Chapter 355: Jealousy
"Don't try to use me. You want revenge, I want profit. Cross the line one more time, and I'll find someone else to work with."
Kismet's fingertips trembled.
She forced herself to submit, lowering her head, her voice barely audible: "I understand."
What she felt for Gerald was mostly fear.
She knew perfectly well that this man's sunny, cheerful demeanor was just a façade—his true face was utterly ruthless. He could smile and share drinks with you, then turn around and push you into hell. She could use his help, but she could just as easily be discarded as a pawn at any moment.
Gerald settled back onto the sofa, his tone resuming that casual indifference: "Keep tracking Charles's movements. As long as you lure him into my trap, there'll be plenty in it for you."
Kismet bit her lip, the flesh turning pale. "What about Emily?"
Gerald narrowed his eyes.
He picked up his phone, looking once more at the photo on the screen. Emily's gaze held something special—clear, determined, with a strength that refused to yield easily.
"Don't touch her yet. She's bait. Pull the hook too early, and the fish escapes."
Hatred churned in Kismet's eyes.
She stared at that photograph, at Emily's face—the face that had stolen Charles from her, the face that had cost her everything. She wanted nothing more than to tear that face apart right now.
But all she could do was lower her head: "Fine."
Gerald raised his glass, swirling it gently. The amber liquid left traces on the glass, then slowly slid down.
He looked like someone watching a play whose ending had already been written, his eyes holding that calm confidence of complete control. He suddenly spoke, his voice soft, "Kismet, you'd better pray you still have value. Now get out."
A chill ran down Kismet's spine.
She stood up stiffly, her steps faltering for a moment before she steadied herself. She didn't look at Gerald again, didn't look at that photo, just turned and walked toward the door, one step at a time.
Each step felt like treading on knife points.
The door opened, then closed.
Only Gerald remained in the room.
He stared at the phone on the table, its screen now dark. But he didn't move, just sat there, his expression sinister.
After a long while, he spoke softly:
"Charles, you've delivered your weakness right to my doorstep."
He raised his glass and drained it in one gulp.
Outside the window, Seraphim's night remained brilliantly lit.
But beneath this prosperous façade, who knew how many conspiracies were brewing, how many hearts were scheming?
Gerald only knew that this game was getting more and more interesting.
And what he needed to do was become the ultimate winner.
Charles drove fast, but not in angry recklessness—rather with a kind of urgency, as though desperate to remove her from a place that made him uneasy.
The car stopped at a quiet street corner, surrounded by Seraphim's characteristic plane trees, sunlight filtering through leaves to cast dappled shadows.
Charles killed the engine but didn't immediately speak. His hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles slightly pale, as if restraining something.
The car fell silent for several seconds.
Emily turned to look at him, waiting for him to speak. She knew he was angry, but this time, she decided not to argue with him first.
Charles finally spoke, his voice somewhat low, carrying a rare softness, "Emily, just now at the golf course, you and Samuel were standing too close."
Emily raised an eyebrow: "So?"
Charles turned to look at her, those deep eyes no longer holding their usual coldness, but rather a kind of... grievance?
"I didn't like it. I don't like other people getting that close to you, don't like the way they look at you, and especially don't like people like Gerald staring at you." His tone carried a childish possessiveness.
Emily's heart stirred, nearly failing to suppress a laugh.
She'd seen Charles wear many expressions—cold, domineering, gentle, vulnerable—but this kind of jealousy tinged with petulance was a first.
She deliberately kept her face stern, "Charles, are you trying to control me?"
"I'm not controlling you."
Charles reached out to take her hand, his grip gentle, as if afraid of hurting her, "It's... it's that I'm uncomfortable. I know you only have me in your heart. But Emily, seeing other people get close to you, I still feel terrible."
Emily looked at him like this, the dissatisfaction in her heart having long since evaporated.
She squeezed his hand back, her tone softening: "Then when you left me alone in the hotel last night and walked away by yourself, did you think about how I would feel?"
Charles's gaze darkened, and he said quietly, "I'm sorry. I know I was wrong. I promised I wouldn't hide things from you anymore, but I still..."
He sighed, bringing her hand to his lips and gently kissing the back of it. He looked up, his eyes holding a rare vulnerability, "Emily, I'm scared. Gerald isn't an ordinary person, and the forces behind him are complicated. My mother's case—the Rivera family might be involved too. I can't let you get caught up in danger."
Emily looked at him, a surge of complex emotions rising in her heart.
She understood his fear, understood his protective instincts.
But she couldn't accept being excluded.
"Charles, you need to trust me. I'm not some canary who needs your protection—I'm someone who can fight alongside you."
Charles fell silent for a long while.
Finally, he pulled her into his embrace, his chin resting on the top of her head. His voice was muffled, "I know. I know you're amazing, know you can protect yourself. But Emily, that's what loving someone is like—even though you know she's strong, you still can't help wanting to shield her."
Emily leaned against him, listening to his powerful heartbeat, her heart melting completely.
She suddenly remembered what Kate had said—that Charles was actually very much like his father: stubborn, responsible, focused, and devoted.
"So who exactly is Gerald?" she asked.
Charles released her slightly, but his arms remained around her waist.
"The Rivera family is old Seraphim aristocracy, aligned with the Campbell family. Gerald is the heir of this generation—on the surface he seems sunny and popular, but in reality he's ruthless and will stop at nothing to achieve his goals."
He paused, his expression growing grave: "I suspect my mother's case—the Rivera family can't be uninvolved."
Emily's heart sank.
"So you're going to investigate the Rivera family?"
"Not just the Rivera family. The Campbell family, the Rivera family, and everyone who was involved back then—I'm going to get to the bottom of it all."
Emily looked at his determined expression and suddenly smiled. She said deliberately, "Since the Rivera family and the Campbell family are aligned, then I should definitely get to know Gerald better, shouldn't I? Maybe I could help you gather some information."
Charles frowned.
"Don't you dare!"
"This is Seraphim, the Campbell family's home turf—what wouldn't I dare?" Emily teased him deliberately.
Charles saw through her intentions. Unable to change her mind and too embarrassed to admit defeat directly, he simply switched tactics, burying his head in Emily's embrace and murmuring plaintively: "But I'll worry. Don't you care?"