Charles raised an eyebrow at Stella's words and let out a mocking laugh.

He tilted his chin slightly, his voice laced with frost.

"Stella, can you stop putting on a show already? You've been doing everything you can to keep Sophie from seeing me, all so you can use that as leverage to kick Isabelle out, right? Let me tell you, no matter how clever you think your little plan is, it's not going to work."

He paused, tone turning sharper.

"Give up on that fantasy of yours."

Stella's lips curled into a cold, bitter smile. Her gaze was like ice.

"Charles, you really do think everything revolves around you, huh? Let me make it clear-what I want now is to cut all ties with you. For good."

Yeah, she needed to be stronger. She had to be the one to shatter this so-called dream.

Charles was just about to snap back when a loud voice interrupted him-Old Mrs. Hart's.

She glared at him, furious.

"Charles, shut that mouth of yours! Apologize to Stella right now! Look what you've done-broken her heart like this, and you've still got the nerve to argue with her?"

He honestly didn't get it. How had he hurt her heart? Wasn't it her who iced him out first, swearing he'd never see Sophie again, treating her own kid like a pawn?

Just like six years ago-with her schemes, drugging him just to marry into the family. She'd do anything to get what she wanted. A woman that calculating... how could she be heartbroken?

He was a breath away from defending himself, but then he noticed Old Mrs. Hart's face had gone deathly pale, her hands clutching at her chest as she trembled.

The words stayed trapped in his throat.

After a while, her breathing evened out just enough to talk again through heavy gasps.

"You trying to push me to my grave or what? My heart can't handle this nonsense. One more word out of you and I'm passing out, I swear."

Gritting his teeth, Charles held back everything he wanted to say. To keep her from collapsing, he dropped his head and forced out the words like they were poison.

"Stella, I'm sorry."

Totally insincere.

As far as he was concerned, the number of people he'd ever apologized to could be counted on one hand. Whether it meant something or not-it was rare. That was supposed to be enough.

Stella stared at him, sarcasm dancing in her eyes.

"I don't need your apology. I just want one thing-let's get divorced."

Divorce. Again. That word kept coming out of her mouth like a broken record.

Charles felt a jolt in his chest, something crashing down inside him.

But, like always, he brushed it off, pretending it didn't matter.

Pushing down his anger, he stepped forward and roughly grabbed Stella's arm, yanking her aside.

He leaned in, his voice low and threatening near her ear.

"Don't forget, Stella-you still owe me five million. And that debt means you're not walking out that easy. Also, you'd better behave. If Grandma gets sick again because of you, can you live with that? You're seriously cold. Dragging Grandma into this just to get rid of Isabelle? I'm telling you now-whatever you're plotting, it's not happening."

Stella tried to pull away, but he had too tight a grip. She leaned closer and whispered back through clenched teeth.

"I've never used Grandma, and I never planned on driving Isabelle away. All I want is to end this marriage. As for the five million, I'll find a way to pay you back-but it won't stop me from leaving you."

Charles was still stewing over their earlier argument, his annoyance with Old Mrs. Hart lingering. But when she saw them standing that close-almost like a couple-Old Mrs. Hart couldn't help but smile. The tension in her face visibly eased.

She cleared her throat and chimed in cheerfully, "Well, well, just look at you two-doesn't seem like there's any bad blood at all. It's getting late, don't keep making a fuss. Go on, head to bed already."

Both of them widened their eyes at the exact same time and blurted out together, "No way!"

They spoke in unison, completely caught off guard-not least Charles, who frowned in frustration.

This was the second time Stella had turned him down.

Seriously? Enough with this whole play-hard-to-get routine. Even if you're acting, there's a limit.

Old Mrs. Hart's face fell in an instant. She clutched her chest, her brows knitting tight as her breathing grew shallow. Her voice was weak as she gasped, "Are you two really trying to kill me with stress? My heart can't take this anymore."

Left with no choice and worried about her condition getting worse, the two of them reluctantly headed toward the bedroom.

As soon as they stepped inside, Stella immediately distanced herself from Charles. Her guard was all the way up-like she saw him as some kind of threat.

