Chapter 167 The Sudden Appearance of the Strange Woman, Could it be Debbie
The ruthless words sent Martin spiraling into an abyss of despair. His tall frame swayed, almost falling. He gripped her arms tightly, his voice a hoarse roar, "Impossible, I don't believe it. You used to love me so much; how can you just stop loving me?"
Patricia snorted softly, "You're right to say it used to be! Five years have passed, even the deepest feelings can fade."
With that, she pried off his fingers one by one and calmly began picking up her clothes from the ground, dressing one piece at a time.
On the surface, she seemed cold and heartless, but her heart was bleeding.
Her words pierced through Martin's heart like sharp arrows. Reluctant to let her go so easily, he pressed her against the wall with a firm grip, roughly tearing the clothes she had just put on.
His fervent lips touched her skin, searing over the marks left from last night, branding her once again with his scent and imprint.
Compared to her helplessness the night before, Patricia was much calmer this time. She neither struggled nor cried out, allowing Martin to kiss her in serenity, her voice steady and phantom-like, “Martin, don't make me hate you.”
Her succinct statement brought all of Martin's actions to an abrupt halt.
He buried his head in Patricia's chest, inhaling deeply to calm the turbulent emotions and swelling reluctance within him. “Do you really hate me that much, unwilling to remarry me?”
Patricia shook her head, “I don't hate you.”
How could she possibly hate him when he had saved her again and again?
What she felt was grievance.
Why should he have the say in their divorce, force her as he pleases, and then demand remarriage on his terms?
Everything was dictated by him; what was she then? A mere object at his beck and call?
Martin let out a self-deprecating laugh, continuing her thought, “But still, you won’t remarry me, right?”
Her silence served as her response.
Martin felt a chill run through his blood, a sense of despair he had never known swept over him. He reluctantly rested against Patricia's chest, inhaling greedily the fragrant scent of her.
Patricia coldly pushed him away, picking up her clothes from the floor to dress herself. “Let’s consider last night an accident. I won't blame you. Once I leave this door, act as if nothing happened. Don’t bring it up again.”
“Hahaha,” Martin laughed a laugh filled with bitter sarcasm.
“Should I thank you, then?” he asked.
Ignoring the scorn in his words, Patricia suggested, “Could you have John take me home? Or lend me a car, I can return it to you later at the hospital.”
Seeing that she truly acted as if nothing had happened, remaining extraordinarily calm and composed, Martin gazed at her eyes, unwilling to accept it, searching for a crack in her facade.
Even the slightest hint of reluctance would have given him a sliver of hope.
Alas, he was ultimately disappointed.
Patricia was indeed as detached as she had claimed, like an emotionless robot, as if the woman who had shared his bed last night was not her, but a stranger with no connection to her at all.
Feeling like he had plunged into an ice-cold cellar of despair, Martin's shoulders slumped. He pulled out his phone and dialed his driver John and instructed, “Take Miss Watson back to Riverside Apartments.”
“Thank you!” Patricia offered cold thanks, her hands tightly clasping her damaged down coat. She left the bedroom without looking back.
All the while, she maintained her composure.
It wasn't until she got home and shut the door that her façade of strength crumbled completely. She fell to the floor, buried her cheeks between her knees, and began to sob softly.
Engulfed in her sorrow, she forgot to take the emergency contraceptive.
...
At the same time.
No sooner had Patricia left than another woman arrived at the Ellenstein Villa District, carrying her luggage. The butler hurriedly went upstairs to report, "Sir, a lady asks to see you."
Martin, in despair, swept away the trinkets on his desk as he bellowed, "Tell her to get out."
The butler paused, hesitated for a moment, then plucked up his courage and said, "She claims her name is Charlotte."
Charlotte?
That name sent a shiver through Martin's frame.
The door to his study was thrown open, and Martin gazed darkly at the butler, gritting his teeth, "Her name is Charlotte?"
The butler nodded, "Yes, she says her name is Charlotte, Charlotte Langley."
"That's quite a revelation," Martin's face went through a dramatic change, "Have her wait for me in the foyer on the first floor."
"Yes, sir!"
With the butler gone, Martin returned to his room to gather his sullen emotions and changed into more casual house attire. Upon hearing sounds from downstairs, he left his room but didn't rush. Instead, he stood at the top of the staircase, staring at the woman being led in by the butler.
She looked around with the curiosity of a child.
With a high ponytail and a plain, black, long down jacket adorning her delicate features, she lacked makeup and fancy clothes, yet she was still breathtakingly beautiful.
Her face was exactly as he remembered, only now matured from a girl into a young woman.
Martin, hands in pockets, descended the stairs leisurely.
Hearing the noise at the stairwell, Charlotte turned her gaze, and her eyes immediately reddened at the sight of Martin. Overcome with emotion, she ran to him and embraced him tightly.
"Martin, I've finally found you..." she whimpered, "...I've missed you so much..."
Martin frowned, prying her away to look at her through narrow eyes, scrutinizing her without restraint.
"Are you really Charlotte?"
She nodded vigorously, "Yes, I'm your sister Charlotte!" she said, showing her wrist adorned with a jade bracelet. "Remember this? There were two of them; one for you and one for me. Grandma gave them to us. Grandma also said, yours was for your future wife."
Martin's brow furrowed, his thin lips tightly closed, "How did you know where I live?"
Charlotte stuck out her tongue playfully, puffing her cheeks in a feigned sulk, and half-teased, "I'll only tell you if you promise not to be angry."
Her unconscious little gesture left Martin profoundly shaken.
It was a characteristic little gesture unique to his sister Charlotte, even her quirky twinkling eyes were identical. It touched the softest part of his heart, making it impossible for him not to nod in agreement.
"Alright, I promise you; I won't be angry."
"Martin, you're so kind!" Charlotte's innocent smile bloomed. "I went to find Carter; it was Carter who told me where you lived." Saying this, she quickly added, as if worried Martin would blame Carter, "He didn't want to tell me at first. I pestered him until he gave in. You mustn't blame him."
Martin responded indifferently, "I won't blame him! You must be tired from your long journey. I'll have someone prepare a room for you. You should rest up first; we can talk more later."
Charlotte pouted, her dissatisfaction clear, "But I haven't seen you for such a long time, I want to talk more now!"
Martin coaxed softly, "We will have plenty of time to talk in the future."
Conceding to his words, Charlotte reluctantly agreed and followed the butler upstairs.
Passing the butler, she gave him a knowing look.
The butler, without a change in his demeanor, nodded subtly and led Charlotte to a guest room on the second floor, instructing someone to make up the bed for her and introducing her to the household amenities.
"Here's a new toothbrush, towels, a rinse cup. This side has hot water, that side cold."
Charlotte pulled out her own toothbrush and face towel, saying, "No need, I've brought my own!"
The butler took her items, insisting, "Now that you're staying with us, our master would hardly have you use old things. I will throw these away for you. Skincare products will be delivered by the servants later. If there's anything else you require, please feel free to call on me. I am the butler here; you may call me Eric."
Seeing his insistence, Charlotte didn't insist further, smiling sweetly, "Well then, I'll leave it to you."
"Not a bother at all!" Eric exchanged a few courtesies before taking the toothbrush and towel and leaving.
Charlotte turned on the tap, her delicate fingers ceasing their joyful play as her smile faded, her expression twisting gruesomely, a shocking chill filling her eyes.
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