Chapter 391: Refusal
That sentence was the final straw.
Charles's hand shot up—but instead of pushing her away, he gripped the back of her neck with enough force to make her wince. He lowered his head, his scorching breath ghosting over her lips, his eyes burning with a hunger that threatened to consume everything.
Emily's heart thundered in her chest. She closed her eyes, waiting for that familiar kiss to descend.
But then—
Just as his lips were about to touch hers, a violent itch surged through Charles's chest, followed by the familiar metallic taste of blood.
His expression changed drastically. He released her abruptly and stumbled backward, his hand clamping over his mouth.
A muffled, violent cough escaped through his fingers. He turned away, his shoulders shaking violently.
Emily's eyes flew open. When she saw him like this, all color drained from her face.
"Charles!"
She stepped toward him, but he raised a hand to stop her.
Charles coughed heart-wrenchingly, barely managing to suppress it. When he lowered his hand, his palm was stained with an alarming crimson.
He quickly curled his hand into a fist and hid it behind his back. When he turned around again, his face had resumed its former coldness—if anything, it was even more frigid than before.
"Get out." His voice was hoarse, but it carried an indisputable command.
Emily stared at his pale face, at the trace of blood still lingering at the corner of his mouth that he hadn't had time to wipe away. Her heart felt like it was being sliced apart.
"You're coughing up blood? What's really—"
"I said get out!" Charles's voice suddenly rose, his eyes filled with a terrifying coldness. "Emily, stop coming to see me! I'm sick of looking at you! If it weren't for you, my gunshot wound would've healed by now. And I wouldn't have aggravated it trying to avoid you."
That sentence was like a sharp blade, stabbing ruthlessly into Emily's heart.
All her courage, all her attempts to test him, all her hopes—in this moment, they were ground to dust.
She looked at him, at the undisguised irritation and coldness in his eyes, and finally believed it—he was truly tired of her. He was pushing her away not because of some burden he carried, but simply because… he didn't want her anymore.
Tears welled up without warning, but she bit down hard on her lip, refusing to let them fall.
She slowly stepped back once, then again, before turning away. Spine straight, she walked toward the door step by step.
She didn't look back.
The door closed gently behind her.
The office returned to deathly silence.
Charles remained standing in place. Only after confirming she was truly gone did he suddenly bend over, seized by another violent coughing fit. Blood dripped through his fingers onto the expensive carpet, blooming into dark red stains.
He gripped the edge of his desk, barely managing to stay upright.
Nathan pushed open the door. When he saw the scene, his face went pale. "Mr. Windsor!"
Charles waved him off, signaling he was fine. He slowly straightened up and stared at the door, his eyes filled with an unbearable anguish and despair.
He'd succeeded.
He'd pushed her away.
So why… did his heart hurt so much?
So much he could barely breathe.
Emily walked out of Windsor Group Tower. The sunlight was blinding, yet she felt frozen to the bone.
She got into her car but didn't start the engine. She just stared blankly ahead.
The scene from moments ago replayed endlessly in her mind—the desire in his eyes, the sudden coughing and blood, that bone-chilling phrase: "I'm sick of looking at you."
All the clues strung together, pointing to an answer she least wanted to acknowledge.
Maybe her father had guessed wrong.
Maybe what Louis found was the truth.
Maybe he really was just… tired of her.
And all her persistence, all her attempts to win him back—nothing but a self-directed joke.
Tears finally fell silently.
Emily didn't know how she managed to drive back to Johnson Manor.
She moved like someone who'd lost her soul—mechanically parking the car, walking through the front door, not even noticing the unfamiliar figure in the living room.
A middle-aged man in a black suit with a composed demeanor stood up and bowed slightly toward her. "Ms. Johnson. Mr. Beau Campbell sent me to pick you up."
Only then did Emily snap back to reality and recognize the visitor. It was Kai Campbell, one of Beau's most trusted aides.
She was slightly surprised. "Grandfather, he…"
"Mr. Campbell wishes to see you. The car is waiting outside."
Emily was silent for a few seconds before nodding. "All right."
She didn't change her clothes—just splashed some water on her face before following Kai to the car.
The car drove toward a secluded estate on the outskirts of the city.
In the study, Beau sat behind a massive walnut desk, toying with an antique ring in his hand. When Emily entered, he looked up, his gaze sharp and penetrating.
"Sit."
Emily took a seat in the chair across from him, her spine straight, though the exhaustion and redness in her eyes were impossible to hide.
Beau studied her, cutting straight to the point. "I know Charles wants to divorce you."
Emily wasn't surprised.
Beau's information network had always been more extensive than she imagined.
"What do you think? What are you going to do? Sign the papers, come back to Seraphim with me, or…"
Emily interrupted him. "I'm not going back to Seraphim. Even if we divorce, I want to stay here."
Beau raised an eyebrow. "Stay here? Right under Charles's nose?"
Emily met his gaze steadily. "Yes. Grandfather, even if Charles and I divorce, we still share children. There are some things I want to understand. Some grudges… I want to try to untangle."
Beau's expression turned icy. "You mean the old score between the Campbell family and the Windsor family?"
Emily nodded. "Yes. I don't believe things are really as the rumors say. Ollie… perhaps he has his reasons. And what happened to Aunt Crystal back then—Kismet already told me. It was the Rivera family who did it, not the Campbells."
Beau was silent for a moment, then let out a cold laugh. "Emily, you're still too naive."
"I'm not naive. Grandfather, when I went to Seraphim this time, I learned some things about the feud between the Campbells and the Windsors. But it's not quite the same as what you told me. First, regarding Crystal's death—Kismet admitted personally that it was the Rivera family who did it, not the Campbells. Why didn't you explain this? If you had, maybe…"
Beau cut her off, a trace of weariness and deeper helplessness flickering in his eyes. "Explain? Would the Windsors have believed it? Emily, once the seeds of hatred are planted, they take root and grow on their own. The Windsors have decided it was us. Any explanation looks like excuses to them. And likewise—"
He gazed deeply at Emily. "You're defending the Windsors now, saying those things perhaps weren't done by them—that it was a frame-up. But do you know that every piece of evidence I uncovered points directly to the Windsors? The escapes, the assassination attempts I witnessed and survived—were those fake? How do you expect me to believe that the enemy I've investigated for thirty years, hated for thirty years, is innocent?"
It was a deadlock.
The Windsors believed the Campbells murdered Charles's mother.
The Campbells believed the Windsors orchestrated their family's destruction.
Both sides held "evidence." Both were convinced they were right. Sixty years of blood feud couldn't be dissolved by one or two words about misunderstandings or truth.