With her arms crossed protectively over her chest, she shot him a glare and said coldly, "Charles, don't come near me. Don't touch me. The thought of your hands on me makes my skin crawl."

Charles let out a slight smirk, his tone edged with contempt. "Touch you? Relax. You act like you're worth the trouble. That used to mean something. Now it just feels like a mistake I keep repeating."

Ignoring his sarcasm, she went straight to the bed, stiffly laid down, and yanked the blanket over herself like a cocoon, turning her back to him.

It was true, it was already late. She was exhausted-emotionally and physically. After everything she'd gone through, she hadn't had a decent night's sleep in a long time.

The room fell into stillness, with only their soft breathing filling the silence.

At some point, a strange heat started to rise in Stella's body, making her whole person feel restless and uncomfortable. Her cheeks were burning, and her breaths turned shallow.

Charles was feeling it too-that weird heat creeping through him. His mind was getting fuzzy, and without realizing it, he leaned toward Stella.

As soon as his hand touched her, she snapped awake, eyes wide. Panicked, she struggled to push him away.

"Charles, let go of me!" Stella's voice trembled with panic, edged with tears, as she fought to shove him off.

But Charles seemed to have lost all sense. Instead of letting go, he wrapped his arms tighter around her.

Without hesitation, she bit down hard on his arm. The taste of blood spread in her mouth instantly.

With a hiss of pain, Charles instinctively loosened his grip, and Stella scrambled free, half-crawling and stumbling toward the balcony in a total fluster.

She stood in the cool air, gasping for breath. Her hair stuck to her flushed cheeks in a sweaty, frazzled mess.

There was no doubt about it-Old Mrs. Hart had definitely done something to the room.

Too bad Stella had to let her down. Once, it was Charles who refused to be near her.

And now, it was far too late. There was absolutely no way she could bring herself to have any physical intimacy with a man who'd-directly or not-been part of Sophie's death.

Standing inside, Charles watched Stella flee like he was some kind of monster. The irritation boiling in him was hard to hide.

How long was she going to keep this up?

"Stella, don't you think this whole playing-hard-to-get act has dragged on long enough?"

"It's getting old."

Stella didn't respond. Her hands gripped the balcony railing tight as if that could calm her down-but it didn't work.

She swayed slightly on the edge, her whole body flushed and shaky, knees weak like jelly. She could barely stand.

Just then, the balcony door creaked open, and Charles stepped out.

She looked at him like a cornered animal-defensive, wary.

"Stella, don't push yourself out here. Come inside," he said, voice hoarse.

Six years of marriage-she knew when he was holding something back.

Still, she clung to the railing and yelled, "Don't come any closer! If you take one more step, I'll jump!"

Charles didn't expect such an extreme reaction. Was this just another mind game?

"I turned off the incense in the room. I won't touch you again, okay? Just come in. Don't make Grandma worry."

She stared at him, clearly weighing whether or not to believe him.

The tension hung in the air. Even his shallow breathing seemed to fan the heat inside her.

But her body betrayed her-it always did. The truth was, her feelings for him hadn't disappeared overnight.

She hesitated, then slowly let go of the railing, shuffling back inside bit by bit.

She really couldn't hold out anymore-not while being in the same space with him.

She cursed herself silently for being so weak.

Once inside, Stella headed straight to the bathroom, turning on the cold water to wash away the heat pulsing through her.

As the icy flow hit her skin, the fog in her mind began to clear, and that burning tension slowly faded.

When she stepped out in a robe, her wet hair was still dripping, the water tracing down her pale neck, soaking the collar.

She saw Charles sitting on the edge of the bed, fists clenched, forehead damp with sweat, face flushed red-obviously struggling too.

"Go take a shower or something," she said after a beat.

She only spoke up because she was afraid he'd snap and do something reckless.

He didn't argue, just walked into the bathroom.

A short while later, he came back out, also in pajamas, hair still damp.

Now that the heat had eased, Charles looked at her closely.

Was she trying to manipulate him, or did she really mean to leave him?

He sat by the bed. "Are you serious about the divorce?"

Or was that just for show?

