Chapter 10

Charles raised an eyebrow at Stella's words and let out a mocking laugh. He tilted his chin slightly, his voice laced with frost. "Stella, can you stop putting on a show already? You've been doing everything you can to keep Sophie from seeing me, all so you can use that as leverage to kick Isabelle out, right? Let me tell you, no matter how clever you think your little plan is, it's not going to work." He paused, tone turning sharper. "Give up on that fantasy of yours." Stella's lips curled into a cold, bitter smile. Her gaze was like ice. "Charles, you really do think everything revolves around you, huh? Let me make it clear—what I want now is to cut all ties with you. For good." Yeah, she needed to be stronger. She had to be the one to shatter this so-called dream. Charles was just about to snap back when a loud voice interrupted him—Old Mrs. Hart's. She glared at him, furious. "Charles, shut that mouth of yours! Apologize to Stella right now! Look what you've done—broken her heart like this, and you've still got the nerve to argue with her?" He honestly didn't get it. How had he hurt her heart? Wasn't it her who iced him out first, swearing he'd never see Sophie again, treating her own kid like a pawn? Just like six years ago—with her schemes, drugging him just to marry into the family. She'd do anything to get what she wanted. A woman that calculating... how could she be heartbroken? He was a breath away from defending himself, but then he noticed Old Mrs. Hart's face had gone deathly pale, her hands clutching at her chest as she trembled. The words stayed trapped in his throat. After a while, her breathing evened out just enough to talk again through heavy gasps. "You trying to push me to my grave or what? My heart can't handle this nonsense. One more word out of you and I'm passing out, I swear." Gritting his teeth, Charles held back everything he wanted to say. To keep her from collapsing, he dropped his head and forced out the words like they were poison. "Stella, I'm sorry." Totally insincere. As far as he was concerned, the number of people he'd ever apologized to could be counted on one hand. Whether it meant something or not—it was rare. That was supposed to be enough. Stella stared at him, sarcasm dancing in her eyes. "I don't need your apology. I just want one thing—let's get divorced." Divorce. Again. That word kept coming out of her mouth like a broken record. Charles felt a jolt in his chest, something crashing down inside him. But, like always, he brushed it off, pretending it didn't matter. Pushing down his anger, he stepped forward and roughly grabbed Stella's arm, yanking her aside. He leaned in, his voice low and threatening near her ear. "Don't forget, Stella—you still owe me five million. And that debt means you're not walking out that easy. Also, you'd better behave. If Grandma gets sick again because of you, can you live with that? You're seriously cold. Dragging Grandma into this just to get rid of Isabelle? I'm telling you now—whatever you're plotting, it's not happening." Stella tried to pull away, but he had too tight a grip. She leaned closer and whispered back through clenched teeth. "I've never used Grandma, and I never planned on driving Isabelle away. All I want is to end this marriage. As for the five million, I'll find a way to pay you back—but it won't stop me from leaving you." Charles was still stewing over their earlier argument, his annoyance with Old Mrs. Hart lingering. But when she saw them standing that close—almost like a couple—Old Mrs. Hart couldn't help but smile. The tension in her face visibly eased. She cleared her throat and chimed in cheerfully, "Well, well, just look at you two—doesn't seem like there's any bad blood at all. It's getting late, don't keep making a fuss. Go on, head to bed already." Both of them widened their eyes at the exact same time and blurted out together, "No way!" They spoke in unison, completely caught off guard—not least Charles, who frowned in frustration. This was the second time Stella had turned him down. Seriously? Enough with this whole play-hard-to-get routine. Even if you're acting, there's a limit. Old Mrs. Hart's face fell in an instant. She clutched her chest, her brows knitting tight as her breathing grew shallow. Her voice was weak as she gasped, "Are you two really trying to kill me with stress? My heart can't take this anymore." Left with no choice and worried about her condition getting worse, the two of them reluctantly headed toward the bedroom. As soon as they stepped inside, Stella immediately distanced herself from Charles. Her guard was all the way up—like she saw him as some kind of threat. With her arms crossed protectively over her chest, she shot him a glare and said coldly, "Charles, don't come near me. Don't touch me. The thought of your hands on me makes my skin crawl." Charles let out a slight smirk, his tone edged with contempt. "Touch you? Relax. You act like you're worth the trouble. That used to mean something. Now it just feels like a mistake I keep repeating." Ignoring his sarcasm, she went straight to the bed, stiffly laid down, and yanked the blanket over herself like a cocoon, turning her back to him. It was true, it was already late. She was exhausted—emotionally and physically. After everything she'd gone through, she hadn't had a decent night's sleep in a long time. The room fell into stillness, with only their soft breathing filling the silence. At some point, a strange heat started to rise in Stella's body, making her whole person feel restless and uncomfortable. Her cheeks were burning, and her breaths turned shallow. Charles was feeling it too—that weird heat creeping through him. His mind was getting fuzzy, and without realizing it, he leaned toward Stella. As soon as his hand touched her, she snapped awake, eyes wide. Panicked, she struggled to push him away. "Charles, let go of me!" Stella's voice trembled with panic, edged with tears, as she fought to shove him off. But Charles seemed to have lost all sense. Instead of letting go, he wrapped his arms tighter around her. Without hesitation, she bit down hard on his arm. The taste of blood spread in her mouth instantly. With a hiss of pain, Charles instinctively loosened his grip, and Stella scrambled free, half-crawling and stumbling toward the balcony in a total fluster. She stood in the cool air, gasping for breath. Her hair stuck to her flushed cheeks in a sweaty, frazzled mess. There was no doubt about it—Old Mrs. Hart had definitely done something to the room. Too bad Stella had to let her down. Once, it was Charles who refused to be near her. And now, it was far too late. There was absolutely no way she could bring herself to have any physical intimacy with a man who'd—directly or not—been part of Sophie's death. Standing inside, Charles watched Stella flee like he was some kind of monster. The irritation boiling in him was hard to hide. How long was she going to keep this up? "Stella, don't you think this whole playing-hard-to-get act has dragged on long enough?" "It's getting old."