Chapter 2

News of Grace's return to the country quickly spread through the upper echelons of Olianken's elite.

Charlotte first saw her at a charity gala.

That night, Charlotte wore a champagne-colored gown that Edward's assistant had sent over in advance. The dress fit her perfectly and was clearly expensive, but it was devoid of warmth, just like their marriage.

At the gala, Edward was rarely seen by her side. They walked in together, arms linked, looking like the golden couple. People came over to greet them, praising how perfect they looked together. Edward responded indifferently, while Charlotte just smiled faintly.

Everything appeared fine until Grace showed up.

She wore a flowing white dress, her long hair draped over her shoulders, her features soft and warm. The moment she walked in, Charlotte could feel the arm linked with hers suddenly stiffen.

Charlotte turned her head to look at Edward.

His gaze cut through the crowd, locking firmly onto Grace. In those eyes, which she had spent three years trying to decipher, emotions she had never seen before were swirling—surprise, ache, guilt, longing.

There were so many, so tangled, but not a single one was for her.

Charlotte slipped her arm free and said, "I'm going to the restroom."

Edward didn't respond. He didn't even notice her words.

Charlotte turned and walked away, steady and composed, her head held high.

In the restroom, she touched up her makeup in front of the mirror. The woman staring back at her had features like something out of a painting, flawless makeup, and designer clothes. But her eyes were hollow, showing nothing at all.

"Charlotte?" A soft voice came from behind her.

Charlotte caught Grace's reflection in the mirror; she was standing quietly at the door.

"It really is you," Grace said, walking over with a genuine, friendly smile. "I've always wanted to thank you."

"Thank me?" Charlotte replied.

"Thank you for staying by Edward's side in my place." Grace's gaze was as gentle as a pool of water as she looked at Charlotte. "He seems so cold, but deep down, he's actually very soft-hearted. Is he... good to you?"

Charlotte's hand clenched around the lipstick.

Was he good to me?

He didn't know my birthday, what I liked to eat, or when I went to bed. We shared a home, but were even more distant than strangers.

"He's good to me," Charlotte replied with a smile.

Grace nodded, visibly relieved. "That's good. When I left the country, he was the one I couldn't stop worrying about. Seeing you two together like this really makes me feel at ease."

Charlotte searched Grace's eyes, trying to catch a trace of insincerity or provocation. But there was nothing. Grace's gaze was sincere and warm, like a gracious ex-girlfriend genuinely wishing her ex and his new partner happiness.

That was the cruelest irony.

Grace had no idea I was only a substitute.

"Are you two done talking?" Edward's voice came from the doorway.

Charlotte glanced over. He stood under the hallway lights, but his eyes were locked only on Grace. That look, so intent, so tender, was exactly what she always wished he'd give her.

"Edward," Grace said with a warm smile as she walked over. "How come you're here?"

"You'd been gone for a while, so I came to check on you," Edward replied.

He didn't spare Charlotte a single glance the entire time.

Charlotte slipped her lipstick back into her purse and brushed right past them.

"Charlotte," Grace called after her, "Maybe we could have dinner together sometime?"

Charlotte turned around with a polite smile and answered, "Sure."

Charlotte walked away quickly, her heels echoing crisply on the marble floor. Not once did she look back.

After the gala, Edward didn't return home with Charlotte.

The driver dropped her off at the villa, and as Charlotte stepped out, she asked, "Where's Mr. Foster?"

"Mr. Foster had things to do, so he asked me to bring you home first," the driver replied.

He had things to do.

Busy with who, exactly?

Charlotte didn't ask any more questions. She walked inside, went upstairs, took off her makeup, showered, and went to bed.

She barely slept, plagued by messy dreams. In one, her mother was still alive, and they were squeezed into that tiny apartment. Her mom cooked a meal for her, gently placing an egg on top, watching her eat with a soft, loving smile.

When Charlotte woke up, her pillow was wet from her tears.

Sunlight poured in from outside; it was another bright, clear morning.

Charlotte lay in bed, lost in thought, staring at the ceiling. Her phone lit up with a text from Edward: [Not coming home tonight.]

The words were so simple.

Charlotte stared at the message for a long time, then deleted it and got up to get ready for the day.

As she came downstairs, the housekeeper was cleaning the living room. Seeing her, the housekeeper hesitated before saying, "Mrs. Foster, last night... Mr. Foster came back."

Charlotte stopped short.

"He came back very late, stood downstairs for a long time, and then left," the housekeeper said, glancing at her, clearly wanting to say more. "Mrs. Foster, did you two have a fight?"

"No," Charlotte replied. "We never fight."

Because we weren't even close enough to argue.

After that night, Edward started coming home even less frequently.

On the rare occasions he did return, he'd hole up in his study for the entire night. Charlotte had no clue what he was up to, and honestly, she didn't care to ask.

She began gathering her belongings. Even though there were still three months left on their contract, she wanted to be ready ahead of time.

Three years were not long, not short. As Charlotte carefully sorted through her belongings, she realized how little was actually hers. There were just a few clothes, some books, and a handful of photos left by her mother.

Everything else had been given to her by Edward.

She didn't want to take any of it with her.

That afternoon, Charlotte went to the hospital for a check-up. She had been feeling tired and had lost her appetite lately. She thought it was because of the season change and didn't pay much attention.

But Sophie wouldn't let it go, so Charlotte finally got herself checked out.

Charlotte waited in line, went through all the tests, and waited for the results to come in.

When she finally got the report, Charlotte froze, staring at it in disbelief.

She was pregnant, seven weeks along.

Charlotte sat on a bench in the hospital hallway, staring at the report in her hands, her mind totally blank.

How could this happen?

She and Edward... they had never been intimate.

Suddenly, Charlotte remembered that night two months ago. Edward had come home drunk, his assistant dropping him off.

As she helped him out of his coat, he grabbed her and hugged her tight, calling out Grace's name.

Edward mumbled, "Grace... don't leave..."

Charlotte tried to push him off, but his grip was so tight she could hardly breathe.

After that, somehow, it happened.

When Charlotte woke up the next morning, Edward was already gone. On the nightstand, there was a card and a note in his handwriting: [Sorry. Get yourself something nice.]

There were ten thousand.

It felt like he was tipping her, like she was a call girl.

Charlotte shoved the card and note into a drawer, acting like nothing ever happened. Edward never mentioned it again, and they went right back to being polite strangers.

She thought that was the end of it.

But now, she was pregnant.

Charlotte sat on the bench, her hand resting on her still-flat stomach. Yet deep down, she knew, a tiny life was quietly growing inside her.

It was the child she shared with Edward, a child that was never meant to be.

Her phone rang; it was Edward calling.

Charlotte stared at his name flashing on the screen, paused for a second, then answered.

"Where are you?" His voice was just as cold as always.

"Out," she replied.

"Come home. There's something I need to tell you." Edward hung up without another word.

Charlotte folded the report, tucked it into her pocket, and headed out of the hospital. She grabbed a cab and made her way back to the villa.

As Charlotte stared out the window at the city rushing by, her mind was a mess. Should I tell him? How would he react? Would he be happy, or just ask me to end it?

She honestly had no clue.

But she made up her mind; she would tell him.

No matter what happened, this child deserved the right to know who his father was.