Chapter 4
"Sorry, I'm not planning to sell the movie rights right now," I said.
"Ms. Reed, please don't say no just yet. Mr. Grant really admires your work. He's willing to pay three times the market price and bring in a top international team for the adaptation. This would be an amazing opportunity for you and your book," the caller insisted.
Their tone was downright enticing, dangling the offer like bait.
But all I got was a wave of dread.
Mr. Grant?
Was it really him?
Was he trying to smoke me out with this?
"Like I said—I'm not selling."
I hung up and blocked the number.
But inside, my nerves were a tangled mess.
Did he suspect something?
Did he already know I was here?
No, I couldn't just sit here and wait for disaster to hit me.
I rushed to pack our things, ready to grab Charlie and get out of here as fast as possible.
But I was already too late.
The next day, I dropped Charlie off at kindergarten.
At the kindergarten gate, I saw the black Bentley I could never erase from my memory.
The license plate was his birthday.
The window rolled down slowly, revealing the face etched into my very bones.
He looked thinner and more haggard, dark circles heavy under his eyes, but his deep-set gaze locked onto me, hungry and desperate, like a starving wolf finally finding its prey.
My body went rigid, my blood ran cold, and my limbs froze.
Charlie, not knowing what was going on, looked curiously at the man in the car. Suddenly, his eyes lit up and he pointed at Edward, shouting, "Mommy! It's the guy from the tablet! The one who looks just like me!"
Edward's eyes slowly moved from me to Charlie.
When he saw Charlie's face clearly, his eyes widened suddenly.
They held everything—shock, elation, disbelief, and... a tidal wave of crushing regret.
He flung the car door open and staggered toward us.
His steps were shaky, like someone still recovering from a serious illness.
"Emma..." Edward's voice was so hoarse it was barely recognizable.
Just one word, and my eyes instantly turned red.
Without thinking, I pulled Charlie behind me, bristling with protective fury like an enraged mother beast.
"You've got the wrong person," I said coldly.
I grabbed Charlie's hand and turned to leave.
But he stepped forward and grabbed my wrist.
His hand was feverish, trembling slightly as he held on.
"Emma, don't go... Please, don't leave me again."
His words came out thick with tears and raw desperation, stripped of all pride.
Was this really Edward? The man who always seemed so powerful, so out of reach?
I tried to pull away, but his grip only tightened.
He started rambling, his eyes actually welling up. "Emma, I know I messed up. I'm a jerk. Hit me, yell at me, do whatever you want—just please, come back..."
Other parents started pointing and gossiping about us.
I didn't want to keep struggling with him here and embarrass myself in front of everyone.
"Let go!" I ordered in a low, cold voice.
"I'm not letting go!" Edward insisted, locking eyes with me. "Unless you agree to talk to me."
Charlie was clearly frightened by all this, shrinking behind me.
He peeked out from behind me, glancing at Edward gripping my wrist, then at me, his little brows scrunched up in worry.
Suddenly, Charlie pulled away from me, ran up to Edward, and began hitting Edward's leg with his tiny fists.
"You're a bad man! Don't bully my mommy! Let go of my mommy!"
Charlie might have been small, but he really packed a punch for his size.
Edward let out a muffled grunt from the hits, but stubbornly refused to release his grip.
He just looked down at the little boy—his spitting image—his expression unreadable, layered with emotions too tangled to name.
"What's your name?" Edward asked, his voice rough with emotion.
Charlie puffed out his chest and shouted, "I'm Charlie Reed! Mommy's very own Ultraman!"
Charlie Reed.
He shared my surname.
Edward's body trembled, his face turning as pale as a sheet.
It was like he'd been hit hard. His grip on my wrist loosened a bit.
I seized the moment, pulled free, scooped Charlie into my arms, and hurried into the kindergarten.
Behind me, I heard his desperate shout.
"Emma!"
I didn't look back.
Edward, you only had yourself to blame for all of this.
After handing Charlie over to his teacher, I walked out of the kindergarten, feeling completely lost.
Edward's car was still parked in the same spot.
He was leaning against the car door, a cigarette between his fingers, though he hadn't lit it.
As soon as he saw me come out, he snuffed out the cigarette and headed straight toward me.
"Emma, we need to talk," he said.
"There's nothing to talk about." I brushed past him, making for the parking lot.
But he blocked me again.
"Just ten minutes," Edward almost begged. "Please."
I stared at his bloodshot eyes and the rough stubble on his chin—my heart didn't even twitch.
"Alright. Ten minutes," I replied.
I didn't want to drag this out with him anymore.
We went to a nearby café.
We sat across from each other, the air so thick with tension it was hard to breathe.
Edward fixed his eyes on me, staring like he could burn a hole through my skull.
"That kid..." he finally managed to say. "He's mine, isn't he?"
I picked up my coffee, took a slow sip, and stayed silent.
"You... you never miscarried? Did you lie to me all this time?" His voice shook, barely holding it together.
I set down my coffee cup, looked up at him, and gave a cold smile.
"Mr. Grant, did you forget? Emma Reed died three years ago on the operating table—her life and the baby's, both gone."