Chapter 23

Chapter 23
Willow POV
I recognized the Bentley.
Sterling's car. Black body gleaming coldly in the sunlight.
Blake waited respectfully for my response.
"Thank you," I kept my voice steady, "but Charles said he'd come back for me. I'll wait here."
Blake seemed to freeze, probably not expecting anyone to refuse Sterling's courtesy.
He glanced at the back seat, then turned back, even more polite. "Ms. Spencer, Mr. Lancaster has something to say to you."
My heart sank heavily.
Something to say? What?
Had he recognized me? Was he coming to confront me?
But refusing would look more suspicious.
"All right."
Blake got out and opened the rear door for me.
I climbed in, deliberately sitting as far away as possible.
Sterling sat on the other side, suit immaculate, posture relaxed. Those deep eyes watched me like he was appraising an object of uncertain value.
In the enclosed car, I caught a faint scent of fir—the same as last night. Sterling's scent.
Uncontrollably, I remembered—his burning hands, his dominating kiss, my body losing control.
My cheeks flushed hot.
"What did Charles leave to do?" Sterling's low voice suddenly broke the silence.
"He had something urgent. He left early."
I didn't dare look at him, staring at my hands instead.
I could feel Sterling's gaze never leaving me. That feeling of being targeted by a predator made me tense.
The silence stretched too long. Just when I thought I might escape unscathed, his voice came again—low, calm, tinged with barely perceptible displeasure.
"Are you afraid of me?"
My breath caught.
"No." I said, but my nervous voice betrayed me.
"Is that so?" A hint of sarcasm entered his tone. "Then why are you sitting so far away?"
"I just..." I tried to explain but couldn't find a suitable reason.
Sterling didn't press further. He simply leaned back, fingers tapping the armrest lightly.
He spoke again, voice devoid of emotion. "You're Charles's wife now. A member of the Lancaster family."
"So you should understand," he continued, tone growing colder, "the Lancaster reputation cannot be tarnished. Your every move represents this family."
My heart sank. Was he warning me?
"What happened at the banquet today," Sterling said, "I don't want to see it happen again. Whatever problems you and Charles have, don't let them become gossip for outsiders. Understand?"
So that's what this was about.
I relaxed, but also felt an inexplicable disappointment.
I'd thought he'd been somewhat on my side earlier. Turns out he was only protecting the family's reputation.
"I understand." I said. "Thank you for the reminder. It won't happen again."
He glanced at me, said nothing more, and looked away.
Silence again. I stole glances at his profile—cold, controlled, radiating an unapproachable distance.
Last night's out-of-control version of him and this icy patriarch seemed like two different people.
Hard to believe he'd left so many marks on my body.
Maybe for him, last night was just an accident. A mistake easily forgotten.
The car entered the city. I spoke up. "Please let me out here. I don't want to take up more of your time. I can get home myself."
Blake glanced in the rearview mirror, waiting for instructions.
Sterling was silent for several seconds before saying, "Stop the car."
The car slowly pulled over. I hurried to open the door. Just as I was about to step out, his voice came from behind.
"Willow."
I froze.
"Last night—" he began, a hint of hesitation in his voice.
My heart nearly stopped.
But he only paused, then said, "Never mind. You can go."
I got out, relieved.
I went to a pharmacy, standing outside taking deep breaths several times before pushing the door open.
I needed emergency contraception.
Last night had been too chaotic. We'd taken no precautions. If I got pregnant—I didn't dare imagine the consequences.
The clerk handed me the pill and reminded me, "Emergency contraception isn't one hundred percent effective. You should get checked at a hospital afterward."
I silently asked for water and swallowed the pill.
Charles still hadn't returned. The empty house held only me.
Grandma called, asking how Charles and I were getting along. Not wanting to worry her, I told her I was fine. Charles treated me well.
But my heart ached.
Charles didn't come back until after eight.
He'd changed clothes. His hair was still damp, like he'd just showered.
Seeing me on the couch, Charles's face flashed with reproach.
"Honey, why didn't you tell me you were home?" He walked over. "I went back to the manor to pick you up. They said you'd already left."
"You changed clothes." I said, tone flat.
Charles's expression stiffened, then he smiled, explaining, "Oh, I spilled coffee on myself. Had to change."
Another lie.
After years together, how could I not see his guilt?
"Honey," he sat beside me, fingers tenderly stroking my arm, "don't do that again. I was worried about you the whole way."
I looked at him. The words "let's divorce" didn't leave my mouth.
We would divorce eventually. Just not yet.
Grandma's illness was expensive. All these years, Charles had been paying...
At least I needed to break free of this trap first.
"Charles, I want to work at your company."
He froze.
"As your secretary," I continued. "Or any other position. I don't want to stay home doing nothing all day."
Charles's face changed—from shock to confusion to subtle resistance.
"Willow, you know I don't like you out there," he said, tone brooking no argument. "I can support you. You don't need to work. I'll take care of you forever."
Take care of you forever.
How beautiful. How fake.
"Why?" I met his eyes. "Why can't I work?"
"Because I love you. I don't want other men around you," his voice rose. "You're my wife. You just need to stay home. That's enough."
Silence for several seconds. Then I heard my own voice, terrifyingly calm. "Then why can you be around other women?"