elbow-deep in cleaning the lobsters, muttered, “What’s Daxton sending now? This batch alone must weigh five or six kilos. You sure Ruby’sing back tonight? Because there is no way we are finishing all this on our own.”


    Carrie opened the door, only to be met by Oliver, impably dressed in a gray suit, apanied by another equally well-groomed man.


    Oliver adjusted his sses, his difort apparent as he began, “Mrs. Norris, may Ie in? I am here to deliver the divorce papers on behalf of Mr. Norris.”


    His heart was heavy with conflict, knowing that both Mr. Norris and Mrs. Norris still harbored feelings for each other.


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