Chapter 432 Only Kept From Me
Nathan's body went rigid. His eyes darted away, unable to meet Charles's gaze.
This secret—it was only a matter of time before it came out.
"Speak!" Charles's grip tightened, the fury and despair in his eyes burning brighter.
Nathan looked at Charles's crumbling composure, guilt flooding his chest. He could only manage a painful nod. "Yes... Mr. Windsor. We all knew. Ms. Johnson was pregnant."
"Why didn't you tell me?! Why did everyone know except me?! I'm the child's father—I had a right to know! How could you do this to me?!" Charles's voice cracked with anguish.
Nathan watched him fall apart, his own eyes reddening. "Mr. Windsor, I'm sorry. We never meant to keep it from you."
Charles didn't need to guess. Nathan would never make such a decision on his own. This had to be William's call.
"Mr. William Windsor didn't want to put you in an impossible position," Nathan explained quietly.
Charles's eyes filled with bottomless regret and self-loathing. "I thought... I thought I was protecting her. I thought the divorce was best for her. I thought I could keep her safe..." His voice fractured. "But I never imagined I'd shove her into hell with my own hands. That she'd endure losing our child alone. That I'd treat her so coldly..."
He slammed his fist into the wall. His knuckles split and bled, but he felt nothing. The pain in his heart had long since eclipsed any physical wound. He hated his arrogance. His cruelty. His blindness to Emily's suffering. He hated missing the child who never got a chance at life. Most of all, he hated himself for inflicting such devastating pain on the woman he loved.
"I was wrong... God, I was so wrong..." Charles sank to the ground, arms wrapped around his knees, shoulders shaking violently. His muffled sobs echoed through the silent alley. "Emily, I'm sorry... I know I was wrong... But I also know it's too late. She'll never forgive me. Never."
Nathan stood beside him, watching Charles break down, drowning in guilt but utterly helpless to offer comfort.
The night deepened. Charles's cries reverberated through the quiet alley. Inside the car at the corner, Emily leaned back against her seat, eyes as cold and lifeless as stone—as if the confession and collapse she'd just witnessed had nothing to do with her.
This partnership would only complicate the tangled mess between them. But she had no regrets.
A willing ally handed to her on a silver platter? She'd be a fool not to use him.
Fiona strode back to the car and opened the door. She noticed Emily's reddened eyes and the lingering flush on her cheeks but asked no questions. "Ms. Natasha, I'm back. Let's go."
Emily gave a slight nod, slipping her mask back on. Her voice returned to its familiar chill. "Yes. Let's go."
The black sedan tore through the night. Inside, silence reigned. Emily reclined in the back seat, her mask concealing most of her face, revealing only the sharp line of her jaw. Her emotions had already reset to their default state—cold and impenetrable.
Fiona gripped the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead, though her gaze occasionally flicked to the rearview mirror to check on Emily.
"Miss, we're not going to your usual apartment?" Fiona ventured after a moment's hesitation.
Emily had two residences in Seraphim. One was a discreet private apartment—quiet, serene, and her preferred sanctuary. The other was Hell's Angels headquarters, situated atop a downtown high-rise under Sebastian's name. Its security was so airtight not even a fly could slip through, but Emily despised the place. It reeked of cold commands and surveillance, devoid of any warmth—more bunker than home.
Emily closed her eyes. "Take me to headquarters."
After tonight's meeting with Charles, the apartment wasn't safe. Besides, she needed a clear head to strategize—both for her collaboration with Charles and for rallying the Campbell family's old loyalists.
Hell's Angels headquarters might be unwelcoming, but it was the most secure option.
Fiona nodded without further comment and smoothly changed course.
Twenty minutes later, the car glided into the underground garage of an unassuming office building. The security guards at the entrance recognized Fiona's license plate and waved them through without a word.
The elevator ascended directly to the top floor. The doors opened onto a vast, dimly lit lobby. The walls were clad in cold marble. Several guards in black tactical gear stood at attention along the perimeter, eyes sharp as hawks. When they saw Emily and Fiona, they bowed in unison. "Ms. Natasha."
Emily acknowledged them with a brief nod and strode toward her private quarters without breaking stride, her commanding presence making the guards avert their eyes.
Fiona followed close behind, scanning the area with sharp vigilance. Only after confirming no threats did she quietly shut the door to Emily's suite.
The room's décor was sparse and frigid—a perfect reflection of Emily herself. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city's glittering skyline, but the view did nothing to thaw the chill inside.
Emily removed her mask and set it on the table. She rubbed her temples, a flicker of exhaustion crossing her features.
Just then, Fiona's phone rang urgently. She glanced at the screen, her brow furrowing sharply. Stepping into a corner, she answered in a low voice. "Speak."