CHAPTER 178: CHAPTER 178- IN YOUR HEART

"Da... Da..."

Little Trista wasn’t ready to give up. Seeing Charles ignore her, she twisted in Janice’s arms, calling out again, her soft baby voice clumsy but persistent.

"Charles, Trista’s calling you," Janice said gently, confusion flickering across her face.

Why was he acting like this? Why the dark cloud on his face?

Was it... that he didn’t like Trista?

Her smile faltered.

She’d heard bits and pieces before—how cold he’d been toward their daughter in the past year. Back then, she had believed it was because of her own absence. But now that she was here, beside him, why wouldn’t he look at Trista? Not even once?

"You... don’t want to see her, do you?"

Janice stood there, holding Trista tightly in her arms, not letting the girl go even as she squirmed and fussed. Her big, wet eyes locked on Charles, brimming with disbelief and growing sorrow.

Trista was their baby—so sweet, so lively. How could he not love her?

Charles remained silent.

And to Janice, that silence was louder than anything else.

Her heart ached. It was as if someone had poured ice water down her spine. She thought she had finally brought their family back together. She thought they could start again.

But now... he wouldn’t even accept their child.

Tears welled up in her eyes. Trista, sensing her mother’s pain, immediately quieted down, her small fingers curling into Janice’s robe.

Janice clutched Trista closer, afraid her trembling arms might fail her. She turned toward the door, ready to leave—but just as her fingers reached the doorknob—

"Don’t you dare leave."

A deep voice came from behind her.

Before she could react, Charles’s strong arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling both her and Trista into his embrace.

"Charles, she’s a good girl. She’s sweet and obedient... Please don’t—don’t hate her..." Janice’s voice cracked with emotion.

Her arms loosened slightly in her distress, and Trista slipped a bit in her grasp—but Charles’s hands were faster, catching the little girl just in time.

Trista giggled gleefully, completely unaware of the emotional storm around her. Nestled now in Charles’s arms, she showed no fear at all.

"lady," Charles muttered, his voice low and frustrated. "Which part of me said I don’t like her?"

One arm around Trista, the other wrapping Janice close, he sighed.

He wasn’t angry at the child. Of course not.

He was mad because Janice had ignored him—the one who had longed for her day and night for an entire year. Now that she was finally in his arms again, all her attention went to their daughter.

He knew it was childish. He knew he shouldn’t feel jealous of a baby.

But he couldn’t help it.

"Then why..." Janice blinked, confused again, her tears still fresh.

"In your heart," Charles grumbled, "who’s more important—me, or Trista?"

Without waiting for an answer, he plopped the giggling toddler onto the bed, his gaze never leaving Janice’s teary face.

He gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. His fingers lingered at the corner of her eye.

She’d once told him her vision still wasn’t fully recovered. Now, every time she cried, it made him ache even more.

"You and Trista mean the same to me," Janice said softly, the corners of her lips finally lifting as she caught the glint of longing in his eyes.

So that’s what this was.

He was jealous... of their daughter.

Janice let out a breathless laugh, unable to stop herself.

This man—how could he be such a petty husband? Ignoring their daughter one second, and sulking the next just because she showed a bit more affection to someone else?

But even so—

She loved him.

"If you had to choose—just one of us—who would it be?"

Charles pressed her, step by step, voice low and insistent as he pulled her tightly into his arms. That hollow feeling from earlier—when he’d woken up and didn’t see her—finally began to fade now that she was close, warm, and real in his embrace.

"You, you’re the most important one. My husband is number one, okay?" Janice half-laughed, half-sighed, surrendering to his childish possessiveness as she gave the answer he wanted to hear.

Only then did his tightly furrowed brows begin to ease.

"Then you’re coming to the company with me today," Charles declared, his tone brooking no refusal.

"But what about Trista?" Janice hesitated. Truth be told, she wanted to spend more time with their daughter. She had missed a whole year of her baby’s life—how could she not want to make up for that?

She would have a lifetime to spend with this man... but Trista was still so small.

"Fiona can take care of her. We can hire another nanny if needed," Charles replied casually, one brow raised.

"You went back to Black Rock Co. for me, didn’t you?" His voice dropped a few notches lower, murmuring into her ear. Whatever Janice had wanted to say was swallowed back down.

"I got it... I’ll go with you," she finally said.

Even if she wasn’t entirely willing, she knew that convincing this jealous man now would give her more chances to negotiate later.

Charles, pleased with her response, rewarded her with a deep kiss. When he finally let go, Janice turned around—only to feel a pair of tiny hands grabbing at her legs.

Startled, she looked down—Trista!

Somehow, the little girl had clambered down from the bed and waddled over to them. Tilting her head up, she smiled sweetly at Charles, repeating, "Daddy... Daddy..."

Janice blinked in surprise.

Why wasn’t Trista afraid of Charles?

Even when he looked cold or stern, the little girl was always trying to get close to him.

"Trista, say ’Mama,’ okay? Ma—ma," Janice crouched down, gently steadying her daughter as she stood unsteadily. Fiona had told her that Trista only called out to Charles. Her very first word had been "Daddy."

But Trista only tilted her head again and, holding onto Janice’s hand, kept calling out to Charles.

"Daddy... Daddy..."

"Good girl. Daddy loves you," Charles said, clearly pleased with himself. He scooped her up from the floor, the familiar scent of milk clinging to her making his heart grow soft.

Trista, finally in her daddy’s arms, squealed in delight. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she planted a slobbery kiss right on his cheek.

Charles didn’t flinch. He didn’t even wipe it away.

Instead, he found himself sinking into the warm, tender weight of her small body in his arms.

Maybe... maybe it was because they had the same blood. Maybe that was why she felt so drawn to him.

Watching the heart-melting scene between father and daughter, Janice’s heart overflowed with quiet joy.

After breakfast, Janice accompanied Charles to Black Rock Co., leaving Trista in Fiona’s capable hands. She felt reassured.

But as they neared the office, Charles noticed something.

"Your eyes... what’s wrong?"

He abruptly hit the brakes and cupped her face in both hands. Her eyes were red—painfully red.

"It’s nothing. Just a bit of sleep deprivation. My eyes are fine now, don’t worry," Janice said, forcing a smile and blinking rapidly.

Last night had left her thoroughly worn out. She hadn’t gotten much sleep, and woke up early, worried about Trista. In all that, she had completely forgotten—this was a critical time for her recovery. Her eyes couldn’t take any more strain.

"You should’ve told me earlier. I’m taking you back," Charles said immediately, his expression darkening with self-reproach.

He’d been too caught up in the joy of having her back. He’d forgotten what mattered most.

"No—wait. Let’s just go to the hospital and check," he continued, his voice steady but filled with concern. "Are you sure it’s fully healed? Are you really... okay now?"