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..."

"Grandma, where's Olivia? What did you do with her?"

Charles's face changed instantly. When it came to his daughter, he couldn't keep calm.

Old Mrs. Hart just scoffed at his question, her face full of disdain.

"She's sick, so I obviously took her to the hospital. What do you think, that I'd hurt her?"

Her tone turned flat, but a sarcastic arch of the brow followed.

"Unlike that woman-came into our house, made a scene, made us look like fools. And barged in uninvited! Isabelle, you are not welcome here. If you don't leave, don't blame me for going old-school and enforcing family rules!"

Isabelle stared at Charles, who was kneeling on the floor, his clothes torn and marked with whip lashes.

Despite the scene, a flash of satisfaction crossed her eyes.

He must've taken the punishment for her.

Ignoring the threat from Old Mrs. Hart, her voice trembled with restrained sobs.

"Charles, you... you did this for me..."

Clenching his jaw to mask the pain, Charles lowered his voice.

"Don't worry about me. You should go."

But Isabelle shook her head firmly.

"No, Charles... wherever Olivia is, that's where I have to be. She's my daughter. I won't leave her alone."

Old Mrs. Hart had seen her fair share of clingy women-this one was just another drama queen.

Refusing to walk away? Easy fix.

She slammed her hand on the table. "Someone come! Take her away-and give her a beating she won't forget!"

The servants rushed in, not daring to hesitate.

Isabelle's eyes went wide, and her knees nearly buckled from fear.

Still, she gritted her teeth, forcing herself to stay put.

"Old Mrs. Hart, you can do whatever you want to me. But please... give me back Olivia."

Old Mrs. Hart frowned, waved her hand with annoyance.

What followed was brutal. Isabelle trembled with every whip, cold sweat soaking her.

Still, she stayed quiet, refusing to beg for mercy.

After the servants were done, she lay motionless, clothes stained red, looking like she could barely breathe.

Her hair stuck to her face, her whole body a mess.

Without a hint of sympathy, the staff dragged her out of the Hart mansion and dumped her by the entrance before going back inside.

Charles didn't say a word-saying anything now would only piss his grandmother off more.

"Grandma, I want to see Olivia," he said carefully.

Seeing that Charles hadn't defended Isabelle during the punishment, Old Mrs. Hart relaxed a little.

"Fine. Go. But if I catch you meeting with that woman, you'll regret it."

...

When Charles got to the hospital and walked into the room, he froze.

Stella was sitting next to Olivia's bed, chatting casually.

The little girl giggled, clearly comfortable around her.

Charles narrowed his eyes. He didn't buy it for a second.

This woman had tried to hurt Olivia before-there's no way she just came to visit out of the kindness of her heart.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was sharp, icy.

Stella glanced at him, her tone calm.

"Grandma asked me to check up on her. Her fever was pretty high."

Hearing that, Charles frowned and quickly walked over, pulling Olivia into his arms.

The little girl clung to his neck, voice soft and choked with emotion.

"Daddy, I missed you so much... Are you leaving me too?"Charles gently stroked Olivia's head and spoke to her softly, full of tenderness.

"Sweetheart, why would Daddy ever stop loving you? I'm here now, aren't I?"

But right after that, his tone shifted, going cold.

"Stay away from her."

"Daddy, don't blame Aunt Stella. She's been really nice to me," Olivia piped up.

Stella shrugged like it didn't bother her. She wasn't surprised-the little girl had been wary of her when she walked into the room. Clearly, Isabelle had said quite a few nasty things about her. Olivia being scared made perfect sense.

Still, Stella never dragged kids into adult messes. Olivia was innocent.

Charles didn't respond to that part and quickly changed the topic.

"Sweetheart, once you're all better, Daddy will take you to get your favorite toy. Sound good?"

Hearing that, Olivia's tears dried instantly, and she nodded with a big grin.

Watching the sweet father-daughter moment, Stella felt a dull ache in her chest.

She couldn't stay any longer. Without a word, she turned and walked out of the room.

After Olivia fell asleep, Charles tucked her in carefully and exited the room quietly.

Sure enough, Stella was still standing outside.

Just like he thought-this woman clearly had something to say.

All that playing it cool earlier was just an act.

He approached her, cleared his throat, and asked, "Stella, what are you waiting for?"

Bet she was about to try and apologize, beg for forgiveness or something.

Too bad-Charles had no plans to let her off easy. He might as well enjoy watching her squirm.

"Grandma's been paying a lot more attention to us lately," Stella said calmly. "I'm just asking... could you pretend to be on good terms with me in front of her? Just for show."

He scoffed.

Fake it for Grandma's sake? Seriously?

How lame did she think he was?

"One line like that, and you expect me to forgive you?" he sneered, an amused, mocking smile on his face.

Stella sighed, rubbing her forehead and taking a breath.

"Charles, I'm not asking for your forgiveness. I said 'pretend.' You get that, right?"

"What, you don't understand plain English?"

That hit a nerve. He gave a sharp laugh, his tone biting.

"Stella, seriously, quit while you're ahead. This little act? It's getting old."

She let out a bitter smile.

"Then let me put it this way-pretend for Grandma's sake, and you'll still get to play the happy family with Isabelle in front of her. Win-win."

That shut him up. He shot her an icy glare.

"Stella, you-"

"What? Mr. Hart, if you're not interested, then go ahead and leave," she said coldly.

Charles's heart clenched again.

How many times had she thrown that word at him?

Leave.

She really had the nerve.

"Let me see Sophie, and I'll go along with this."

Stella, who had already turned to leave, froze at his words. She looked at him expressionlessly, holding back whatever she was feeling.

"Charles... you were the one who said she should never see you again. Remember?"

Had he...? Thinking back, yeah, maybe he had. He looked away, annoyed.

Stella didn't say another word and left.

Charles, getting irritated, pulled out his phone and shot her a message:

"Stella, if you keep using Sophie as leverage, I'll call the cops."