Charlene's POV
Since Monica left, the house has grown even quieter. You know that kind of silence—the kind that feels lifeless, as if someone who once belonged to the walls themselves has suddenly vanished.
Hours had already passed since she walked out, yet something still weighed heavily on Kerill's mind. I could feel it lingering in the air, unspoken but unmistakable.
After putting the children to bed, I immediately went looking for him. I found him in his office, seated in his swivel chair with his back to the door. The door was open, so I stepped inside, choosing to remain silent.
I couldn't think of what to say—especially knowing he was just as lost as I was. So I simply stood there, quiet, watching him.
"She's my first love."
I lifted my gaze when he spoke. Did he know I was there? Was he talking to me?
"She's the woman I dreamed of growing old with," he continued. He still didn't turn around. I noticed the glass in his hand, filled with alcohol—he was clearly drunk.
"I loved her more than anything."
I was startled when he suddenly sniffed, and then I heard him crying. I didn't know what to do. This was the first time I had ever seen him show such raw emotion in front of me.
"I love her more than myself. I loved her because she was the only one who stayed when I was completely alone. She brought light into my darkness. She was the only one who could calm my storm. She saved me."
I remained silent, unsure whether I should comfort him or simply stay where I was.
"But she betrayed me. She chose that bastard over me—and over our children!"
I stepped back when he suddenly threw the glass aside. It shattered violently against the wall.
"I hate her," he said as he slowly stood up. When he turned to face me, his eyes were swollen, his hair disheveled, his shirt wrinkled. He looked nothing like the cold, intimidating man I once knew. This was a different side of him—not strong or unshaken, but a man who loved deeply and was broken by it.
"I did everything! I begged! I did everything I could to give her the life she wanted!"
He staggered toward me, shouting as if I were the one he was speaking to—as if, in his eyes, I had become Monica.
"But why?" he asked. When he stopped, he was already too close. His shirt was damp and reeked of alcohol.
"Am I not enough? Was I lacking something?"
He was asking me, but I had no answer. I didn't fully know the story between him and Monica.
"I love you."
I froze when he whispered those words. He gently rested his head on my shoulder as he cried.
"I still love you, Monica," he added—and those words struck me like a blow.
Why did it hurt?
Why did I feel hurt?
"Please… come back to me. Come back to us."
I stood there, stunned.
He still loved his wife.
He still loved Monica.
"Can you do me a favor?" he suddenly asked.
"W-what is it?" I finally managed to speak.
"Can I kiss you?"
"H-ha?"
Before I could protest, he kissed me—desperate, hungry, as if he couldn't bear to let go, as if he missed me terribly.
Was he seeing me… or was he seeing Monica?
And yet, foolish as I was, I didn't resist. I didn't slap him. I didn't shout—things I should have done. Instead, I returned the kiss, until I felt it deepen.
I didn't stop him. I let him slowly pull off my shirt, his kisses trailing down my neck as his hand slid to my side.
He lifted me and set me on the desk in his office, our lips never breaking apart. I unbuttoned his alcohol-damp shirt—slow, reckless. I didn't know why I allowed myself to do it.
When I finally removed it, his chest was completely soaked. That was when I noticed the scar—long and deep, stretching from his underarm down to his ribs. I traced it with my fingers.
What happened to him?
Why did he have such a scar?
My curiosity faded when he took my hand and placed it on his shoulder. He kissed me again—down my ear, my neck, until he reached my shoulder.
I didn't protest when he removed my clothes until only my bra remained. He kissed me again, stopping at my chest, and I struggled to suppress the sounds escaping me from the sensation.
He wrapped his arms around me, and I felt him slowly unclasp my bra from behind. When it fell away, his kisses followed, descending until they reached my breasts.
A soft moan escaped me as he pressed his mouth against me, teasing me with his lips. The sensation was overwhelming, almost maddening. I tangled my fingers in his hair, unable to stop myself.
He repeated it on both sides before returning his kisses to my neck. He swept everything off the desk aggressively and laid me down.
It was large enough to hold me comfortably.
"Lay down," he whispered—a command I couldn't refuse.
I obeyed, lying on the cold surface as he slowly hovered over me. He removed his pants, revealing his boxers.
My eyes widened when I saw him. He was big enough to make me nervous.
"Close your eyes and trust me," he said. I did so instantly.
I gasped when something large entered me. It hurt, as if something inside me was tearing.
Still, I didn't open my eyes. I kept them shut as he began to move faster inside me. I dug my nails into his shoulders from the unfamiliar sensation.
It hurt—but I liked it.
After several minutes, the pain shifted into something else—something strange, something addictive.
He lifted me and carried me to the sofa. I straddled him as we continued kissing, both of us completely bare.
His hands gripped my hips as he guided my body against his. The sensation was fast, overwhelming.
I don't know how long it lasted. All I remember is lying against his shoulder afterward, my eyes slowly closing until exhaustion finally pulled me into sleep.