Chapter 22
Willow had barely returned to the villa when Charles arrived right behind her.
"Please, babe, I can explain," he said the moment he stepped through the door, rushing to her side.
Her mind still reeling with images of him with Rachel, Willow headed straight for the stairs without acknowledging him.
The sight of them together had left her stomach churning with disgust.
Charles followed patiently. "The Smiths' business is having problems. Mrs. Smith hasn't been in a good emotional state lately. She watched me grow up—I couldn't just abandon her."
Willow paused mid-step, turning slightly. "So you agree with what Rachel said? You think I'm making a big deal out of nothing?"
If Samara was so important that he couldn't spare even a few minutes for her grandmother, while Willow was supposedly overreacting to something trivial... well, if Charles was saying this, he must believe it too.
"That's not what I meant," Charles protested.
She struggled to contain her anger. "I've never complained about how you take care of Rachel. She grew up with you, her mother is someone you respect—you spent three consecutive days with them at the hospital, and did I say anything?"
Her voice grew tighter. "Why did you have to lie to me? Did you think I would stop you?"
Charles didn't know how to respond. It was true that Willow had never objected to him caring for Samara.
Yet when he received Rachel's call that morning, something made him instinctively want to keep it from Willow.
Perhaps it was because of his shameful relationship with Rachel—anything connected to her, he preferred not to mention in front of his wife.
While contemplating his defense, he noticed Willow pulling clothes from the closet.
"What are you doing?" he asked, brow furrowed.
"I'll be working overtime this week, so I'll stay at the office temporarily," she said, not meeting his eyes. "It's better—"
Charles grabbed her wrist, interrupting, "Don't do this. I know I was wrong. I'll explain everything to Grandma."
"It's better this way. We both need space to cool down." She yanked her hand free and turned to grab her suitcase.
Just seeing Charles's face now reminded her of everything with Rachel. She was reaching her breaking point—if she stayed, she didn't know when she might completely fall apart.
"I said I'll explain everything to Grandma," Charles insisted, growing irritated as he watched her continue packing. "I'll make sure she doesn't misunderstand or get upset. What more do you want?"
When Willow headed to the bathroom for her toiletries without responding, his frustration mounted.
"You're really leaving? What married couple separates less than a month after their wedding?" His voice rose. "Be reasonable! If Grandma finds out—"
He stopped mid-sentence when he saw the cold look in her eyes, swallowing the rest of his words.
"I'm not thinking straight," he backpedaled. "I won't tell Grandma about this."
Willow pressed her lips together. "Should I thank you for that?"
Charles nearly lost his composure again. After a moment, he ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "If you need space, fine. But you don't have to leave—I will."
He looked at her, his eyes filled with resignation. "Besides our home, where else can you go? Put your things down and get some rest."
It was true. Willow's old apartment was now in a demolition zone with most neighbors already relocated, and Maria was in the hospital.
Without him, she didn't even have a place to live—staying at her office? That junk place was not for living at all.
When Charles went downstairs, he instructed Rena, "Keep an eye on Willow. Don't let her leave."
Back in the bedroom, Willow heard a car driving away. Charles's parting words echoed in her mind. How foolish she had been.
Later that night, Rachel was preparing for bed when she heard the front door open downstairs. Confused, she went to investigate.
As she opened her bedroom door, she found Charles standing in the dim hallway, his expression dark and menacing—like a vengeful spirit.
"Charlie? Why are you here?" she asked, suddenly afraid.
In the next moment, a large hand clamped around her throat as Charles pushed her back into the bedroom.
"Charlie—" she struggled to breathe, "what did I do wrong? Let go..."
His grip only tightened.
Her eyes reddened from the pressure as she pounded his arm. "I—I still have the videos! If I die, Willow will see it anyway!"
At those words, Charles finally loosened his grip, shoving her roughly onto the bed.
"I warned you to behave yourself in front of Willow!" he towered over her, voice deadly quiet.
Sprawled on the bed, Rachel gasped for air before sitting up. "What did I do wrong? I couldn't stand watching her treat you that way!"
She grew indignant. "She's been living off you all these years—what right does she have to be angry with you?"
His face remained cold. "That's between me and her. It's none of your business!"
Rachel studied him carefully before shifting tactics. "Charlie, do you really believe that? I've seen everything you've done for her over the years. But what about her?"
She paused meaningfully. "Yes, you love her deeply. But do you think Willow loves you the same way you love her?"
In the quiet night, her words struck at Charles's core. His eyes darkened, and he remained silent for a long moment. The tension in the room was palpable.
Finally, he spoke coldly, "Of course she loves me. Our relationship is not for outsiders to judge."
Rachel secretly clenched her fists. His defensiveness told her everything—her words had found their mark.
"Is that so?" Her demeanor suddenly shifted, voice becoming seductive as she moved closer. "It's so late, Charlie. Are you going back? Or should I make it up to you somehow?"
Charles didn't resist.
After spending the night at the Smith villa, Charles went to the hospital early to explain yesterday's situation to Maria.
Only while explaining did he realize someone had spotted him at the hospital earlier that day—no wonder Willow had been so upset.
"Willa is angry with you?" Maria quickly sensed what had happened.
Charles appeared remorseful. "It was my fault for not being clear with her. She has every right to be angry."
Maria studied him thoughtfully. "Willa has always been like this since she was little. I can't do anything about it. Just say something nice and she'll be fine."
Charles was taken aback. He had come fully expecting Maria, who had always been fond of him, to be the one to "say something nice". He never anticipated that she would choose not to intervene at all.