Chapter 35 Chapter Thirty-Five
Leon’s awareness came back in fragments.
The unfamiliar curtains. The strange lamp. The framed photos watching him from the wall. And beneath it all — a soft, unmistakably feminine scent.
Realization struck cold and fast.
“Where the hell am I…?”
The door creaked open.
He turned to see a girl step in, tying her robe, hair loose around her shoulders like she’d just woken.
Florence.
His stomach dropped.
She paused when she saw he was awake, then smiled faintly. “You finally decided to come back to life.”
Leon pushed himself upright too fast. The room tilted. He gripped the edge of the couch, steadying himself. “Florence… what—what am I doing here?”
She leaned against the doorframe, arms folding slowly. “You don’t remember?”
His jaw tightened. “Bits and pieces. Not enough.”
Her eyes softened—just slightly. “I saw you outside the venue last night. You and your stepmother. You could barely stand. She asked if I knew you well enough to get you somewhere safe.”
Leon squeezed his eyes shut. A sharp pulse tore through his head.
“You’ve moved,” Florence continued. “I didn’t know where your apartment was anymore. So… she said I could bring you here.”
Silence fell between them.
His chest tightened with panic.
“We didn’t—” he started, then stopped himself. He didn’t even know how to finish the question.
Florence studied him for a moment before answering quietly. “Nothing happened, Leon. You passed out the moment I got you inside.”
Relief crashed into him so hard his shoulders sagged.
“Thank God.”
He swung his legs over the edge of the couch at once. “I need to go.”
Florence frowned. “You should at least—”
“I really need to go.”
He got to his feet, dizzy, and picked up his clothes. Every gesture was careful, controlled—afraid of being watched, even though he knew she already was.
Florence gave a small shift of space, but her voice followed him. “Your phone didn’t stop buzzing all night.”
That made his chest ache.
Leon dressed quickly, avoiding the mirror. Avoiding the version of himself he knew he’d see there.
When he finished, he hesitated. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For not letting last night become another mess I’d never survive.”
She looked at him then, really looked at him. “You already look like you’re drowning in enough mess.”
He didn’t reply.
He just opened the door and left.
Leon didn’t go home immediately.
He drove with the radio off, the city sliding by in a blur. Neon signs, streetlights, and the occasional passing cab blurred into long streaks of color. His hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel. His phone lay on the passenger seat, lighting up every few seconds with missed calls.
His father.
His stepmother.
Charity.
Again.
And again.
And again.
He didn’t answer a single one.
By the time he finally pulled into his apartment building, his hands were shaking, and his chest felt hollow. The silence inside was crushing. He dropped his keys on the counter and sank onto the couch, dragging his hands down his face. Only then did he finally turn his phone over.
Dozens of notifications.
But his eyes went straight to one name.
Felicity.
His last message to her was still there. Seen.
Cold spread slowly through his chest.
She had read it.
She hadn’t replied.
A thousand explanations crowded his mind. A thousand apologies. But every single one crashed into the same wall.
Charity.
The pregnancy.
The lie that had snowballed into an engagement.
How could he explain himself without ruining everything?
The phone slipped from his hand onto the couch.
Leon sank back, staring at the ceiling, trapped by consequences he couldn’t outrun. Thoughts collided, spiraling. How had he been blind to the effect of his actions? Every cheer, every smile had been underpinned by lies — and now, it was all collapsing around him.
At home, Charity welcomed Anjola with open arms.
“You won’t believe how wild it’s been!” she said. “The engagement, the party, the after-party — everything was perfect!”
Anjola laughed as she dropped her bag. “The whole city is talking, you know. Social media hasn’t stopped buzzing since last night.”
Charity beamed, letting the thrill of the event wash over her. “They should. It’s not every day you secure your future in one night.”
They settled into the sitting room, excitement spilling between them—decorations, signatures, venues, the media buzz. Charity leaned back in the chair, her fingers brushing the ring absentmindedly as she recounted stories from the party: the well-timed photographs, the speeches, the sparkling champagne fountains.
Then Anjola’s tone shifted. “And the baby?” she asked carefully. “How do you plan to handle that now?”
Charity’s smile didn’t fade—but something sharp flickered underneath it. A flicker of calculation, of control.
“That can wait,” she said lightly. “It hasn’t been that long. No one expects me to be showing yet.”
She laughed softly, a sound meant to cover something darker. “At worst, I’ll put on a little pregnant-woman act. Cravings. Fatigue. The works. I’ll give them a show if I have to.”
Anjola hesitated. “And after? When… you know… it becomes real?”
Charity’s eyes hardened just a fraction. “After the contracts are signed. After everything is secure,” she said calmly. “Then I’ll handle it. Until then? It’s all about timing. People have to see the engagement, the celebrations, the public life. The baby—if it ever comes—can wait.”
Her tone was smooth, even playful, but there was steel beneath it. She leaned back, resting her chin lightly in her hand, letting her eyes glint with both amusement and warning.
“You understand, right?” she added softly, almost like a whisper. “It’s about control. About appearances. About not letting anyone dictate how or when things unfold.”
Anjola gave a slow nod, seeing the truth behind Charity’s glittering smile.
“Got it,” she whispered. “It stays between us.”
Charity’s grin softened, gentler now.
“Good. That’s all I ask.”
In his apartment, Leon sank into the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling, thoughts spinning. His fingers hovered over his phone but he couldn’t call. Charity. Felicity. His mother. Every contact seemed like a needle reopening old wounds.
The walls felt closer, memories of the engagement, the after-party, city lights, cheering crowds, and Florence’s quiet vigilance filling every corner. Fists clenched, he tried to force a plan, a solution — but it was hopeless. Too many lives, too many secrets tangled with his mistakes.
In the quiet hum of the city outside, he admitted the bitter truth: there was no simple way out. Nothing could fix this without leaving scars.
Not yet.
Not until the time was right.
And even then…
He didn’t know if he could face Felicity.