After the al, Charlotte Miller seed as if she was trying to consu everything she hadn’t eaten in days, feeling sowhat overstuffed.
Her phone was vibrating, but she didn’t answer it. In this city, there was hardly anyone who would call her anymore. The only person who would call was Atlas Hallow.
The vibration frequency of the phone was always the sa, but she could clearly distinguish whether it was him calling or soone else, which, for Charlotte herself, was a profound sorrow.
On the other end, the man’s eyes were deep and dark, suffocatingly so.
What more did she want to cause trouble with?
Atlas Hallow didn’t have much experience with won. He had used all his patience but still felt a fire in his chest about to ignite.
What was lost was not just her child, but his as well.
The weather outside matched his complexion, as if there were thick clouds on the horizon, making even the light dim.
She didn’t drive herself; after the driver dropped her off at the mall, she sent him away, and now she wasn’t even answering her phone.
In truth, love was a luxury for him. He never hoped to possess it. Love was the most untouchable thing in this world. He repeatedly warned himself not to lightly try it, but because it was her, he still went in recklessly, because in love, even dignity seems to disappear.
Just like him now, if she didn’t answer, he would call a second ti.
No one had ever not answered his call before, Charlotte was the first.
By the ti Atlas Hallow saw Charlotte Miller, the sky had already darkened.
Before 7 PM, it was already so dark it was hard to see people. Charlotte got out of the taxi in front of the big iron gate.
Walking slowly along the little path in the garden, after eating she basked in the sun with Jack Smith at a small farmhouse, and on the way back she shopped around in the mall, randomly buying a bunch of stuff before taking a cab back to the Hallow Family ho.
From afar, she saw the entire hall brightly lit.
Two servants took Charlotte’s things to her bedroom upstairs, while Charlotte stood in the middle of the hall, looking at Atlas Hallow, locking eyes for a long mont.
Charlotte stood at a distance, gazing at Atlas’s familiar figure. She wished it was all just a long dream, that all the cruel images were fragnts of that dream — his deception, his lies, his initial reasons for marrying her, his seemingly gentle affection, his tender intimate love — all just parts of a dream.
When she woke from that dream, he would still be the Atlas Hallow she once liked, without betrayal or harm.
Atlas’s gaze, the sa as always, fell on Charlotte.
She conveyed a sense of weariness, as if she had traveled a long and far distance, even the corners of her eyes and eyebrows spoke of an unspeakable fatigue, wrapped in a large gray scarf he noticed was not hers.
There had never been such an item in her wardrobe, and Atlas hadn’t deceived himself to the point of foolishness.
Charlotte’s transformation had already started to make her heart slightly frantic.
The scarf was not Charlotte’s and it wasn’t even for won, because it was a man’s scarf.
Atlas looked at the weariness in Charlotte’s eyes, his brows unusually calm as he stepped forward, his hand reached to unwrap the gray scarf, and it fell to the ground, revealing the orange sweater she wore and large patches of her snowy back.
The Hallow family’s servants knew how to read the room; when Atlas and Charlotte were alone in the living room, everyone retreated.
The entire hall contained only the two of them, making it sowhat empty.
The magnificent crystal chandelier light spilled onto Charlotte’s bare back.
It was a kind of breathtaking beauty, her soft, delicate skin glowing almost translucent under the light, skin so smooth it felt as if it could break at a touch.
Atlas quietly walked behind her, the perfect visual enjoynt gave the man trendous satisfaction.
This was his woman, flawless in beauty.
Yet alongside this imnse satisfaction, his heart was also surging like a tidal wave, wondering if every man who saw her like this would have the sa fiery desire as he did.
Atlas raised his hand, his slender fingers gently tracing down her neck, across the butterfly valley on her back, until they reached the cobalt blue satin bow on her open-back sweater, delicately picking it apart, offering him glimpses of yet more divine beauty.
He felt the cool, soft skin quivering subtly beneath his fingers, Atlas’s lips curled into a faint smile as his large hand settled on Charlotte’s waist, gently hugging her. His deep voice sounded from behind her, "Where did you go today?"
"Shopping..." Charlotte passively allowed him to caress her waist, but every pore began to exude tension and rejection. She struggled to reject the warmth from his palm.
She didn’t want to be seduced by him again...
"Did you also buy the scarf?" Atlas’s gaze slowly slid from her snow-white delicate back down to the gray n’s large scarf lying on the floor. The hand stroking her also gradually stopped, the surrounding air began to cool and solidify, as if a white mist arose from nowhere, making it impossible to see clearly.
"Hmm..." Charlotte humd lightly, then quietly said, "I’m a little tired, I’ll head up first."
Atlas stood behind her, watching her retreating figure into the elevator, the depths of his pupils filled with endless darkness.
She was lying to him; that scarf definitely wasn’t sothing she bought herself.
Charlotte took a shower, changed into her pajamas, and climbed into bed early.
With all the lights turned off, the room beca very dark, only a little moonlight faintly shone through the window...
She curled up alone in the darkness, staring blankly with wide-open eyes, unsure of how long this kind of life would continue.
Though the man’s actions were gentle and intimate, they always carried an undercurrent of vague threat. An overly domineering man’s presence, if not bringing happiness and fulfillnt, it surely brought the greatest hurt.
The door opened slowly; it must be Atlas coming in.
Charlotte imdiately closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep, but Atlas turned on all the lights, the sudden brightness startling her, causing Charlotte to instinctively shield her eyes with her fingers, her long eyelashes quivering at the unbearable glare.
She wrapped herself in the duvet, her muffled voice coming from underneath, "If you want to read, do it in the study, I want to sleep first."
For over a month now, she still maintained a deanor that kept him at arm’s length.
"Don’t you think we should have a good talk?" His voice flowed with the air, seeping into her blanket, into her ears.
Charlotte sat up reluctantly, opening her eyes to look at Atlas, curious to see how long he would hold back — it seed he really couldn’t anymore.
"What are you really thinking? Tell , whose scarf is that?" Atlas stood beside the bed, looking down at Charlotte.
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