Chapter120 You Just Said I'm Not Worthy of Daphne
Evan paused, taken aback by the unexpected response. After a moment of contemplation, he turned to her, his voice steady, "It's impossible to sever ties completely, especially given the business dealings between the Murphy Group and the Lancelot Group. Besides, the mere fact that Charles knows you confided in grandfather and not him will likely spur him to pursue the matter further."
"He's not that kind of person," Daphne replied, her fingers swiftly deleting WhatsApp from her phone. "There's no epic love story between us." At least, not one that lived up to his lofty standards.
Evan's lips curved into a subtle, meaningful smile. "Well," he said, "that remains to be seen."
Daphne furrowed her brows in confusion. What did he mean by that? But Evan offered no further explanation, focusing instead on navigating the road to the airport.
Casting a glance over her shoulder, Daphne noticed that Evan had collected her laptop and other essential documents. With a sigh of relief, she settled back into her seat, her thoughts drifting back to Gedser.
Meanwhile, Charles found little comfort in his visit to the family estate. The butler informed him that his grandfather had gone out with friends and wouldn't return for several days. Despite the sting of his grandfather's obvious disapproval following his divorce from Daphne, Charles remained unfazed. He knew her true identity would eventually come to light. Without a word of protest, he turned on his heel and left.
That evening, settled in the opulent Queens Villa, Charles was consumed by an unexpected sense of emptiness. The solitude, once a soothing balm, now felt oppressively hollow. He rubbed his forehead, attempting to dispel the inner turmoil, but the weight of it lingered, a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach.
He found himself pacing aimlessly, eventually stopping outside the room Daphne had once occupied. All of her personal belongings were gone, leaving behind only the material goods she had impulsively purchased during a shopping spree. Despite her modest means, she hadn't bothered to take the expensive items with her. He chuckled, shaking his head at her apparent foolishness.
As he surveyed each item, memories of her choosing them, the expressions that crossed her face, the fleeting glances she cast his way, flooded his mind. He was lost in this reverie for two hours until a call from Mark snapped him back to reality.
Realizing what he was doing, Charles left the room, a wave of discomfort and irritation washed over him. His pride smarted at his actions. 'What am I doing?' he thought. Divorce isn't the end of the world. Apart from driving him mad, Daphne didn’t seem to possess any redeeming qualities.
He made a conscious effort to shake off his sense of loss as he answered Mark's call, stepping out of the room. The mansion was bathed in light, almost as if it were still daytime. Standing at the top of the stairs, Charles felt swallowed by the silence, entirely isolated from the world's noise beyond the mansion's walls.
“Boss?” Mark's voice echoed again, noticing Charles hadn't responded the first time.
Charles was still staring at the sofa, his mind conjuring an image of Daphne lounging there, engrossed in her favourite shows. When Mark prompted him again, Charles replied with a disinterested, “What is it?”
Mark hesitated, wondering if his earlier words had fallen on deaf ears. “The case of Miss Murphy that you asked me to look into...”
Before Mark could finish, Charles cut him off, his voice as cool as ever, “We’ll talk tomorrow. Come over now.”
“Where to?”
“Queens Villa.”
“Right now?”
“Now.”
Mark had no option but to comply. As the executive assistant to the boss, he was on call around the clock unless granted leave. The allure of freedom was enticing, but the generous wages and bonuses were too good to pass up.
Half an hour later, Mark was en route. He arrived at Queens Villa, impeccably dressed in his usual suit and spectacles. Before he could articulate the reason for his visit, Charles, reclining nonchalantly on the sofa, interrupted him with his typical aloof and austere demeanor. "Fetch a few bottles of wine from the cellar," he commanded.
"Wine?" Mark echoed, his voice trembling with uncertainty.
A stern glance from Charles silenced any further inquiries. Obediently, Mark complied and returned with the requested bottles. Without uttering a word, Charles gestured for him to imbibe, one glass after another.
By the time they reached the third bottle, Mark's tolerance began to falter, his vision blurring.
Charles was keenly aware of his assistant's limited capacity for alcohol. Deeming Mark sufficiently intoxicated, Charles leaned back on the sofa, his eyes revealing a rare flicker of emotion. "Mark," he called out.
"Boss..." Mark's voice trailed off as he slumped over the sofa, his consciousness beginning to fragment.
"Why do you think Daphne insists on divorcing me?" Charles's gaze intensified, the alcohol unlocking some hidden well of emotion. "I've given her everything she wanted."
At the mention of his idol, Mark instantly sat up straighter.
His face flushed and his words slightly slurred, he blurted out, "Because Miss Murphy thinks you're not good enough for her!"
Charles raised an eyebrow, his gaze narrowing.
"You might be rich, handsome, and fit, but Miss Murphy wants an emotional connection," Mark continued, his drunken ramblings firmly siding with Daphne. "Miss Murphy wouldn't settle for a materialistic man like you!"
"Is that so?" Charles's voice turned frosty.
Mark shivered but held his ground: "Yes!"
"And who do you think she would fancy?" Charles asked, his eyes filled with an unusual severity.
Had Mark been sober, he would have been on high alert.
Regrettably, he was far from sober: "Mr. Winston."
Charles's grip on his glass tightened abruptly.
Without hesitation, Mark confessed, "Mr. Winston is gentle and patient with Miss Murphy, always considering things from her perspective—that's what true love is."
Charles remained silent.
He rose, placed his glass on the table, and cast a glance at the figure still sprawled on the sofa.
He then removed the only blanket from the sofa and ascended the stairs, his steps indifferent and his gaze not once looking back at Mark.
The next morning.
Upon awakening, Mark found himself curled into a ball. He attempted to recall the events of the previous night, but his memory faltered at the drinking session with his boss.
What happened? How did he end up sleeping here?
"Get up and freshen yourself," Charles commanded, already dressed in a new outfit, his icy demeanor accentuated by his black suit. "After that, go over the information you found last night."
Mark was utterly bewildered.
Throughout his morning routine, he racked his brain trying to discern how he had offended his boss.
Charles was typically distant and not the easiest to get along with, but he had never been as neglectful as he was the previous night, leaving Mark to sleep on the couch.
After freshening up, Mark ventured to ask, "Boss, did I do something to offend you?"
"Not at all," Charles replied, his tone detached as he consumed his breakfast.
Mark sat opposite him, his hand gripping his glass of milk paused mid-motion. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," Charles responded flatly, but his words carried weight, "You merely said I wasn't worthy of Daphne."
It was a direct hit. Mark froze.
"And you called me materialistic," Charles added.
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