Chapter 26
Blake glanced at Sterling in the rearview mirror, noticing his boss wore only his dress shirt.
"Did you leave your jacket in your car, sir? Should I retrieve it now?" They would be returning to the office soon, and the CEO's appearance mattered.
"No need," Sterling replied. "There are spares in the office lounge."
Blake didn't press further and drove away.
Once their car disappeared from view, Charles got into Sterling's vehicle.
Seeing Willow's condition—disheveled, wounded, wrapped in an oversized man's jacket—he finally understood why Sterling had suggested the car exchange.
His eyes fixed on the familiar coat enveloping her. "Is that Uncle Sterling's jacket?"
Willow's fingers tightened beneath the fabric, her already pale face growing ashen.
Moments ago, seeing Charles rush toward them with that worried expression, she'd allowed herself to hope he genuinely cared.
Now his first concern was questioning her relationship with Sterling rather than her wellbeing.
"What are you implying?" she asked coolly, bitterness filling her voice.
Charles noticed her shift in mood and softened his tone. "I didn't mean anything by it. Just that your husband is right here—why should you be wearing another man's clothes?"
He began removing his own jacket to offer it to her.
"Where were you last night?" Willow suddenly asked.
Charles froze, guilt flashing across his face. "At our pre-marriage apartment, of course. Since you wouldn't forgive me, I had to sleep alone. Why?"
"I called you. Why didn't you answer?"
His expression faltered. "You called? When?"
Before she could respond, understanding dawned in his eyes.
Her next words confirmed his suspicion, "Right before I was kidnapped. I thought you would come save me." Self-mockery tinged her voice.
Charles looked at her bloodless face in the rearview mirror, his heart constricting painfully.
Last night, while Willow was being kidnapped, he had been with Rachel.
"Willow, I'm so sorry," he said, voice trembling. "I didn't hear the phone. You must have been terrified. I promise it won't happen again."
"You didn't hear it?" Willow murmured, repeating his explanation. But she remembered clearly—the call had been deliberately disconnected.
"What did you say?" Charles hadn't caught her words.
"Nothing." She lacked the energy to argue with him now.
Charles, already feeling guilty, didn't dare press further and dropped the subject of the jacket.
---
Back at the mansion, Willow headed upstairs to shower, her body covered in injuries. Charles followed closely. "Honey, you're hurt. Let me help you."
Disgust flickered in her eyes as she rejected his offer without turning around. After entering the bathroom, she locked the door for good measure.
Hearing the lock click, Charles frowned, sensing something wasn't right.
Inside the bathroom, Willow undressed and noticed a small, dried bloodstain on her underwear.
She furrowed her brow. Calculating briefly, she realized her period was due this month. Was she spotting from stress? The flow seemed unusually light. Or had she been injured last night?
Since she felt no particular discomfort, Willow dismissed these thoughts.
Her body was covered in abrasions from being dragged across the tough ground. Every touch of water sent stinging pain across her skin.
Enduring the discomfort, she quickly washed, dressed in her pajamas, and stepped out.
Charles sat on the edge of the bed with an open first aid kit.
"Let me treat your wounds," he said with concern.
"Charles, I haven't forgiven you," Willow stated coldly—not just for last night or what happened at the hospital earlier.
Charles understood her implication. "I'll sleep in the guest room. I just want to treat your injuries first. I saw your legs are hurt."
Reluctant to argue further, Willow sat on the bed's edge.
Charles carefully rolled up her pant leg, revealing raw, scraped skin on her knees. His expression grew heavy. "It must hurt. I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me."
This apology seemed far more sincere than his earlier one.
For a fleeting moment, Willow thought she glimpsed shadows of the man she once knew. But the feeling passed quickly, and she remained silent, eyes downcast.
Charles carefully disinfected her wounds, then hesitated. "Do you have injuries elsewhere? I can help treat those too."
Though his gaze remained casual, Willow detected an ulterior motive in his words. She smoothed down her pant leg and stood. "I'll handle the rest myself. You can leave now."
"Honey..." Charles wouldn't give up easily.
"If you don't leave, I will," Willow stated, turning toward the door.
Charles had no choice but to retreat to the adjacent guest room.
The bedroom fell silent. Willow disinfected what wounds she could reach, let them dry, and went to bed.
Though exhausted, her sleep was haunted by memories of the previous night.
In her dream, she cowered in the corner of an abandoned factory. Heavy footsteps echoed through the vast space, each step like a hammer to her heart.
Overwhelming fear flooded through her as she tried to quiet her breathing, silently praying she wouldn't be discovered.
As she stole a glance outside to check, the dirty face of a vagrant suddenly loomed before her.
Willow woke with a terrified scream, gasping for breath.
The bedroom door flew open as Charles rushed in. "What's wrong? Did you have a nightmare?" He sat beside her, concern etched on his face.
Seeing the fear in her eyes, Charles frowned. "Honey, what exactly happened last night? What did they do to you?"
Having finally calmed herself, Willow looked up to find suspicion filling his gaze.
Recognizing what he was thinking, she couldn't help but respond sarcastically, "What exactly are you worried about?"
Charles's expression shifted rapidly. In truth, he'd been suffering from similar nightmares..
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her sitting in Sterling's car, looking utterly vulnerable and broken.
Just imagining what might have happened to her made his heart feel like it would explode.