bChapter /bb117 /b

“I just feel like we have a connection.” Wesley’s gaze drifted bto /bbhis /bmother. b“/bbAnd /bbseeing /bhow close she is to you… Well, you’ve more than earned this

Charlotte picked up her coffee cup. “Mr. Rayburn, forgive me for asking, but–what happened to your mother? Was there some kind of trauma?”

From the way they carried themselves, it was clear the Rayburns came from a prominent background. In families like this, marrying someone with mental health issues was nearly unheard of, so Charlotte doubted Mrs. Rayburn had been born this way.

It seemed more likely she’d suffered some kind of shock.

Wesley tapped his fingers against the table. “If things hadn’t gone wrong all those years ago, I’d have a little sister now.”

Charlotte blinked. “A sister?”

He nodded. “After my mother gave birth, the doctors told her the baby was stillborn. She saw it happen with her own eyes, and her mind has never really recovered. Some days she’s lucid, other days she’s lost in confusion. She’s always believed my

sister is still alive–that she didn’t die.”

“No wonder,” Charlotte murmured, ncing at Mrs. Rayburn, who was sitting nearby feeding milk to a doll. “Losing your own child… I can’t imagine how hard that must

be.”

She found herself envious of children who had loving parents.

Unlike her…

Her own birth parents had abandoned her the moment she was born.

Maybe it was thatck of love as a child that made her crave affection so desperately now. Pathetic, really–pathetic and small.

But at least…

She had nothing left to lose.

That afternoon, rain poured down. Wesley’s driver took Charlotte back to

Tranquility Manor. As soon as she stepped out of the elevator, the sharp tang of

b12:45 /b

bcigarette /bsmoke bhit /bher.

Evander stood bby /bthe trash can near bthe /belevator, btapping /bashes bInto /bbthe /bbsand /bbtray /bHis beyes /bwere dark and empty, as if staring binto /ba bottomless sea. “bYou /bbsent /bbthat /bphoto to my mother, didn’t you?”

She’d known this wasing.

Charlotte didn’t deny it. “I did.”

He narrowed his eyes, danger flickering in his gaze. “How did you find out?”

Charlotte pulled out the chat log she’d prepared and set it on the table in front of him, her lips curling into a smile. “Your first love sent it ito /ime. Congrattions, Mr. Howard–the Howard family just got a ready–made son, so no one has to nag you about having kids anymore!”

“Charlotte, didn’t I tell you to keep Tricia out of our business?” Evander suddenly grabbed her face, his grip tight. She stiffened, shaking her head to get away, but he slid his hand down, mping it onto her jaw, squeezing until she winced in pain. “What do you want, sending that photo to my mother?”

He looked at her as if she were reckless andughable. “What, are you trying to show off in front of her? Or hoping my mother will take your side against them?”

Charlotte’s smile froze. “If the Howard family epts this kid, that just means you’ll have an heir. I’m doing you a favor.”

He let go, and Charlotte stumbled back, barely catching herself.

“Don’t meddle,” he said, crushing his cigarette into the tray. “He’s not my son.”

Charlotte scoffed, brushing past him and ncing at his stormy profile. “Whether he’s your son or not–that’s none of my business.”

Before he could react, she walked inside.

Evander stayed in the hallway, half his face bathed in sunlight, the other half shrouded in shadow, his reflection fractured in the ss.

The tense silence was shattered by his phone ringing.

He picked up, voice cold. “Speak.”

Director Sinir’s voice came through. “Mr. Howard, we’ve found out who’s behind the Hiram case.”

Charlotte, in the kitchen, poured herself a ss of water. She heard the elevator

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12:45

doors close and figured he’d left again.

Not that it mattered to her anymore.

Two dayster–

Charlotte apanied Mrs. Rayburn on a trip to the mall. Wesley came along.

“Oh, look how pretty that is!” Mrs. Rayburn’s eyes lit up at the dresses in a boutique window. She stroked the doll in her arms. “Sweetheart, do you like these pretty dresses? Mommy will buy you one, okay?”

Then she turned to Charlotte, grabbing her hand. “You should get one too, dear!”

Charlotte shot Wesley a pleading look.

But Wesley just nodded.

Resigned, Charlotte had no choice but to go along.

Mrs. Rayburn, delighted, pulled her into a Valentino boutique. “Sweetheart, look at all these beautiful clothes!”

Charlotte picked up a dress at random, nced at the price tag, and felt her heart drop.

Mrs. Rayburn reached out to take a dress from the rack, but a saleswoman immediately blocked her. “If you’re not buying, don’t touch. These are expensive–if you get them dirty, can you afford to pay?”

The woman’s tone was harsh, her eyes full of disdain for Mrs. Rayburn’s condition.

“Sweetheart, she’s being mean to me,” Mrs. Rayburn whispered, shrinking behind Charlotte.

Charlotte stepped protectively in front of her and red at the woman. “Can’t you speak to people with a little respect?”

Another saleswoman walked over, tugging her colleague’s sleeve. “Forget it, she’s just a nutcase. Not worth arguing.”

Charlotte’s face went cold, “Who are you calling a nutcase?”

“She’s obviously not right in the head. Why can’t we say it?” The saleswoman recoiled as if Charlotte and Mrs. Rayburn were contagious. “People like that shouldn’t be out shopping. Who knows if she’ll suddenly attack someone?”

“Sweetheart… are they talking about me?” Mrs. Rayburn’s eyes filled with tears,

10.45

“It’s okay, I’m here. Don’t be afraid,” Charlotte soothed, then turned to the saleswomen, her voice steely. “Apologize.”

“And why should we?” one of them sneered.

“If you don’t, I’ll make sure the whole inte knows how your store treats its customers. Let’s see if your manager can handle the bacsh.”

Their expressions changed instantly. They wanted to avoid trouble, but just then, Mrs. Fontaine entered the boutique, and both women straightened, smiles appearing as if on cue.

“Well, well–who’s making all this fuss in my store? Oh, it’s you.”

“Mrs. Fontaine! So d you’re here,” the saleswomen chorused, rushing to greet

her.

Charlotte met Mrs. Fontaine’s gaze, her hands clenching tight. She couldn’t forget–this was the woman who’d helped destroy Hiram’s life.