Chapter 353: The Golf Course
"He gradually handed over the family business to Mr. Windsor. Charles was actually quite young then, under tremendous pressure, but Uncle Wallace just seemed to lose all hope in life. He stepped back to the sidelines, only handling the most essential matters, spending the rest of his time mourning his late wife."
"At Windsor Manor... many of Aunt Crystal's belongings are still there. Uncle Wallace won't let anyone touch them," Kate said quietly.
The car passed through a quiet, tree-lined road, sunlight filtering down through the leaves in scattered patches.
Emily gazed out the window, and after a long while said softly, "No wonder Charles is so... obsessive about his mother's case."
Kate nodded. "Yes. Charles is actually a lot like his father—stubborn, with a strong sense of responsibility."
Emily suddenly smiled, though there was a bitter edge to it. "What about Julian? How did he react when Crystal... when it happened?"
Kate opened her mouth as if to speak, then swallowed her words, only saying vaguely, "He took it hard too. But... he wasn't the rightful one, after all."
Emily didn't press further, just exhaled softly, as if pushing down the heaviness in her chest.
She felt a sudden wave of melancholy—
The previous generation had defied their families for love, only for it to end in the most tragic way; this generation's Charles appeared cold and ruthless on the surface, but deep down had inherited the same trait of "never letting go once he's decided."
No wonder he'd rather carry the burden alone than let her into the danger.
Kate glanced back at her. "Emily, so don't stay angry at him too long. It's not that he doesn't trust you, he's just... afraid history will repeat itself."
Emily was quiet for a moment, then said calmly, "I can understand his fears, but I don't accept his methods."
Kate immediately nodded. "Right, right! You should scold him! He deserves it! But don't give up on him."
Emily was amused despite herself. "Whose side are you even on?"
Kate looked torn. "I'm on... love's side."
The car slowly pulled up at the golf course entrance.
Emily got out, looked up at the course's vast green expanse, her gaze clear but her tone as calm as a blade with its edge sheathed:
"Come on. Today we focus on my business."
As for Charles—
He better come back soon. She had plenty of questions to ask him face to face.
Lamborghini Golf Course's fairways spread like burnished velvet carpet in the morning light, the air perfumed with dew and pine. When Emily reached the tee in her golf attire, she'd already drawn several discreet glances.
She stood with steady posture, her grip clean and decisive. The backswing and follow-through flowed seamlessly, sending the ball in a perfect arc that landed almost exactly where she'd aimed.
"Beautiful!" someone couldn't help exclaiming nearby.
Samuel stood slightly behind her, his admiration undisguised. "Jane, your touch is still flawless."
Emily smiled faintly. "I'm out of practice. Just luck."
Kate muttered under her breath nearby, "If that's luck, then me tripping in the hotel room yesterday must count as talent..."
Emily shot her an amused look. "Stop being ridiculous."
She played with increasing confidence, her rhythm machine-like in its consistency. The crowd gradually grew—golf courses were natural social venues, especially today with a small tournament bringing out the elite and industry insiders, all eager to meet interesting people.
In the distance, a group approached, led by a man in a light Polo shirt with a sunny smile and handsome features, carrying himself with the natural ease of someone born to be the center of attention.
Someone whispered, "Gerald, the Rivera family heir."
Kate visibly tensed, leaning close to Emily's ear. "Emily, here comes a playboy."
Emily didn't turn around, just hummed softly.
Gerald approached within range and clapped a few times appreciatively, his tone warm. "That was beautifully played. Might I have the pleasure of an introduction? I'm Gerald Rivera."
Emily set down her club and nodded politely. "Emily Johnson."
Gerald's smile deepened. "Ms. Johnson isn't just beautiful—your golf game is professional level too. Quite rare."
His gaze swept over her wrist, her stance, and that innate coolness she carried, as if appraising prey worth pursuing.
Samuel stepped forward timely, positioning himself at Emily's side with familiar tone. "Jane, shall we move to the next hole?"
He used an intimate nickname and stood closer than necessary, silently declaring their familiarity.
Emily neither pulled away nor played along, simply handed her club to the caddy naturally. "Let's go."
Gerald's gaze lingered between Samuel and Emily for a moment, his smile unchanged. "So Ms. Johnson and Samuel are friends. How fortunate—I also enjoy befriending designers."
Emily replied neutrally, "I'm just here to play golf."
As she turned, her peripheral vision caught another figure.
Charles.
He stood in a dark coat under the distant pavilion like a cold shadow. Two men flanked him, clearly there on business—but his gaze was locked firmly on her.
Emily thought coldly: Of course he'd show up.
Samuel was still talking. "Jane, after we finish I'll introduce you to a friend..."
Before he could finish, Charles was striding over.
He stopped directly in front of Emily, his gaze resting on her face for a second before sweeping over Samuel's proximity, his eyes cold as frost.
"Come with me," he said.
No question, no explanation. Like an order.
The golf course fell momentarily silent, several gazes immediately taking on knowing undertones.
Emily raised an eyebrow, her voice neither loud nor soft. "Mr. Windsor, this is a public place."
Charles leaned down, close to her ear, his tone deliberately casual as if performing for the audience. "Public places are better—let them see clearly whose woman you are."
Emily's eyes flashed, but her heart raced.
His arm curved around her, the motion both possessive and intimate, carrying absolute ownership as he half-embraced, half-guided her away from the crowd.
Samuel's expression darkened. "Mr. Windsor, you—"
Charles didn't even glance at him, only tossing out a cool line in Seraphim: "She doesn't need your arrangements."
Everyone exchanged uncertain looks.
No one knew Charles and Emily's true relationship, yet Charles spoke with casual arrogance and moved with intimate possession, as if deliberately asserting ownership.
Soon, murmured speculation arose—
"Who is he? Government circles? Business?"
"Looks very powerful, but Ms. Johnson doesn't seem like his wife..."
"More like... the kept woman type?"
"A mistress? No, that woman's aura isn't mistress-like. More like he's... chasing after her."
"But that line about 'whose woman you are' was so crude."
Gerald remained where he stood, smile intact but eyes growing colder.
He stared at Charles's retreating figure with Emily, a dark smile playing at his lips.
"Charles..." he repeated the name silently, slowly removing his golf glove.
One of Gerald's companions asked quietly, "Mr. Rivera, should we—"
Gerald smiled lightly. "No rush."