Chapter 22 Bodyguard
"Charles finally opened his eyes," Lily remarked, sipping her red wine while studying the trending photos on her phone.
She immediately instructed her PR department to aggressively promote the story, buying articles and pushing hashtags to inflate the rumors between Charles and Emily. Every line subtly mocked Clara for her one-sided affection.
Clara smashed her limited-edition vase after scrolling through the thinly veiled attacks in the news feeds.
Lily's call came through moments later. "Ms. Johnson, I hear Mr. Windsor has been getting quite close with that new chief designer? Well, old flames can hardly compete with new interests, wouldn't you agree?"
"Lily, don't get too smug! Charles only has eyes for me. Those rumors are nothing but hot air!"
"Oh, really? Yet Mr. Windsor hasn't denied anything. Why don't you ask him if he specifically picked Emily up after work last night?"
The call disconnected abruptly. Lily stared at her darkened screen, a flash of satisfaction crossing her face.
She wanted Clara miserable—better yet, she wanted to push Charles completely toward Emily.
Clara stormed back to the Johnson Villa and threw herself into Simon's arms. "Dad! You need to discipline Emily! She's seducing Charles now, completely embarrassing our family!"
Simon, who had always favored Clara, immediately dialed Emily's number.
"Emily, get home right now!" he demanded harshly.
"Home? I'm sorry, who is this?" Emily's voice dripped with undisguised mockery.
"You! I'm your father!" Simon's voice trembled with rage.
Emily laughed coldly, as her mother's face flashed through her mind in her final moments. "Father? I still have a father? All I remember is that less than a year after my mother died, you welcomed Celeste and Clara into our home. Want me to come back? Maybe at your funeral."
She hung up decisively, tossing her phone onto the table.
The Johnson Villa? The last place on earth she wanted to set foot in. But since Simon had provoked her, she wouldn't mind returning to turn their world upside down—provided she had enough leverage.
Just then, Elodie called, with male voices faintly audible in the background.
"Emily, I've vetted everyone for you. They're absolutely reliable. Meet at the usual place."
Half an hour later, Emily arrived at the VIP room of Neon Pulse Club. The exclusive space offered perfect privacy—their secret headquarters. As she pushed open the door, a cushion hit her shoulder.
"Emily, you finally made it!" Elodie, dressed in a sleek leather jacket, sat with her legs crossed on the sofa. Eight tall men with sharp eyes and commanding presence stood before her.
"Check out these bodyguards I found for you," Elodie grinned. "All ex-special forces. Each could take on ten men without breaking a sweat."
Emily dodged the next cushion and sat beside her, picking up the dossiers from the table. "With this efficiency, you're wasting your talents as a doctor. You should start a security company."
"Why bother with a security company when I can be your personal logistics manager?" Elodie leaned in, affectionately linking arms with Emily. "Seriously, none of those Johnson people are trustworthy. Going back there would be walking into a lion's den without protection. And don't worry about the kids—they can stay at my place anytime. The nanny will watch them."
Emily felt a warmth spread through her chest. Elodie was always like this—seemingly carefree but keeping Emily's concerns close to her heart. She looked up at the eight men, her gaze sharp as a blade. "Combat skills? Investigation experience?"
The lead man stepped forward, his voice resonant. "Ms. Johnson, rest assured. We've undergone the most rigorous training. We'll guarantee your personal safety and maintain absolute discretion."
Emily nodded, tapping her fingers on the files. "Good. What I need isn't just muscle, but brains. The Johnson family has many underhanded tactics. Don't fall into their traps."
"Understood!"
Elodie watched with amusement. "Look at that command presence! Anyone would think you're heading to negotiations. By the way, about Charles, are you really going to let this situation drag on? I heard he hasn't denied the rumors."
"Whether he denies them or not is irrelevant to me. I'm only interested in my revenge. Everything else is their drama. But if he allows Clara to use him as a weapon, I won't mind dealing with him, too."
Though that would be considerably more difficult.
After chatting a bit longer, Emily signed the contracts. Just as the bodyguards left, the door to the private room was violently pushed open.
Charles stood in the doorway, his face grim.
He had just received a report from the Neon Pulse Club manager. "Mr. Windsor, that Ms. Johnson who's rumored to be with you is meeting eight men in a private room. They look like... male models."
After hearing this, his rationality had instantly collapsed, and he'd rushed over.
Bursting in, he immediately spotted Emily and Elodie on the sofa. "Emily! Are you that desperate? Couldn't wait to find men? And eight at once?"
Elodie jumped to her feet. "Charles, watch your mouth! What men? Those were Emily's bodyguards!"
"Bodyguards? Why would you need bodyguards? I think they're your playthings that you don't want anyone to know about!"
Emily's expression froze completely. She stood, positioning herself in front of Elodie, her gaze cold. "Charles, what's wrong with you? Who I meet and what I do—how is that any of your business?"
Indeed, what did it have to do with him?
Though rumors of their relationship were spreading wildly online, he knew the truth better than anyone. That night had nothing to do with romance or affection.
Emily fearlessly met his gaze. "Mr. Windsor, are you presuming too much? Let me assure you, I'm a person with morals. I don't take what belongs to others—especially not men!"
"You!" Charles stared intensely at Emily, seeing only coldness and contempt in her eyes.
Finally, he turned abruptly and slammed the door on his way out.
On the rooftop bar of Neon Pulse Club, Charles sat alone at the counter, downing one whiskey after another. The alcohol burned his throat but couldn't suppress the irritation and anger boiling inside him.
What exactly was he angry about? That Emily had hired bodyguards? That she was meeting other men? Or was it her words?
As the night deepened, Charles's gaze grew unfocused. In his half-drunk state, his mind kept replaying Emily's cold stare from earlier, and a woman's tear-filled eyes from six years ago.
Strangely, the two images began to merge.
He swirled his glass, laughing bitterly at himself.
'Charles, you've truly lost your mind.'