MasukCharlotte pushed through the mansion's grand oak doors. "Arrogant woman," Charlotte thought, fury simmering as she burst through the mansion's oak doors into the crisp morning air. How could Karla say I left my work to help the maids—like I'm some simpering servant chasing their approval?I am not that old Charlotte who tried so hard to impress every Carter, leaving my dreams and my work behind. The Bentley purred under the porte-cochère, Marcus emerging with a bow. She'd refused him before, hailing cabs to spurn Carter's excess, but today? Strategy won. Take it. Own it."Good morning, Mrs. Carter," he said politely, back door open. "Where to?"She bypassed the shadowed throne, sliding into the passenger seat with a click of the belt.Marcus froze, confusion etching his face. "Ma'am? The back is—""I'm not one of them," she stated firmly, gaze steady. Them—the arrogant overlords. "Front seat. Treat me like it. Drive."His smile warmed with respect, nodding. "As you wish, ma'am."The e
Howard couldn't sleep. The bed felt empty, mocking him. He rose quietly, drawn to the couch like a moth to a flame.Charlotte slept peacefully, the pearl nightgown clinging thin—a second skin revealing every curve. Smooth legs stretched out, bare shoulder glowing in lamplight, neck bearing his red bite mark. He stared, transfixed—curves rising with each breath, softness begging touch.No, he thought, clenching fists. I don't want this. But he couldn't stop, eyes devouring her.His hand moved on its own, fingers brushing her shoulder, caressing down her arm to her waist, tracing those tempting curves, sliding to her silken leg. So soft, so beautiful. Half an hour ago, he'd insulted her, pinned her in rage—now melting? He bit his lower lip hard, warring with himself.Howard cursed under his breath. Why her? A gold-digging schemer—nothing more. Attraction clawed at him, unwanted.He yanked his hand away, stepping back sharply. Turning to the bed, he lay down, face to the wall—avoiding he
Anastasia's tray rattled as she spun on her heel, cheeks flushing crimson—not from shame, but fury barely leashed. The door slammed behind her.,Howard's eyes flicked to the dustbin, jaw ticking, then to the door. His sister's hurt cut deeper than Charlotte's barbs, "Anna," he growled low, striding after her, leaving Charlotte with a final, venomous glare.In the dimly lit hallway, crystal lamps casting long shadows, Anastasia leaned against the wall, shoulders heaving. Fake sobs bubbled up, soft and theatrical, tears glistening on her lashes as she buried her face in her hands.Howard approached, his large frame softening just for her. "Anna,"She peeked through her fingers, her voice trembling like fragile glass. "I told you, Howard... ever since your wife came, she's been snatching you from me—from us. See? She threw out the coffee I made for you. I've made it since I was a teenager, just how you like—black, steaming, every night after your meetings. And now? She changes everything
Charlotte slipped through the Carter Mansion's grand foyer; marble floors gleamed under chandeliers, portraits of stern ancestors frowning down. Spotting Maria, the head maid, dusting a side table, Charlotte waved casually. "Maria—Grandpa Wendell around?"Maria bobbed a quick curtsy, the cloth pausing. "Yes, ma'am—in his study. He's been there since dinner."Charlotte nodded thanks, veering left down the oak-paneled hall—doors heavy-carved, rugs muffling her steps. Study door loomed at the end, brass handle cool under palm. She twisted it gently, pushing in.Laughter bubbled instantly—Wendell Carter, silver patriarch in plaid sweater and slacks, mid-swing with a putter over the Persian rug "green." His ball rolled true... plunking straight into a crystal wine glass propped as a hole at the hearth. Improv golf, vintage Wendell.He whirled at the creak, putter propped like a cane, face creasing in a wide grin—eyes twinkling behind specs. "Charlotte! Caught my birdie. Join? Your swing's
The hospital's pediatric ward hummed softly under fluorescent lights, monitors beeping a steady lullaby for the tiny patients. Charlotte, white coat draped over her scrubs, stood outside Ruby's room. The door creaked open, revealing Gabriela Foreman, Ruby's foster mother—a weathered woman in her late 40s, lines etched deep from years of quiet battles, simple cardigan over jeans, hair pulled into a practical bun.Gabriela's eyes, warm brown pools rimmed red from worry, lit as she spotted Charlotte. She stepped forward, hands clasping Charlotte's in a fervent grip. "Dr. Valco, I don't have words. That funding came through like a miracle—ECMO machine humming, meds flowing. Ruby's stable because of you. Thank you. From the bottom of this old heart."Charlotte squeezed back, a genuine smile softening her fatigue. Gabriela's hands felt rough, callused from factory shifts, yet tender—hands that rocked Ruby through fevers and fears. "Gabriela, stop. You're the hero here. Taking such great car
In Howard Carter's corner office atop Carter Enterprises, sunlight sliced through floor-to-ceiling windows, glinting off the polished mahogany desk strewn with contract drafts. Howard leaned back in his leather chair, tie loosened, dark eyes sharp on the new business deal—Ryan sat across, flipping pages of the merger proposal with a pen tapping rhythm."Lock this clause tighter—vendor liabilities cap at 5%," Howard murmured, pointing. Ryan nodded, scribbling a note. "Solid. Sign by Friday, we're golden—"Ryan's phone buzzed sharply on the desk, screen lighting up. Clark. He glanced at Howard, then answered casually, thumb swiping. "What’s up, Clark? Make it quick."Clark's voice crackled with tense, hushed urgency: "Sir, Mrs. Karla Carter’s here. Barged in, demanding all recent contracts tied to Howard Carter. Pulled files already—mergers, trusts. I tried privilege, but... she’s Karla Carter."Ryan’s brows shot up, surprise freezing his pen mid-air. "Wait—Mrs. Karla Carter? Demanding
Charlotte's eyes blazed, wrenching her elbow free from Howard's iron grip, defiance surging past embarrassment. "No," she snapped, stepping back, voice steel despite her racing pulse. "I won't be commanded into your bed like some possession. Not after everything—your hospital rage, Anastasia's veno
Charlotte stepped into the bedroom alone, the door's soft click echoing like a judge's gavel, sealing her in moonlit silence. The familiar opulence—navy silk drapes on the king-sized four-poster, ember-lit fireplace casting flickering shadows, cedar-leather scent lingering from Howard's presence—tr
Howard's shock lingered, the words "foster kids" echoing as Ruby beamed beside him in the humming pediatric ward. He cleared his throat, glancing at the foster mom with quiet intensity. "What about her parents?" he asked softly, voice edged with genuine concern.The woman sighed, kneeling to Ruby's
Charlotte's shove, her "LEAVE" still ringing sharp in the cabin's charged air. Pride flared into something primal; he didn't retreat—instead, he advanced with slow, deliberate steps, a predator closing in. Charlotte tensed at the open door, hand gripping the knob, but he moved past her swiftly, bru







