Chapter 393: Everything as Normal
Seeing Emily enter, Charles looked up. His gaze lingered on her face for a moment before naturally shifting away. "Jasper, Ethan, come listen to the story."
Jasper and Ethan walked over, squeezing in beside Charles.
Emily stood in the doorway, watching the scene—under the warm lamplight, Charles held Emma while Jasper and Ethan nestled beside him, his low voice resonating through the room.
What a heartwarming picture.
What a perfect performance.
She turned and left the room, leaning against the hallway wall with her eyes closed.
Dinner was lavish, filled with the children's favorite dishes.
Charles sat at the head of the table, Emily beside him, with the three children across from them. The atmosphere was harmonious—Emma chattering endlessly about kindergarten anecdotes, Ethan occasionally interjecting, while Jasper ate quietly, glancing up at his parents now and then.
Charles naturally placed a piece of fish on Emily's plate. "Eat more. You've lost weight recently."
Emily stared at the fish in her bowl, her emotions in turmoil. She looked up, meeting Charles's eyes, searching for something in their depths, but found only calm tenderness.
"Thank you," she said softly, picking up the fish and putting it in her mouth, though it tasted like sawdust.
Charles served food to the three children, inquiring about their recent studies and lives. He acted like the most ordinary father, concerned about every detail of their days.
Emily watched him, suddenly recalling her father's words—with someone like Charles, the more you push, the further you'll drive him away.
Yet now, he seemed close to them.
He seemed... exactly like the Charles who once loved her.
This realization left Emily even more confused.
After dinner, Charles played with the children in the game room for a while, then personally bathed them and put them to bed.
Emily stood at the children's room doorway, watching Charles patiently dry Emma's hair and gently tell Jasper a bedtime story, feeling something inside her melt helplessly.
After all three children had fallen asleep, Charles quietly closed the door and turned to find Emily still standing in the hallway.
They locked eyes, and the air suddenly grew awkward.
"I'll go to the study to handle some work," Charles spoke first, his voice somewhat hoarse.
Emily nodded. "All right."
Charles turned toward the study, his steps somewhat hurried, as if fleeing from something.
Emily returned to the master bedroom, closed the door, and slid down against it until she sat on the floor.
All day, she had cooperated with Charles in performing the role of loving spouses. But only she knew that each time he looked at her tenderly, each time he touched her naturally, her heart would beat violently.
She hated her own weakness—knowing all of this was fake, yet still being affected by him.
In the study, Charles closed the door, leaned back against it, and slowly shut his eyes.
All evening, he had been greedily savoring this stolen time. Holding his daughter, taking his son's hand, watching Emily sit beside him—it all felt like a beautiful dream.
But he knew dreams always end.
He had to push her away, had to make her leave the Windsor family's whirlpool.
Yet every time he saw her, every time he touched her, he felt like he was going mad. How he wanted to pull her into his arms, tell her the whole truth, tell her how much he loved her.
But he couldn't.
He could only use the excuse of maintaining the family to briefly possess her.
This pain was worse than the gunshot wound.
In the children's room, all three children were actually still awake.
Emma rolled over, saying softly, "Jasper, Mom and Dad seemed a bit strange today."
Jasper opened his eyes in the darkness. "Strange how?"
Emma mumbled, "I don't know... just a feeling. Dad was really nice to Mom, and Mom smiled at Dad, but... but they didn't seem as happy as before."
Ethan also rolled over. "I noticed too. Mom's smile was kind of weird today."
Jasper was silent for a moment before saying softly, "Mom and Dad probably had a fight, but they don't want us to know."
"What should we do?" Emma asked.
"Be good and don't make them angry. When they make up, it'll be like before."
"Will they make up?" Emma's voice carried worry.
Jasper said with certainty, "They will. Dad loves Mom, and Mom loves Dad. They'll definitely make up."
In the darkness, the three children reached a consensus—they would be good, be understanding, and give Mom and Dad time and space.
They believed their father—the way he looked at Mom couldn't lie.
In those eyes were love, pain, and reluctance to let go.
The villa was completely quiet, but everyone's heart churned with different emotions.
This performance called family continued.
Night deepened, and the villa remained silent.
Emily tossed and turned in the master bedroom bed, replaying Charles's tender gaze and natural touches from earlier. Those details were like tiny hooks, catching on that small flame of hope in her heart that refused to be extinguished.
Maybe... maybe Father was right. Maybe he really had difficulties he couldn't speak of.
Maybe that scandal was fake. Maybe his pushing her away had another reason.
Once this thought arose, it grew wild like weeds. Emily sat up, looking at the hazy moonlight outside the window, and made a decision.
She got up and changed into a silk nightgown—the style Charles used to love most: deep V-neck, hem only reaching mid-thigh, the soft fabric outlining her graceful curves.
She walked to the mirror, looking at her reflection. Her long hair fell messily over her shoulders, the nightgown's neckline revealing just enough, her eyes carrying a deliberately lazy and alluring quality.
She knew what she was doing—she was gambling.
Gambling that Charles still had feelings for her. Gambling that his pushing her away was against his will.
She took a deep breath and left the bedroom.
Charles's study was at the end of the hallway. Light seeped from under the door, indicating he wasn't asleep yet.
Emily carried a tray with a glass of warm milk and a small plate of cut fruit. She knocked lightly on the door.
"Come in." Charles's voice came from inside, somewhat weary.
Emily pushed the door open.
Only a desk lamp was lit in the study. Charles sat behind the desk, documents spread before him. He looked up, and the moment he saw her, his pupils contracted almost imperceptibly.
Emily could feel his gaze linger on her—from her face, sliding to her exposed collarbones, then to her slender legs beneath the nightgown.
In that gaze were scrutiny, restraint, and... a trace of the burning heat she recognized.