Chapter 3
But now, Claire was truly grateful.
Eleanor had given her a way out.
Her hands trembling, Claire wrote her name on the divorce papers, each stroke slow and deliberate.
Realizing Charles's love was nothing but an illusion, Claire decided to let go. She chose to set him free, bringing a definitive end to their tragic entanglement.
Claire reached out to her lawyer.
She found out the divorce agreement was valid—all she had to do was wait out the one-month cooling-off period, and the marriage would be over for good.
A wave of melancholy washed over her.
That five-year dream of hers was nothing but a fragile bubble, and now it had popped.
It was gone in an instant.
Still, it stung a little.
But Claire didn't let herself wallow in it for long.
She could walk away, set Charles free, but she wouldn't let anyone slap a "cheater" label on her.
After hanging up with her lawyer, Claire headed straight to the hospital, using the remaining fetal tissue to get a paternity test.
By the time she got home, her phone rang—it was the hospital.
But before she could say a word, the door swung open.
Charles's tall figure was half lost in the shadows, the ember of his cigarette flickering in the gloom.
He said coolly, "Claire, hang up."
Claire gripped her phone, her face pale. "Charles, I just want undeniable proof that I didn't cheat.
"I swear, the baby is yours."
Charles's brows drew together, letting out a barely audible sigh. "Just hang up, Claire."
He stepped closer, his warm, rough hand softly tapped her cheek twice.
"We need to go to a dinner soon. I don't want to be late, okay?"
Claire pressed her lips together, locking eyes with him, refusing to look away.
Finally, she couldn't take it anymore and burst out,
"Do you believe me?"
Just like that, Charles pulled his hand away.
The warmth on Claire's cheek vanished, replaced by a chilling emptiness.
She stared at his back as his cold voice rang out.
"The baby's gone. There's no point in digging any deeper.
"Don't let the Fulton Family's scandal become everyone's business."
That word—"scandal"—hit Claire like a slap, marking her with disgrace for all to see.
In that moment, it all became painfully clear to Claire.
He didn't believe her.
A wave of exhaustion washed over Claire, and she just felt so hopeless and miserable.
But she still stood up, keeping her cool as she spoke.
"Believe it or not, the baby really was yours."
With that, she walked right past Charles and headed for the walk-in closet.
They brushed past each other, their eyes never meeting—not even a glance.
Claire couldn't be bothered to dress up. She just threw on a white dress, not caring at all.
Once she got in the car, she realized she and Rachel had ended up in the exact same dress.
Rachel lounged in the passenger seat, a cigarette dangling between her fingers, her red lips curled into a sly smile—she was pure attitude and allure.
When Claire walked over, Rachel gave her a slow, provocative once-over, then commented with a casual air, "After all these years, Charles's quirks haven't changed one bit."
She teased Charles with a casual, almost intimate tone.
"Back then, I was all about black dresses, but he'd keep sending me white ones—every day for more than a hundred days straight. He wouldn't stop until he actually saw me wear white.
"He always said black didn't suit me, that I looked best in white. Please, I wear what I want—who cares what he thinks?
"But in the end, he still won. When Charles sets his mind to something, there's nothing he can't do—stubborn as hell."
Claire's face went pale as she gripped her bag so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Every dress in her closet was white.
Every shade of white you could imagine.
Charles even insisted she wear white to every important event.
She used to believe Charles just loved white, and thought it suited her best.
But now, it hit her like a ton of bricks.
Maybe he was just dressing her up as a stand-in for someone he lost.
Claire didn't say a word. She just opened the back door and got in.
Rachel let out a mocking laugh and turned to Charles.
"Hey, Charles, between the two of us, who do you think looks better in this dress?"
Charles sighed, his tone full of indulgence. "You."
Rachel, cigarette dangling from her lips, turned to Claire and said, "Then you go change your dress."
Claire's breath hitched. "Why should I be the one to change?"