Charles's warm palm froze mid-motion.
Janet could feel the way his entire body stiffened.
But only after a brief pause, that familiar hand gently pressed against her forehead, and he let out a low chuckle—calm, steady, masking everything.
"No fever… So why are you talking nonsense?"
It was his usual tactic—deflect and dismiss.
He had sensed something off about her these days.
And Charles knew—Janet wasn't the kind to joke.
"I'm serious. I'm sorry."
Janet looked up, her eyes shimmering like stars in a moonless night.
She pulled down his hand and gripped it tightly.
"Why?"
One word. Cold. Dangerous.
He was angry now.
He could indulge her, spoil her, and even forgive her recklessness—
But this? This was a line she couldn't cross.
"Because we're not right for each other.
Charles… let me go."
Janet raised her face toward the darkness, unable to see his expression,
but she could feel it—the drop in temperature, the way the entire room seemed to freeze over.
