I never thought you would be this heartless
Charlotte’s POV
“I never thought you would be this heartless,” I said, staring hard at Luther. My voice was low, but every word carried the anger burning inside me. His jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed, but I did not step back. Not this time. Something in me had changed. Maybe it was the way Loveth spoke to me earlier, making me realise I deserved better than being treated like a mistake.
“What will you do?” I asked. “Kick me out? Force me to the clinic like I am nothing to you? Go on. Do it.”
I folded my arms, trying to calm the way my chest was rising and falling too fast. It was difficult to hold my ground when my heart felt like it was being squeezed. I wanted to scream. I wanted to forget everything he had said after we slept together. But his words were still inside me like poison I could not spit out.
“I am serious, Charlotte. If I do not have an answer by tomorrow, I will take matters into my own hands,” he snapped, and I blinked at him, wondering where the man I once knew had gone. This was not the same person who kissed me like I was the only one in the world. The same man who held me close, who said he wanted me so badly it scared him.
“How long are you going to throw this back in my face?” I looked down at the floor, biting the inside of my cheek. I hated how my body remembered the way he made me feel. Every touch. Every word he spoke while our bodies moved together. I hated that those memories still felt warm, even though his voice had turned cold.
“I did not plan this,” I said, sitting on the edge of the couch. My hands covered my face as a wave of pain ran through me. “Neither of us was thinking clearly. You did not stop. Neither did I. The moment took control, and I could not think of anything except how much I wanted you.”
I took a slow breath, but my chest still ached.
“What kind of person are you?” I whispered, lifting my head to face him again. He stood in the same spot, lips pressed together, not saying a word.
“You have been playing with my emotions from the beginning, Luther. One day you touch me like you cannot live without me, and the next, you say I am too young for you. You act like nothing ever happened.”
I stood up, my legs slightly unsteady, but I kept moving. I had to say what I needed to say.
“Tell me now, right here, that what we did meant nothing. Tell me it felt wrong. Help me understand why you blame me for something we both let happen.”
He looked down, his hands sliding into his pockets. The silence stretched between us, sharp like glass.
“I need you to say it,” I said again, my voice beginning to shake. “Say you regret it. Say it out loud so I can stop holding on to something that was never real.”
He said nothing.
I waited a few more seconds, praying he would speak. That he would take it all back. That he would say something to prove he cared, even if only a little. But nothing came. I turned away, walking toward the stairs with my head high, even though my whole body felt weak. Each step was heavy, my chest pulling tighter with each one. I held the railing to steady myself. As I reached the first landing, I heard his voice behind me.
“The results. Tomorrow.”
I did not turn around. When I reached my room, I shut the door and locked it. The moment the lock clicked, my strength gave out. I dropped to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest. My breathing turned rough as the pain in my chest deepened, crawling through every part of me. This was not just heartbreak. It was the kind that leaves you wondering if love ever existed in the first place.
“I won’t let this take over my life,” I whispered to myself after a while, not bothering to dry the tears running down my cheeks. Instead of letting the pain drown me, I forced myself to focus on something else. Only the investigation into my father’s death could keep my mind away from Luther.
I stood up and walked to the bedside table to grab my phone. I needed to find out if the detectives had found any new leads, especially before my mother gave Stanley full control of the case. I dialled the lead detective’s number and took a deep breath, trying to clear my throat and steady my nerves. He answered after just two rings.
“Charlotte,” he said in the same dry voice I remembered. We had not spoken in a while, but he sounded exactly the same.
“Detective Alphonse,” I replied, leaning against the edge of the dresser.
“I assume you already know your mother hired a private investigator,” he said. I nodded instinctively before realising he could not see me.
“Yes, but I want to know if you had made any progress before she brought him in,” I said, pressing my cracked lips together. I had not eaten anything solid, and it was already late in the day.
“We matched the bullet that killed your father to one used four weeks ago during a robbery just a few streets away from your house,” he said.
I remembered the story. An elderly woman had survived a shooting during a break-in that happened late one night.
“We haven’t recovered the gun yet because the robber is still on the run, but we’ve confirmed both bullets were fired from the same weapon,” he added.
I scratched the back of my neck, my thoughts racing. “So… are you saying someone tried to break into our house and my father got in the way?”
“It’s a possibility,” he replied. “But we can’t treat it as fact unless we have solid proof.”
“And now that my mum’s asked you to hand over the case to Stanley, will that cause problems?” I asked. I could not help the uneasy thought that maybe she and Stanley were too caught up in whatever they had between them. It was like they were forgetting why they had met in the first place. My mother might be ready to move on, but I was not ready to let my father’s killer walk free.
“The case involving the elderly woman is still open,” he said. “Once we catch her attacker, we’ll have the chance to link him to your father’s case. Even if your case is officially closed, we will still be able to uncover the truth.”
We ended the call shortly after that. I suddenly felt drained, like everything had caught up with me at once. My thoughts were heavy. I could not understand why my mother never shared any of this with me. As I stood there holding my phone, a cold rush crept down my back, and my heart started racing. My father’s killer was still out there. The same person who shot my mother was walking free, and she was out there living, trying to start over with Stanley. Only one question echoed in my mind, sharp and clear, making my whole body tense: What if he is still watching us... just waiting for the right time to strike again?
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