Chapter 390: Scandal
[EXCLUSIVE! Windsor Group CEO Charles Windsor Spotted in Suspected New Romance—Late-Night Dinner with A-List Actress Evelyn Thomas!]
Emily's breath caught sharply.
She clicked on the article. High-definition paparazzi photos instantly filled the entire screen.
The backdrop was an exclusive private restaurant. Charles, dressed in a black overcoat, emerged from his car. His face remained pale, his frame noticeably thinner, yet his cold, commanding presence was impossible to miss. Shortly after he entered the restaurant, another luxury sedan pulled up. Evelyn Thomas, her face hidden behind oversized sunglasses and a mask, hurried inside.
The article didn't include any photos of them together, but it used timelines and locations to craft an unmistakable air of intimacy. The prose dripped with insinuation: "According to sources close to the situation, Mr. Windsor and Ms. Thomas have known each other for some time and have been in frequent contact recently. After returning to the country, Mr. Windsor was notably absent from meeting his wife, Emily, at the airport—instead choosing to rendezvous privately with Ms. Thomas first. The nature of their relationship has sparked widespread speculation..."
Emily stared at the photos, her fingers turning cold one by one.
Evelyn... She knew who she was—a rising star currently in talks with Windsor Group's entertainment subsidiary about landing the lead role in a major film production.
So this was just business?
Then why now? Why immediately after he'd filed for divorce, after barely surviving a brush with death?
Emily closed the article. Her chest felt like it was being crushed by a boulder, suffocating her.
She thought about Kate's theory of "men going through periodic brain fog." She thought about her father's insistence that "he must have his reasons." She thought about the resolution she'd made just last night—to win him back with love and patience.
Now, all of it felt like a joke.
A massive, self-deluded joke called wishful thinking.
Turns out he wasn't evading danger—he was evading her.
Turns out he didn't have some unspeakable burden—he was simply, plainly... done with her.
Everything he'd said was the truth.
"I'm tired of this."
"I don't want to pretend anymore."
"The feelings are gone."
Emily sank back into the sofa, feeling every ounce of strength drain from her body. All her theories, all her self-reassurance—shattered to pieces by one cold tabloid headline.
She'd thought he was carrying the weight of the world for her sake. She never imagined that perhaps she had become the weight—one he was desperate to shed so he could move toward a fresh start. Something easier. Someone shinier.
The sharp ache in her chest hurt worse than when she'd thought he was dead in that hospital corridor.
Because death was an ending.
Indifference was slow torture.
Windsor Group Tower, Top Floor. CEO's Office.
Nathan stood before Charles's desk, holding the draft of an entertainment magazine spread Charles had just handed him. His brow furrowed deeply.
"Mr. Windsor, this..."
He trailed off, uncertain.
Charles leaned back in his chair. In the morning light, his face looked even paler, but his eyes held an unyielding coldness.
"Release it."
"But this will damage your reputation. And Mrs. Windsor—what will she think when she sees this?"
"That's the point. I want her to think the worst. The worse, the better. The more thoroughly she believes it, the sooner she'll give up. The sooner she'll be... safe."
He raised his gaze to Nathan. "Only if she believes I'm truly tired of her—that I've moved on to someone else—will she let go. And only then will she be out of danger."
Nathan stared at the raw pain buried deep in Charles's eyes. Finally, he took the draft.
"Understood."
He knew Charles was using the cruelest method imaginable to push away the person he loved most.
The next morning, Emily stood outside Windsor Group Tower, holding an elegant insulated lunch bag.
She hadn't slept all night. Faint shadows lingered beneath her eyes, but her makeup was flawless. She wore a tailored cream-colored suit, her long hair falling in soft waves. She looked poised, elegant, unshakeable.
Only she knew how tightly the thread inside her was wound, ready to snap.
Taking a deep breath, she walked into the building. The receptionist immediately escorted her to the executive elevator with a respectful bow.
As the elevator ascended, Emily studied her reflection in the mirrored walls. She rehearsed her words, her expressions, over and over in her mind.
She didn't believe it.
Didn't believe those tabloid rumors. Didn't believe he'd stopped loving her.
She needed to see it with her own eyes—when he pushed her away, would there be even a flicker of reluctance?
The elevator doors opened. Nathan was already waiting. When he saw her, something complicated flickered across his face.
"Mrs. Windsor."
"Is he in?" Emily smiled, her tone light and natural.
Nathan stepped aside. "Yes. Mr. Windsor is in his office."
Emily nodded and walked straight toward the heavy wooden door. She didn't knock. She simply pushed it open and stepped inside.
Charles stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his back to the door, gazing down at the traffic below. At the sound of the door, he turned. When he saw her, his pupils contracted almost imperceptibly.
"What are you doing here?"
His voice was flat, emotionless.
Emily closed the door behind her and set the insulated bag down on the coffee table in the lounge area. With practiced grace, she opened it.
"I brought you lunch. I made it myself."
She unpacked several elegant containers, arranging them one by one. The rich aroma immediately filled the room.
Charles didn't move. He just watched her.
Emily looked up, giving him a radiant smile. "Come try it? You're still recovering. These dishes are all good for your health."
Her smile was too bright. Her gaze too tender. Like a soft hook, silently reaching toward the most vulnerable place in his heart.
Charles's throat bobbed. He forced himself to look away.
"I'm not hungry. Take it back with you."
"Just try a little. I spent hours making it." Emily rose to her feet and walked toward him, looking up at him from close range. So close she could smell the faint trace of antiseptic mingling with the cool cedar scent that clung to him.
She reached out, her fingers lightly brushing his tie, her touch grazing his throat.
"Look at you. Your tie's crooked."
Charles's entire body went rigid.
Her fingertips were cool, but the touch sent a jolt of electricity straight through him, racing through every nerve. He could hear his own blood roaring in his ears, his heart pounding violently against his ribs.
Emily noticed his tension. A flicker of something sly crossed her eyes. Instead of stepping back, she moved closer—so close she was nearly pressed against his chest. She tilted her face up, her breath warm and sweet.
"Charles... it's been so long since we really talked."
Her breath ghosted over his jaw, carrying that uniquely sweet scent of hers.
Charles's breathing turned ragged. His hands, hanging at his sides, clenched into fists so tight his knuckles turned white.
Images flooded his mind—her beneath him, lost in pleasure. The way her eyes flushed at the corners when she was overcome. The soft, breathless way she'd whisper his name against his ear.
Every shred of his resolve began to crumble.
Emily saw the storm brewing in his eyes. Her heart stirred. She rose onto her toes, her soft lips hovering just below his jaw, her voice dropping to an intimate murmur.
"Tell me... do you really not miss me at all?"