Chapter 171 040
“YEAH, you wouldn’t believe it, I’m at his house right now,” Amelia giggled into the phone as she stepped further into the living room, carefully dropping a book she was holding on the arm of the couch.
On the other end, Clara gasped dramatically.
“Wait. His house? As in— Charles’ house?”
“Yes!” Amelia lowered her voice playfully, as though Charles could somehow hear her through walls. “We just arrived not long ago. I told you I was going to come and cook for him today. I missed doing this.”
Clara burst into laughter.
“Look at you! Amelia Harlow, CEO, workaholic extraordinaire, abandoning her desk to perform domestic duties.”
Amelia laughed too, shaking her head as she wandered slowly around the space, taking everything in— the muted colors, the clean but lived-in feel, the unfamiliar scent that still somehow smelled like Charles.
“Oh please, don’t even start. It has been long overdue. When last did I visit my husband-to-be’s house and perform proper wifely duties, huh?”
“Wifely duties,” Clara repeated teasingly. “Say that again and I might faint.”
Amelia rolled her eyes, smiling.
“You are impossible.”
“But seriously,” Clara continued, her tone shifting slightly, “you, leaving work in the middle of the day just to be at a man’s house? This one must really be special.”
Amelia leaned against the wall, phone pressed to her ear.
“Oh, he is. And besides,” she added thoughtfully, “if I really want to be sure he isn’t like Adrian… then I need to see him in his own space. I need to know how he lives. How he breathes when no one is watching.”
There was a pause on the line.
“That makes sense,” Clara admitted. “Still, I never thought I would see these days.”
Amelia smiled softly.
“Neither did I.”
She was about to say more when she heard movement behind her, bare feet padding lightly against the tiled floor. She turned instinctively.
And froze.
Charles had just stepped out of the room, phone in hand, hair slightly damp, bare chest on full display, only a pair of lounge shorts hanging low on his hips. The muscles on his arms flexed as he moved, effortless, unbothered, devastating.
Amelia’s breath caught.
For a second, maybe two— her brain simply shut down.
“Hey baby—” Charles started, then stopped mid-word when he noticed her expression. He glanced down at himself briefly, then back at her face, confused.
On the phone, Clara’s voice filtered through.
“Are you there, Amelia?”
Amelia didn’t respond. She just stared.
“Amelia?” Clara called again. “Hello?”
Charles waved his hand in front of her face, brows knitting.
“Babe? Are you okay?”
That was what snapped her back.
“Oh— yes! Yes, I’m fine,” Amelia rushed out, turning her face away far too quickly. “I’m… uh… fine.”
She cleared her throat, gripping the phone tighter.
“Clara, can I… can I call you back?”
Clara laughed knowingly.
“Ah. I see. For a moment I thought you fainted or something.”
“No, no,” Amelia said, forcing a laugh. “I’m good. I will talk to you later, okay?”
“Enjoy your… duties,” Clara teased. “Call me.”
Amelia hung up almost immediately and exhaled, heart pounding. She slowly turned back to Charles.
He was now seated on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, eyes fixed on his phone like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.
She swallowed.
“Um… so,” she said, clasping her hands together, “what should I prepare?”
Charles looked up at her, eyes warm, amused.
“Anything you wish, my lady.”
Her lips curved into a smile despite herself.
“So… anything?”
He chuckled.
“Anything, my love. Whatever you choose to cook automatically becomes my favorite.”
She laughed, finally relaxing, and pushed herself off the wall.
“Alright then.”
Amelia walked into the kitchen, the sound of her heels clicking softly against the floor. She opened cabinets, familiarizing herself with the space again, then reached for an apron hanging neatly by the side. She slipped it over her head and tied it around her waist, smiling to herself.
As she turned toward the counter, her eyes caught something that made her pause.
It was small, almost insignificant, but very out of place.
Her brows drew together as she picked it up. She recognized it instantly.
Her heart skipped.
Why was this here?
She walked back into the living room, holding it up slightly.
“Hey,” she called calmly, “what is this doing here?”
Charles looked up, and for just the briefest fraction of a second, something flickered across his face.
But it was gone just as quickly.
“Oh,” he said easily, waving a hand. “Marcus carelessly left it here on his last visit.”
Amelia tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly.
“Again?” she asked. “Is that how careless he is?”
Charles frowned lightly.
“What do you mean?”
She gestured with the item.
“The last time, it was his pair of shoes in the washing machine. Now this?”
“Come on, babe—”
“You should talk to your friend,” she interrupted, her tone sharper than she intended. “Every time I come across one item of his or another, it adds to my chores. Please, talk to him.”
She dropped the item back on the counter with a little more force than necessary and crossed her arms over her chest. Charles watched her closely, his expression careful, measuring.
“Babe,” he began gently, rising from the couch and taking a few steps toward her, “it’s really not that deep. Marcus can be absent-minded sometimes. I will talk to him, okay?”
She huffed.
“You said that the last time. And the time before that. I’m not trying to be dramatic, Charles, but I don’t like cleaning after grown men who aren’t my partner.”
“I get that,” he said quickly, nodding. “I really do.”
“But do you?” she pressed. “Because I’m the one that ends up rearranging things, washing things, moving things. It is annoying.”
He reached for her hands, but she pulled them away, pacing instead.
“I came here to cook for you, not to do a general cleanup because your friend doesn’t know how to keep track of his belongings.”
“Okay, okay, calm down, babes,” Charles said, lifting both hands in surrender, his voice soothing. “You are right. You are absolutely right. I will make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
She stopped pacing and looked at him, her shoulders still tense.
“I’m not angry at you,” she said, softer now. “I just need you to understand where I’m coming from.”
“And I do,” he replied. “I promise. I will talk to him. No more surprises.”
She exhaled slowly, some of the tension leaving her body.
“Good,” she muttered.
Without waiting for a response, Amelia turned and walked back toward the kitchen, adjusting the apron around her waist as if refocusing herself on why she was there in the first place.
Just as she reached the doorway—
Ding-dong.
The doorbell rang.
Amelia froze.
Charles looked up at the same time, their eyes meeting across the room, a silent question passing between them.
“Were you expecting someone?” she asked.
He shook his head slightly.
“No.”
There was another pause, a thicker one this time.
“I will get the door,” Amelia said after a moment, already moving.
She walked toward the entrance, her steps steady, unaware of the unease creeping quietly into the room behind her.