Charlene's POV
I lost count of how many times I had tried to talk to Ericka since the incident at the plaza. She seemed to avoid me everywhere—hallways, the dining area, even the living room. The moment she sensed I was approaching, she would slip away.
But I refused to give up. I had promised myself I wouldn't.
That afternoon, I finally found her in the small library. She was sitting on the floor, a book in her hands, though it was clear she wasn't really reading. Her eyes were fixed on a page, distant, as if lost in a memory.
"Ericka," I called softly.
She didn't look up. Didn't even acknowledge me. I took a careful step closer. "Can we talk?"
"I'm busy," she replied coldly.
"I just want to know if you're… okay," I said gently.
She glared at me, irritation flickering across her face. "And what business is that of yours if I'm not okay? Can you do anything about it? You're not my mother. So please… stay out of my problems." She stood, ready to pass by me.
For reasons I couldn't explain, I reached out, holding her, and then—before I could stop myself—I hugged her.
She stiffened in surprise. I felt it too—a jolt of shock at my own impulsive action. All I wanted was to comfort her, in whatever way I could.
She pushed at first. "Let go," she said firmly.
"No," I murmured. "Just for a moment. Let me."
My voice shook, though I didn't know why—maybe because I could feel the weight of her pain. Maybe because, even angry, I could sense how hurt she still was.
Slowly, her resistance weakened. She didn't hug me back, but she didn't pull away either. It was as if a part of her wanted this, too.
"I won't leave you," I whispered. "Even if you push me away a hundred times."
She didn't answer. She didn't nod. But I felt it—a single tear slid down my shoulder before she finally pushed me away and hurried out of the library.
---
That evening, Kerill told me to get ready—we were going to his family's mansion. It was his parents' anniversary, though I learned his mother had passed long ago, so I wouldn't meet her. Still, my nerves were impossible to shake. I knew exactly who would be there and the kind of people they were. My stomach fluttered, a mix of anticipation and dread.
Kerill had chosen my outfit: a simple, elegant black gown. I had no idea how much it cost, but it looked expensive—just like him. My throat tightened several times as we arrived at the mansion. My heart hammered as I stepped out of the car.
Kerill greeted me outside, looking impossibly sharp in a black tuxedo, tailored perfectly to his frame. The combination of his posture, the charisma he carried, and the Wang family aura made him impossible to ignore.
"Ready? Brace yourself. Don't embarrass me in front of them," he said.
I just raised an eyebrow. "Thanks for the vote of confidence," I said with a small, sarcastic smile.
He took my hand and rested it on his arm. My palms were sweating.
Inside the mansion, all eyes seemed to turn toward us. Whispers floated around. Kerill looked unfazed, but I felt every stare.
He introduced me to his grandfather first—a sharp-eyed man with a straight back, despite his age.
"Mr. Win, this is Charlene," Kerill said.
The old man studied me from head to toe, as though scanning every detail of my being.
"So this is the contract wife," he said plainly.
I felt a chill pass through me, though I didn't know why.
"Hello," I said politely.
"I didn't expect you'd take my words seriously, Kerill. You've surprised me, kiddo," the old man continued.
Huh? What words?
"Don't mind him," Kerill said, leading me forward.
Another elderly man approached—immediately familiar from the photos Kerill had shown me. This was Winito Wang, Kerill's father.
"Welcome to the family, dear," he said, smiling broadly. His smile was genuine, which gave me a little relief.
"Thank you, sir," I replied.
"Please, call me Dad. You're part of the family now, aren't you?" he added warmly.
I forced a small smile and a nod, unsure what to say.
The party began in earnest, and I eagerly anticipated the food. As expected, the table groaned under an array of unfamiliar dishes.
"Make yourself at home, Charlene," his father encouraged.
"Thank you, Dad," I said politely.
I sat at the long, wide table, the candlelight casting a soft glow. It was undeniably an extravagant gathering. I struggled a little in the dress, but that didn't stop me from eating. Before I knew it, my plate was empty.
"Relax. No one's going to steal your food," Kerill whispered.
Only then did I notice the other guests were staring. I felt exposed. I didn't know these people personally, but I knew they were family or business partners. Every gesture, every word, seemed scrutinized. How I interacted with Kerill, how I spoke—it all felt under a magnifying glass.
A fresh wave of nervousness tightened around my chest.