What if I was wrong?
Charlotte's POV
I wrapped the blanket tighter around my chest and stared at him like he had grown two heads.
“You are joking, right? Tell me you are joking.”
Luther sat up on the edge of the bed, calm as ever, like he had not just thrown a grenade into the middle of everything.
“I saw him,” he said plainly. “With my own eyes. I wish I had not, but I did.”
I took a step back, heart pounding like someone had banged a drum against my ribs. My voice came out in a low breath. “You really expect me to believe that Gavin, Gavin of all people, is your son?”
Luther stood slowly, as if the weight of the truth was heavier than it looked. He ran a hand down his face. “I never planned to tell you. I buried it. Locked it away. But seeing you with him… I could not hold it in anymore.”
My hand shot up instinctively. “Stop. Just stop.”
I felt sick. Not just in my stomach, but deep in my chest, where his touch still lingered. I had given him my body. My trust. My heart. And now this?
“You waited until after we… after what just happened between us… and then you drop this?” I shook my head and laughed, though there was no humour in it. “How convenient.” He looked hurt, but I did not care.
“You made this up,” I said, voice cracking now. “You are lying to keep me away from him.”
Luther narrowed his eyes. “What kind of man do you think I am?”
“I do not know anymore!” I shouted. “Maybe the kind who would hire strangers to frighten me, just so I would come running back to him!”
He turned away from me. That was all he did. Just turned his back like he had no words. And that made me angrier.
“Say something!” I snapped, crossing the room until I was inches from him. “You always have something clever to say. So go on, defend yourself.” He did not move. His silence scraped against my ears like nails on glass.
I pushed at his shoulder. “Coward.” That got him to look at me. Just barely.
“I am not proud of everything I have done,” he said quietly. “But I would never lie about this. Not this.” My eyes stung, but I refused to cry. I had cried too many times for him already.
“I thought..” My voice broke. I tried again. “I thought maybe you had changed. That we had a chance. But now... I do not even recognise you anymore.”
“I told you the truth,” he said. “Even if it costs me everything.”
I stepped back, shaking my head slowly. “You should have told me before. Not after you touched me.” He said nothing. Not a word. Just stood there like a man who had already lost.
“You are not the only one who felt betrayed before,” I whispered, my throat tight. “But I chose to trust you again. And that was my mistake.” Then I turned and walked out, even though every part of me wanted to stay. But if I did, I would break. And I was tired of breaking for him.
“You just think I am something you can control,” I said, my voice rising. “You even went as far as sending strangers into my house. Do you have any idea how terrified I was?”
My hands trembled as I pressed my fingers together and shook them in front of him, struggling to breathe through the panic that returned with the memory.
“I thought I was going to die,” I whispered. “All I could see was my father... bleeding on the floor. I thought it was happening again. That I would end up like him.” Tears spilled before I could stop them. A hiccup escaped my throat, raw and painful. I had not even realised I was crying.
“Charlotte, please,” Luther said gently, stepping forward.
“Do not touch me.” I twisted out of his reach and stepped away, holding up a hand. “I mean it. Stay away.” Everything clicked in my head as I glared at him.
“No wonder one of them said my name,” I said slowly, piecing it all together. “You must have given them everything about me. You knew too much. You even told me the one in the mask was beaten but ran away. How would you know that unless you were involved?”
Luther lowered his head into his hands, like hiding would erase what he had done.
“I know exactly what I am saying,” I snapped. “And you know it too. That is why you have nothing left to say.” His jaw clenched tight. The vein near his temple was pulsing so hard it looked like it might burst. But I was not moved. Not anymore.
“I cannot even look at you,” I muttered, turning towards the door.
“I hope you will not come running back in tears when the truth finally hits you,” he said behind me, his voice low. I laughed. The sound was cold and empty.
“Me?” I pointed to my chest. “Come crying to you?” I scoffed, turning the knob.
“In your dreams.”
I opened the door and walked out, my footsteps loud against the floor. By the time I reached the guest room, my anger had not settled, it had only grown tighter inside me. But instead of collapsing onto the bed, I began pacing back and forth.
“This should not even surprise me,” I muttered to myself. But it did. It hurt more than I cared to admit.
What we had just shared had been real. At least, it had felt real to me. His hands, his mouth, the way he held me like I was the only woman he had ever touched. It had been intense, almost perfect. And now it felt like a lie.
“God, I am such an idiot,” I said aloud, dragging my fingers through my tangled hair. “I let myself fall again. I let lust decide for me instead of sense.”
I did not know how long I stayed there, pacing, crying, talking to myself like a mad woman, but I only stopped when I heard a knock at the door. I froze for a moment, then clenched my jaw.
“Go away! I do not want to see you, Luther!” I shouted, my voice shaking with frustration. My eyes burned and my chest tightened. I could barely recognise myself in that moment, full of pain, pride, and something worse. Hope and I hated that I still had any of that left.
“I am sorry, ma’am. Sir Luther sent me to pick you up and drive you home,” a voice called from the other side of the door.
I quickly wiped at my tears, frustrated they were still falling. My throat was tight, and my face probably looked a mess.
Great. How was I supposed to walk out in his oversized shirt with absolutely nothing underneath?
“I’m coming,” I replied in a nasal tone, sniffling as I glanced around the room for anything to cover myself.
“I’ll be outside waiting,” the man said before I heard footsteps fade away.
I headed straight for the walk-in closet, expecting maybe a robe or hoodie, but what I found made me pause in the doorway. Rows of luxury designer clothes lined the space. Shoes, handbags, and sparkling jewellery were perfectly arranged, like a showroom. For a moment, I just stood there, stunned.
I reached for a red dress that caught my eye, remembering someone was still waiting outside. Slipping it on, I was surprised by how well it fit, like it had been tailored just for me. I grabbed a pair of sleek black heels that matched and stepped into them, not bothering to fix my hair. I just wanted to get out. I made my way downstairs quickly, my heart beating faster the closer I got to the front door. Thankfully, I did not see Luther or anyone else. Good.
Outside, a man in a black suit stood by a black Range Rover. He straightened as I approached.
“Ma’am,” he said with a polite nod, opening the backseat door for me.
“Thank you,” I murmured, climbing in without making eye contact.
As I settled in the seat, I turned to look back at the house. And there he was, Luther. Standing silently in the doorway, half in shadow, with a bottle of liquor dangling from his hand. He said nothing. Just stood there, watching. My chest tightened at the sight. Was he drinking because of guilt? Or was it something else? Before the door clicked shut, a tiny whisper in the back of my mind spoke up, one I had tried to bury. What if I was wrong?
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