Chapter 95

• Howard sat rigidly at his mahogany desk in the private top-floor cabin of Carter Enterprises, freshly changed into a crisp navy suit Julia, his assistant, had rushed out to buy at his curt morning order. The tuxedo wreckage from the wedding night was gone, but exhaustion clung—dark circles under steel-gray eyes, jaw shadowed with stubble. His fingers flew across the laptop keyboard, hammering out an email on quarterly projections, but focus shattered. Damn it, concentrate. The screen blurred; Charlotte invaded every thought.
• He didn't want to dwell on her—that intruder, contract pawn—but couldn't shake it. Her office confrontation replayed: cold, deadly eyes locking his, voice slicing truth. "You slapped me without hearing." The faint purple welt on her cheek—his handprint—burned in memory. Hurt was flashing in those emerald depths last night, post-slap vulnerability before her fire reignited. She defended striking back at Anna because they insulted her parents first? Overheard venom? Lies from Mother?
• Grandpa Wendell's alcove words echoed unbidden: "Charlotte's your shield—and yours to protect. Your mother, Karla, and Anastasia—they'll plot against her. Schemes to separate you." Husband now, the patriarch had urged. Protect her. Howard's typing faltered, a split-second regret piercing: Did I hurt her unjustly? Slap without trial? Warmth tugged—her aisle poise, vow-kiss spark. No—subside. Anastasia's face supplanted: little sister he'd grown up shielding, sobs wracking her in the night hug. Family blood—adopted but mine.