Chapter 4

Stella spoke coldly, "You're never seeing her again. Take your stuff and get out." Charles froze for a second, the corners of his thin lips curving into a mocking smile. "Stella, you walked out with nothing but took Sophie with you. Trying to use our kid to squeeze money out of me? That's pathetic, don't you think?" The urn with their daughter's ashes was just upstairs. Stella couldn't bear to let her daughter hear her beloved dad talking so heartlessly. She grabbed the gift box on the table and flung it at him. "I told you to get out! Are you deaf or just dumb?" Charles's expression turned dark. The light tulle dress she threw landed in the rain-soaked ground, now dirty and ruined. The tiara he'd designed himself shattered into pieces, diamonds scattered across the cracked floor tiles. His self-control was hanging by a thread. Suddenly, the phone rang. He glanced at it, answered, and deliberately hit speaker. "Mr. Hart, the piano you ordered has arrived. We're ready to deliver. Is the address still Riviera Court?" Charles stared at Stella, his voice icy and deliberate. "Change it. Send it to 8 Rosehill Villa. Receiver: Olivia." Then he hung up. He wanted Stella to know—he could be generous, or he could take everything back in a heartbeat. He could act like Sophie never existed, or he alone could decide her place in his life. Isn't this what she wanted? Walking away with no money, using Sophie as a bargaining chip? Fine. He'd love to see how she'd end up. Stella didn't flinch. Her face was pale as a ghost, dried blood caked across her forehead, making her look terrifying and worn. She lifted her hand and calmly pointed to the door. "Now will you leave?" Something clenched hard inside Charles's chest. Emotions twisted up inside, too tangled to bother sorting out. His jaw was tight, fury in his tone. "Stella, tell your daughter never to call me again. I never want to hear from her." That hit Stella like a slap. Her Sophie was already gone—but now, even her soul had to hear her dad say she was unwanted. Stella suddenly went wild, her eyes darting around like a caged animal. She grabbed a dusty broom from the corner and swung it straight at him. "Get out of my house, you bastard! Step in here again and I swear I'll kill you!" She hadn't eaten in days, barely slept, surviving on a few sips of honey water, and now all her strength was gone. After a few weak swings, she collapsed. Charles just stood there for a moment. What popped into his head wasn't anger, though—it was the day Old Mrs. Hart had first brought Stella back to the Hart family home. That wasn't the first time he met her.Back when he used to attend business banquets with his father, he'd seen this spoiled little princess before—bright as the sun, bold and untamed. But when he saw Stella again, just like today, she was gripping a broom and charging at him like a prickly little hedgehog—miserable but stubborn as ever. That dazzling sun had dulled, yet it still sparked guilt and an urge to protect her within him. But the woman he pitied had drugged him. On the night he brought Isabelle home and was planning to get engaged, Stella climbed into his bed and got caught red-handed by the whole Hart family. If that hadn't happened... maybe Olivia wouldn't have gone into early labor. Maybe they all wouldn't have ended up suffering so much. He kicked the broom hitting his ankle away in anger. "Stella, using the same trick again? It won't work. You gave birth to Sophie, but you still let her see you stoop to this kind of crap—aren't you ashamed of yourself?" With that, he stormed off. His car engine had been running for a while, but he hadn't stepped on the gas. Through the window, Charles stared at the motionless figure in the living room. Frustrated, he slammed his fist on the steering wheel. A moment later, he yanked the door open and walked back. "Stella, Grandma's been good to you. She's coming back soon after a year of treatment overseas. Can't you just not make a scene right now?" The person on the ground didn't move an inch. "Stella!" He nudged her waist gently with the tip of his shoe, realizing something was wrong. Without hesitation, he bent down and scooped her up, rushing out. In the super private VIP room of a high-end private hospital, Jason Bennett finished his check-up, then glanced at Charles with raised brows. "What, domestic violence now?" No wonder he'd show up at his place. Charles shot him a glare sharp enough to kill. "The diagnosis." Jason shrugged. "She's not sick. She's just starving—literally. No food, no water, no sleep. Even gods would cave under that. Her emotions are all over the place, and she's got a mild concussion. Honestly, it's a miracle she lasted this long." Charles's brow furrowed deeply. Since Isabelle came back with Olivia, this woman had been pulling stunts non-stop. Now that she couldn't manipulate him using Sophie, she was turning to starving herself? "Hook her up to an IV." Jason let out a long sigh. He knew better than to try to talk sense into him. Back in their youth, Charles was wild and carefree. But during an outdoor adventure, he suddenly vanished. The rest of the Hart cousins claimed they hadn't seen him. He turned up six months later in a hospital—one leg broken, and both his vision and hearing badly damaged. He never said a word about what happened. He never found the grandfather and child who'd saved him, either. From that point on, Charles changed completely. He didn't trust anyone, and kept everyone at arm's length. When Stella moved into the Hart family home, he treated her like a beloved sister—spoiled her completely. Better than he'd ever treated anyone else.The one person who managed to crack his walls—was also the one who stabbed him right in the heart. After they hooked Stella up to an IV, Jason glanced over. "Should I call a nurse to stay with her?" Charles didn't respond. He just stood silently by the window, his tall frame casting a heavy shadow, a mix of loneliness and tension radiating off him. Jason shrugged tactfully and left, closing the door behind him. — Stella drifted into a long, drawn-out dream. In it, she was back to before fourteen—back when life hadn't gone off the rails. The Johnsons were living large, and she was dressed up fancy, trailing her parents into glamorous parties. She'd been sneaking a cupcake when a handsome boy caught her red-handed. Puffing up her cheeks and placing hands on her hips, she threatened him into silence... then wiped frosting on his lips and said, "If I go down, you're coming with me." The sweet memory shattered, torn apart by a sudden wave of blood and screaming. She saw her mom's ruined face, her dad's twisted legs, all mangled from the crash. Countless hands pulled her into the dark. But that same boy dragged her back out, holding her favorite cake, trying to make her smile. "From now on, I got you." And then—everything flipped. That same boy, his burning body pressing against hers, the harshness of his kiss. She was confused, hurting, and completely unprepared. Still, she kept trying—patching their broken home with all she had, one handful of mud at a time. Even when fear and pain chewed her up from the inside, she kept pushing forward, helpless but unwilling to let go. "Charles!" The man, half-awake, voice raspy and clearly annoyed, was not happy about being pulled from sleep. "I'm right here. What's the drama now?" He grumbled, irritated, and pulled her into his arms. But then his fingers brushed her damp, icy cheek, now soaked with tears. His hands froze. He shifted her a little, lowering his head to see her face more clearly. Still stuck in the nightmare, Stella was crying like her heart was shattering. Her tiny fists clutched tightly at his shirt. "Charles... don't do that to Sophie. You can't..." "Don't leave, please... please don't..." Her whispers came out broken and choking, hardly words—but each one full of desperate longing. Charles stared down, a storm flickering in his eyes. How many years had he spent soothing her like this? "I'm not going. Stop crying." His grip loosened. One big hand rubbed circles into her back, while the other curled under her neck, pausing to quietly massage the top of her head. Stella seemed to cling onto that touch, as if hoping to hold onto something real in the middle of the nightmare. She burrowed deeper into his chest, pressing close. The warmth between them flashed hot, sparking with a tension neither of them dared fan. Since Isabelle had come back with Olivia, and the truth came out—he hadn't laid a finger on Stella. Now, all that pent-up hunger was about to burst loose. His breath grew rough, warning sharp between clenched teeth. "Stella, keep moving like that and don't blame me for what happens."