Chapter 3
"I've made up my mind," Martin cut me off. "Let's see who's bold enough to mess with my goddaughter."
As I was leaving, I ran into Charles by the entrance.
He leaned against the car, a cigarette held between his fingers, smoke curling around him.
When he saw me, he stubbed out the cigarette. "What did my dad say to you?"
"Nothing," I replied.
"Evelyn, don't play games with me," he said, stepping closer, smelling like smoke and something cold. "Do you really think things will change just because my dad is backing you?"
"I never planned on leaning on anyone," I said.
"Then what do you want?" he pressed, stepping even closer. "Money? A title? Or do you want me to dump Vivian and marry you?"
His words were laced with contempt.
I lifted my head and met his eyes. The same eyes that once made me fall for him were now nothing but cold and distant.
"Charles, have you ever thought that maybe I don't want anything anymore?" I said.
He froze.
I slipped past him, ready to leave.
He grabbed my wrist again, his grip even tighter than yesterday, and barked, "Stop. What do you mean?"
"You heard me," I replied.
I tried to break free, but it was futile.
"Evelyn, you're mine. Without my permission, you're not going anywhere," he said, his voice barely shaking.
"Yours?" I laughed, the sound echoing sharply through the quiet courtyard. "Mr. Sterling, have you forgotten? You were the one who shoved me away just two days ago.
"What am I now? Some toy you threw out and suddenly want to play with again?"
His face darkened, a terrifying shadow crossing his features.
"I never said I was throwing you away," he said.
"But you did," I said.
In the struggle, my bag fell to the ground, spilling its contents everywhere: lipstick, keys, and a small USB drive.
Charles' eyes landed on the USB drive.
It was an ordinary USB drive, black with no markings.
He bent down and picked it up. "What's this?"
My heart skipped a beat.
"Nothing, just some work stuff," I blurted out.
He held the USB drive between his fingers, his gaze probing. "Really?"
Instead of giving it back, he just slipped it into his pocket.
"I'll keep it for you," he said.
Charles walked off, leaving me no room to protest.
I watched him drive off, a swirl of dust rising in his wake.
I crouched down and started gathering my things, stuffing them back into my bag one by one.
There was nothing on that USB drive.
It was just a shell, a bait I had deliberately let him see.
The real USB drive, however, was tucked away in the bottom drawer of my desk in my apartment.
It held every single record of the "trouble" I'd helped Charles deal with over the past three years.
There were no recordings or videos. I had rebuilt every document, every conversation, and every bank transaction from memory, accurate to the decimal point.
Charles was suspicious by nature; he never left anything on paper.
He thought I was his perfect tool, safe, silent, spotless.
He had no idea that the safest tool could turn into the deadliest weapon.
When I got back to my apartment, the first thing I did was send Martin a message.
I said: [Thanks for the advice, Mr. Sterling, but I can't be your goddaughter.]
The message went through.
I muted the phone and flung it onto the couch.
I couldn't tie myself to the Sterling family any longer, not as Charles' lover, nor as Martin's goddaughter.
I had to get out of this on my own.