Stella realized he finally wanted to have a serious talk.

There was no point hiding it anymore-he had to know Sophie was gone.

And she needed his help to keep that from Grandma.

"Charles, actually, Sophie-"

Right then, his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen and answered. Just a few words, and his face darkened.

"Olivia's running a fever? Get Jason to check on her first. I'll head over now."Charles ended the call, stood up, grabbed his coat, and was ready to head out.

Stella watched him leave without a single glance back, then let out a bitter laugh.

Every time it came down to Sophie or Olivia, or rather, between her and Isabelle...

He always picked them.

She looked up at the ceiling, trying hard not to let the tears fall.

She wouldn't tell him anything about Sophie ever again. He didn't deserve to know.

But just as Charles reached the door, Old Mrs. Hart blocked his way.

Hands on hips, she snapped, "Where do you think you're rushing off to this late at night? You think you can just run out whenever you want?"

"Grandma, Olivia's running a fever. I need to check on her."

Old Mrs. Hart gave a mocking chuckle. "So what if she's got a fever? Isn't Isabelle there taking care of her? You think you going over there is gonna magically cure her or something? You're not going anywhere tonight. Stay put."

But this time, Charles didn't back down like he usually did when his grandmother put her foot down.

He clenched his jaw, voice low, trying to keep himself together.

"She's my daughter. She's sick. Of course I'm worried."

But Old Mrs. Hart wasn't swayed at all. She stood straighter, her tone firm.

"No. I said no, and I meant it. If you walk out that door, don't call me your grandma anymore."

...

While the two argued, Isabelle, who'd been waiting at home forever, finally lost patience. Hugging her sick daughter, she headed straight to the Hart residence.

Looking worn out and on the verge of tears, she started pounding on the gate.

"Old Mrs. Hart, please! I'm begging you-don't do this to us. Olivia's still a child. She needs her dad, and she needs medicine!"

Olivia whimpered weakly in her arms. The cold outside was biting, and the little girl was already half-unconscious, still calling out for her dad...

The wind whipped around them, turning Isabelle's face red with cold. Olivia looked even worse.

"Old Mrs. Hart, please take pity on Olivia. She's your granddaughter too!"

She kept knocking her head on the ground, her forehead quickly swelling from the force.

"Ever since Charles married Stella, we haven't had a single peaceful day. Now Olivia's sick and can't even see her dad-how are we supposed to keep going?"

The servants nearby were stunned speechless by Isabelle's desperate cries.

Watching her like this, pitiful and broken down, even they couldn't help but feel sorry for her.

Everyone in the house knew Charles had always had a soft spot for Isabelle.

Even though Old Mrs. Hart had forbidden anyone from bringing up the past, that didn't stop the staff from whispering in private. So naturally, they felt for Isabelle and her daughter even more.

Seeing no one responding, Isabelle cried harder. "Old Mrs. Hart, for Olivia's sake, please let Charles go see her. She can't wait any longer..."

From the stairs, Old Mrs. Hart slowly made her way down. She looked at Isabelle kneeling there and let out a cold laugh.

"Isabelle, cut the act. Don't think I don't see right through you."

Right after that, she flung her hand out and barked at the servants nearby, voice sharp and aggressive.

"You three, grab the kid! Take her to the hospital right now! Don't let this woman drag things down any longer!"

The servants exchanged uneasy glances, visibly hesitant.

"What, even my word doesn't count now?"

That one roar had them frozen on the spot. With no other choice, they moved forward stiffly.

They reached for Olivia, prying her from Isabelle's arms.

Already weak from her illness, Olivia immediately burst into tears, clearly terrified. Her tiny hands flailed in the air as she screamed at the top of her lungs,

"Mommy! Mommy!"

Isabelle fought back, trying desperately to hold onto her daughter, but the servants restrained her tightly.

Her nails dug into their arms, scratching hard enough to draw blood.

"You can't take my baby! Give her back! Please, give her back!"

Her voice had gone hoarse from crying, sounding like it could break any second.

Old Mrs. Hart stood on the side, watching coldly, unmoved by the scene.

