Chapter 3
The next morning, Charlotte did exactly what I expected, she pinned our wedding post back to the top of her feed.
She even posted a photo of us together.
The photo was from three years ago.
She was in a white gown, and I was standing behind her, holding the microphone cord for her.
She captioned it:
[Thanks for always being there, Mr. Carter.]
Her fans went wild again.
Some fans sent their congratulations.
Others left sarcastic comments.
[The business couple is back to putting on a show.]
[Charlotte, you look better on your own. Stop bringing Leonard into everything.]
[Did Leonard get jealous again and force Charlotte to show off their relationship?]
I looked at the comments, unfazed.
That afternoon, I drove Charlotte to the recording studio.
As soon as we got backstage, I saw Ethan standing by the door.
His eyes were red, like a lost puppy who'd just been kicked to the curb by his owner.
"Charlotte, do I really have to leave?" Ethan asked, his voice trembling.
Charlotte stopped in her tracks.
Ethan shot me a quick look, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Is it because Mr. Carter doesn't like me?" he asked.
Charlotte frowned.
"No," Charlotte replied.
She turned to him, her voice strictly professional.
"After looking over everything, the production team thinks you're not quite ready yet. Go back to the company for more training, and when the right opportunity comes up, we'll make sure you get it," Charlotte said.
Ethan bit his lip, his eyes growing even redder.
"Alright," Ethan muttered, barely above a whisper.
Just as he was about to leave, he suddenly looked back at me.
His eyes held no hint of pain.
Only pure defiance.
I wrapped my arm around Charlotte's shoulders, making sure Ethan saw, and leaned in to ask her:
"Dinner at home tonight?" I asked.
Charlotte gave a soft smile.
"Sure," she said.
Ethan's hand at his side slowly curled into a fist.
I thought that was the end of this circus.
But I was wrong.
The real drama was just getting started.
For the next two weeks, Ethan really did disappear.
Charlotte went about her usual routine, recording shows, handling business, and attending dinners.
She kept me updated on her schedule every day.
She'd send me a photo of her breakfast in the morning.
At noon, she'd send a picture from her dressing room.
When she got home at night, she'd sit next to me and ask if I'd had a tough day at work.
Looked like things were finally turning around.
If I didn't know Charlotte inside out, I might've bought it.
Charlotte was insanely disciplined.
She could go an entire year without touching sweets, all for her on-screen image.
She wouldn't drink cold water after 10 PM, just to keep her voice in top shape.
She hated losing control.
And she hated being threatened even more.
So when she suddenly started behaving way too well, I knew it wasn't because she'd seen the light.
She was just covering her tracks.
A month later, it was her thirty-fifth birthday.
I'd already reserved a private yacht dinner for us.
But at five o'clock, Charlotte messaged me:
[The station just scheduled a last-minute live broadcast out of town. I won't be able to make it back tonight, sorry.]
Right after, she dropped her airport location.
I stared at the location for a few seconds, then tried calling her.
Her phone was off.
I called the producer at the station.
The producer confirmed, "Yeah, we've got a live broadcast out of town tonight, and Charlotte's on the host list."
After hanging up, I sat in my office for a long time.
My rational side told me it was probably just work.
But my gut told me something was off.
At 8 PM, the teaser for the live broadcast was suddenly trending everywhere.
Charlotte stepped out of the airport terminal in a silver gown, flanked by two assistants.
The camera only stayed on her for three seconds.
But I still caught it.
Not far behind her, there was a man in a baseball cap.
That figure looked way too familiar.
Almost at the same moment, Ryan called me.
"Did you see it?" he asked.
"Yeah, I saw it," I replied.
"Want me to look into it for you?" Ryan offered.
"No need," I said.
I stood up and grabbed my coat.
"I'll handle it myself," I said.
That night, at 11 PM, I flew out of state.
I didn't tell anyone.
The next morning, I showed up backstage at the live broadcast.
Charlotte was sitting in the lounge, flipping through her script.
Ethan stood behind her, holding a steaming cup of coffee.
As he handed it over, his fingers brushed lightly against hers.
Charlotte didn't move her hand away.
He bent down and murmured something softly in her ear.
Charlotte's lips curled into a smile.
It was a smile I hadn't seen in a long, long time.
Not the polished, picture-perfect smile she wore for the cameras.
Not the soft, soothing smile she used to placate me.
It was that brilliant, radiant grin she had in her youth, back when she stood outside the radio studio, eyes shining with hope, her dreams almost within reach.
Suddenly, Ethan reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
He did it so naturally, like it was second nature to him.
I stood in the doorway, my heart sinking little by little.
My assistant, Emily Reyes, leaned in and whispered:
"Mr. Carter, should we go in?" Emily whispered.
I didn't answer.
Because Ethan had already spotted me.
He froze for a second, then flashed a smile.
It was a subtle smile, but it was enough to make my skin crawl.
I pushed the door open and walked in.
Charlotte looked up, and her expression shifted the moment she saw me.