Chapter 2

Charlotte's hand froze suddenly and her lips parted a few times, but she couldn't get a single word out.

Three hundred and eighty-seven, that number was like a venom-tipped needle, striking right at the heart of her carefully maintained facade.

Turns out she knew all along, of course, there's always a record of missed calls. She just didn't care.

I slipped my hand out of hers, not with much force, but with quiet determination.

"Ms. Sinclair, what's done is done. Let's focus on what's ahead," I turned and kept walking, and she followed me without thinking.

"What future are you talking about?" Charlotte pressed, her voice tinged with a urgency she didn't even notice.

"The divorce." I pressed the elevator button and said it calmly.

The elevator doors chimed open, revealing Charlotte's face, stunned and full of disbelief.

I stepped inside, but she remained rooted to the spot, unable to move.

I didn’t wait for her and hit the door-close button straight away.

The metal doors slowly slid shut, cutting off her stricken, heartbroken face from view.

It's almost laughable. Even if I put my life on the line, she wouldn't spare me a single glance. But just one word "divorce" and she's totally rattled.

Back at the villa I'd called home for three years, I didn't feel the slightest bit of attachment.

It was luxurious and every piece of furniture was a designer original.

But there wasn't a single thing here that truly belonged to me.

My room was the guest room tucked away in a corner upstairs, the most isolated spot in the whole house.

My clothes could only ever be kept in the guest room closet, even my toothbrush and towel felt totally out of place in this fancy home.

Charlotte always said she was obsessed with cleanliness and hated it when anyone touched her things.

With practiced ease, I pulled a small suitcase from under the bed, the only thing I'd brought with me when I first moved in.

Some clothes to change into and an old photo album.

Without glancing back at this cold cage of a mansion, I grabbed my suitcase and walked out.

As I reached the door, a black Bentley screeched to a halt in front of me, sliding to a stop with a dramatic drift.

The door swung open, and Charlotte stepped out, her whole presence radiating a chill.

"Alex, do you really have to do this?" Charlotte blocked my way, her eyes rimmed with tears. "I know I messed up. I'm sorry. Please, don't leave, okay?"

An apology? Seriously?

If saying sorry could fix everything, my finger wouldn't have been shattered.

If an apology could erase the past, would those three months locked in that dark room vanish?

I looked at her, and honestly, it struck me as almost laughable.

"Ms. Sinclair, why are you apologizing? You haven't done anything wrong," I said. "I was foolish enough to think someone as insignificant as me could ever earn the affection of the person in charge. I was the one who forgot my place."

"I never saw you as an insignificant person!" Charlotte shot back, her voice quivering with emotion.

"Is that so?" I raised my hand, still wrapped in bandages, right in front of her. "The kidnappers wanted three million dollars. For you, that's nothing, just the price of a meal or a handbag. But you didn't pay."

"I..." Charlotte opened her mouth, as if she wanted to explain.

"You don't have to explain," I cut her off. "I know. That day, Michael ran into issues at his company in Paris, and you had to go deal with it yourself. Naturally, his business was more important than my life."

My tone was flat, as if I were stating a fact that had nothing to do with me.

Yet every single word cut deep like a blade into Charlotte’s heart.

She staggered, looking even more pale than she had back at the hospital.

"No, that's not it... I didn't realize it was that serious... I thought it was just something normal..." Charlotte stammered, her voice shaky and desperate.

"Normal what? Just a harmless prank?" I chuckled coldly, my tone icy. "Ms. Sinclair, you're the queen of business, always pulling the strings. Are you seriously telling me you couldn't tell if a kidnapping was real or not?"

Charlotte was left utterly speechless.

Come on, she knew exactly what was going on.

She just didn't care, just like nobody cares if an ant on the sidewalk lives or dies.

"Step aside," I said coldly, dragging my suitcase and brushing past Charlotte without a second glance.

"Alex!" Charlotte cried, clinging to me from behind, her whole body shaking. "I beg you, don't go. Whatever you want, I'll give it to you. I'll do anything to make it up to you, please stay, okay?"

Her tears seeped into my shirt, warm and laced with despair.

If this had happened three months ago, my heart would have broken for her. I would've hugged her tight and reassured her that everything was fine.

But now, all I could feel was the cruel irony.

Belated affection is worth less than weeds.

I stayed perfectly still, letting her cling to me, but my voice was icy cold.

"What I want you could never give me," I said.

"Name it. I'll give you anything you want." Charlotte sobbed, her voice cracking with desperation.

After a brief silence, I finally spoke, my voice low. "I want you dead."

Her body stiffened instantly.