"Listen well, Isabelle. From now on, don't set foot in this house again. Pull another stunt, and don't blame me for what comes next!"

With those words, she turned on her heel, ready to leave.

No way she's letting this vixen come in here and ruin Stella and Charles.

Still crying, Isabelle looked around frantically, hoping she'd see Charles appear. But he was nowhere to be found.

Instead, someone else came down the stairs.

Catching sight of movement, Isabelle's eyes lit up for a second-then immediately darkened once she realized who it was.

It wasn't Charles. It was the one person she didn't want to see: Stella.

Stella walked down gracefully, every step measured.

"Isabelle, seriously, save the act. Go home, stop embarrassing yourself."

Isabelle clenched her jaw as those words landed, her expression stiffening. But she quickly put on a soft, pitiful look.

Lifting her tear-soaked gaze, her voice trembled slightly.

"Stella, I'm not trying to steal Charles, really. I'm just... Olivia's sick. I need to get her treated, that's all. Please, just let Charles come see her. She needs her dad."

As she spoke, she suddenly swayed, then collapsed onto the ground with a thud, pretending to have fainted.

Stella watched from a few steps away, lips curling into a sneer.

She dusted off her hands-unnecessarily-then turned to walk inside the villa.

Inside, Old Mrs. Hart was still trying to convince Charles to stay for Stella.

But let's face it-someone who wants to leave can't be forced to stay.

Stella didn't hold back and cut into the conversation.

"Grandma, if he wants to go, let him. I really don't care anymore."

That line made Charles knit his brows in frustration.

Earlier, his grandmother had warned him-if he left now, he needn't call her grandma again.He had already decided not to go, but Stella's snide remarks lit a fire in him again.

He shot up from his seat, a cold laugh on his lips. "Alright, since you're putting it that way, I'll go!"

Old Mrs. Hart's face turned stormy. "Charles, don't you dare!"

"Someone, hold this unfilial brat down and teach him a lesson with the family rules!"

Charles clenched his jaw, then dropped to his knees without resistance. His fists curled tight, veins bulging on his forehead.

Seeing his miserable state, Old Mrs. Hart's anger eased a bit.

She gave a wave. "Bring me the whip. He needs to learn his place today!"

A servant quickly came forward holding the whip. Charles closed his eyes, letting each lash land, steady and silent.

Through it all, his head replayed Stella's words-"Go if you want. I don't care."

He scoffed to himself. That weird hollow feeling creeped in again.

He didn't quite understand it, but his chest ached-more than ever. Still, he shoved the feeling aside.

Was this woman really planning to divorce him?

Just then, a servant rushed in, panicked and unsure.

"Sir! It's Miss Isabelle-she fainted at the front gate! Madame Stella said something in front of her... about you and her being together. She couldn't take it!"

Clearly, the servant was siding with Isabelle, exaggerating a little.

Truth was, it was Isabelle who passed out on her own.

But when Charles heard it, his lips curled into a slow, mocking smile.

Typical. That woman still had feelings for him.

All that talk about divorce? Jealousy, nothing more. Just another one of her tired little games.

A nearby maid cast him a startled glance, brows knitting in silent disapproval. She looked like she wanted to speak-but thought better of it.

The smile didn't stay long. It faltered, then vanished.

A shadow passed over his face. His jaw tightened.

And just like that, the smugness drained away, replaced by something far grimmer.

Stella... how could she be so cruel? All just to crush Isabelle?

He sprang to his feet, turning toward the entrance, ready to go check on Isabelle.

"Charles, if you dare leave, I'll bring out the whip again!" Old Mrs. Hart snapped.

"Grandma, Isabelle fainted at the door. For the sake of our family's dignity, we can't just-"

"Hmph, so what? That's her own problem!"

Old Mrs. Hart's tone was ice cold.

"If you still acknowledge me as your grandmother, you'll sit right back down. Do you even see me as family anymore? All over that woman-you ignore everything else, even the rules of this house!"

While they argued, Isabelle stumbled into the room, pale and trembling.

Her voice broke with tears. "Charles, it's Olivia-she's burning with fever. They took her away. Please, help her..."