Chapter 15
Charles frowned. “You’re not coming with me?”
Diana shot him a glance and nodded toward a few employees still working at their desks.
“I just don’t want them seeing us. If you’re not leaving, I am.”
She didn’t give him even a second to hesitate-just turned and walked away, heels clicking decisively.
Was she really someone she was ashamed to be seen with?
Charles’s gaze dimmed for a second, but in the end, he still followed her.
At the mall.
After five stores and over twenty bags, Charles finally couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed her wrist.
“What?”
Diana halted, her eyes still locked on the display case.
He hesitated before asking, “Diana… when are you planning to go public about our remarriage?”
Her eyes finally shifted to him-but not with the sweetness he hoped for.
It was shock.
“What did you just say? Remarriage?!”
Her stunned look cut straight into his chest.
Charles took a deep breath, trying to hold his confusion at bay.
“We’ve been through so much, and we ended up back together… why not make it official?”
Diana let out a cold laugh, then suddenly shoved him away.
“What the hell are you talking about, Charles Foster? We’ve barely been back together for what-five minutes? Buy me a
couple of lousy handbags and you think you’ve locked me down for life?”
“Dream on! I was born to be free. I’m here for the thrill, not forever. You want love? Look elsewhere.”
Her voice was sharp, cutting.
She snatched the shopping bags from the two stunned sales assistants, ripped the fancy wrapping to shreds, then threw the six-figure designer bags to the ground and stomped on them.
After her tantrum was spent, she turned on her heels and strutted off in stilettos-never once looking back.
Charles stood amid the wreckage, as if someone had just slapped him across the face-in public.
He slowly crouched down and started picking up the torn, trampled bags-each one once part of a million-dollar gesture of affection. Now, every piece ended up in the trash.
No matter how deeply he breathed, he couldn’t dispel the heavy pressure in his chest.
The two sales assistants exchanged awkward glances.
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“Sir, are you… okay?”
Charles shut his eyes briefly.
“I’m fine.”
He was just… remembering.
How even the simplest gift-a plain wooden hairpin worth only a few dollars-was kept tucked away in her drawer, cherished too much to wear….
The phone rang, abrupt and jarring.
Mr. Chambers sounded grave on the other end.
“Sir, we found something. Miss Schuyler… she never filed for divorce abroad.”
Charles’s breath caught. “Go on.”
“The boy-Evan-he was diagnosed with leukemia back overseas. But Miss Schuyler didn’t want her husband to spend money on treatment. That’s why she came back and looked for you…”
“And I spoke with the doctor directly. That fall down the stairs? It had nothing to do with soap on the steps. He fainted from the illness. Mrs. Foster… she was falsely accused that day.”
Charles didn’t return home until nearly dawn.
He reeked of cigarettes. His eyes were red-impossible to tell whether from the smoke or from tears.
He hadn’t expected Diana to still be awake.
Just as he was heading toward the shower, she called out behind him.
“Wait.”
He froze.
A tiny flicker of hope lit inside him.
If she’d just ask…how he was, whether he was all right, whether he was tired-then maybe… just maybe, she still cared.
But her words were cold, mocking, and cut straight through him like a freshly honed blade.
“Where’s my bag?”
Charles looked up, disbelieving.
One second.
Two.
The light in his eyes went out.
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“I threw it away.”
A throw pillow hit him square in the face, followed by Diana’s screeching voice.
“You threw it away and didn’t even bother to buy another?! Charles Foster, are you really this useless? Do you even love me at all? How can you be so terrible at comforting someone?!”
Charles remained calm.
“If you want the bag back, then remarry me.”
A flash of irritation crossed Diana’s otherwise flawless face. She was about to lash out when Charles gave a bitter smile.
“Too bad you can’t do that. So let’s call it quits.”
He turned to leave, but Diana grabbed him by the arm.
Her voice was still that same entitled, defiant tone.
“What’s that supposed to mean, Charles? You used me? Slept with me and now you’re running off?”
Charles met her gaze, speaking slowly and clearly.
“We didn’t sleep together. You drugged me. I had the hospital run tests. Nothing happened.”
“And I’m not with you because you’re still married to Jonathan Green.”
“Evan is my son. I’d willingly spend every last cent to save him. But Diana, there’s no need to keep hurting me over and over again. In all these years, I’ve given you more than enough.”
A flicker of panic crossed Diana’s eyes.
“You-you found out?”
Charles’s expression darkened.
“Yeah. But I’m not even surprised. This isn’t your first time betraying a marriage.”
He yanked his arm free and walked away.
Behind him, Diana shouted in frustration.
“So what if I haven’t divorced Jonathan? We could still be together! Charles Foster, I was the woman you loved most! Don’t pretend this is about legality-what you really want is to dump me for that lowly maid Vivian Bennett! Just admit it!”
Charles froze in place.
He turned slightly, gaze sharp as ice.
“Vivian is my wife. I’d suggest you show her some respect. And from now on, if I ever hear you use that kind of language again-about her or what you did to Evan-I’ll make sure you answer for both.”
Diana’s face twisted.
“How can you say that to me, Charles?! I knew it! You’ve fallen for her! She must’ve whispered something to you behind
my back, didn’t she?!”
