Chapter 102

• Howard slipped back into the bedroom past 1 AM, study shadows clinging to his gray t-shirt and black trousers, Vanessa's betrayal still raw in his veins—Vanessa, not dead but a ghost alive in memory, thriving somewhere while his trust died. The door's whisper-quiet click barely disturbed the hush; moonlight bathed the four-poster in silver, illuminating Charlotte—sound asleep, curled peacefully on his side of the bed. He flinched inwardly, breath catching. The woman I can call my wife. For a fleeting moment, the rushed contract, the fights, and the power plays faded; just her, real and here.
• He padded slowly to the bed's edge, eyes tracing her form. Pink cat-print pajamas bunched adorably around her, childish whimsy masking the firecracker who'd slapped him without fear, stood toe-to-toe in the hospital, and defied maids and luxury alike. No one would guess—she's a storm in a girl's clothing. Vanessa's lingering shadow receded; Charlotte had cracked walls he'd mortared after that graduation hell, her stoic spine and unblinking gaze seeping through fissures no one else touched. Why her? Why now?
• Careful not to wake her, he slid under the cool silk sheets, carving deliberate distance—a chasm of pillows between them. Sleep eluded him; control slipped as he rolled onto his side, unable to resist watching her sleeping face. Long lashes fanned cheeks still faintly bruised from his grip, lips parted softly, and hair splayed wild. Never noticed... she's actually beautiful.