The Moment i let go my uncle 34

Chapter 34

Liam continued his assessment.

Zarek gazed at the woman on the screen–professional in a black suit, poised, confident, radiating an air of unshakable dignity.

He couldn’t help but recall the different versions of her he’d encountered.

Disheveled. Dejected. Broken. And today… desperately trying to make a good impression, then humiliated and fleeing.

A hint of regret stirred in his chest.

His words had been unnecessarily harsh.

***

Charlotte woke around nine in the evening and was cooking herself some pasta when her phone chimed.

A message from Liam Morgan.

Since she’d asked about his employer’s measurements, he hadn’t responded at all.

Now, suddenly, he’d sent a string of numbers.

Along with a note: “Mr. Weasley says you owe him a suit and thought you might need these details to make an appropriate selection.”

Charlotte stared at her phone in disbelief. “…???”

What did this mean?

What was he implying?

Had he… changed his mind? Was he giving her another chance?

The moment that thought occurred, she immediately dismissed it.

No, no–conceited thinking would only lead to more humiliation. There was another possibility: perhaps he worried she might use the suit as an excuse to contact him again, so he was setting boundaries preemptively. If she misinterpreted his intentions and showed up bearing a suit with a hopeful expression, she’d face more cutting

remarks.

She did want the job.

But not at the cost of her dignity.

Charlotte carefully replied, “Thanks, I’ve noted the measurements. I’ll purchase a replacement and have it delivered

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to you soon.”

Liam read the message and reported back to Zarek. “Ms. Whitmore says she’s noted the measurements and will mail you a replacement soon.”

Mail it?

Zarek, wearing white gold–rimmed glasses while reading a book, paused almost imperceptibly.

“Hmm.”

He made a noncommittal sound, his long, elegant fingers turning a page, seemingly unconcerned yet somehow disappointed.

“Should I…” Liam understood that his employer was trying to give Charlotte another opportunity. He felt sympathy for the young woman and ventured, “Perhaps I should clarify things for her?”

“If she’s not interested, we shouldn’t force it.”

“…” How do you know she’s not interested?

Liam found Zarek’s statement odd but decided against further comment.

The next day, Charlotte went shopping for the suit.

The moment she left home, a car began following her.

She visited several department stores around New York, carefully comparing fabrics and styles to find something similar to the smoke–gray suit.

After two hours of searching, her legs ached, but she still hadn’t found the right replacement.

It wasn’t that smoke–gray suits were rare, but his had clearly been custom–made by a master tailor–even Armani

couldn’t compare.

She sat on an outdoor bench, imagining his aristocratic, disdainful expression when receiving her inferior replacement…

“…Ugh, whatever.”

Who cared if he liked it or not? The last thing she needed was to obsess over pleasing another arrogant man.

After a short rest, she marched decisively into a store she’d visited earlier and selected a smoke–gray suit with similar material and color. While the sales assistant was retrieving his size, she remarked admiringly, “Your husband must have an amazing physique. Is he a model?”

A model?

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Ha. Mr. Weasley would probably consider that an insult to his blue–blooded lineage.

Charlotte left the store with her purchase and immediately texted Liam for a shipping address.

As she focused on her phone, someone lurking nearby snapped photos of her and sent them to Issac.

At that moment, Issac had just returned to his office after a meeting

That silhouette at the golf course yesterday continued to haunt him. It had looked so much like Charlotte.

And there had been a man with her.

The very thought made his blood boil. He could have his little dalliances and diversions–that was his right as a man of his position. But Charlotte? She belonged to him completely. If another man so much as touched her fingertip, Issac would personally flay them alive and break every bone in their body.

In his mind, Charlotte was his private property, not a separate person with her own desires.

She existed to be with him forever, to love only him, to see only him.

When the time came for him to die, he fully intended to drag her into his coffin with him.

No man would have her after him–not even in death.

That’s why he’d had her followed the moment suspicion arose.

Just as he sat down, he received photos from his spy. Charlotte had gone out, spent three hours shopping, and finally bought a men’s suit before returning home.

Issac’s face lit up with smug satisfaction.

So she was buying clothes for him. His little rebellious wife had finally come to her senses and gotten over her childish tantrum. This explained everything–she’d spent hours meticulously selecting the perfect suit for him, just as a devoted wife should.

That’s more like it. She was finally remembering her place. Being his dutiful, adoring wife was the role she was born to play–the only role he would permit her to have.

*****

Charlotte had planned to mail the suit immediately after leaving the store.

But with no response to her message asking for an address, she had no choice but to take it home.

She tossed the shopping bag onto the living room sofa and went upstairs to shower.

She spent the afternoon packing the last of her small belongings.

Eight days left.

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Looking around the home she’d lived in for years, a wave of melancholy washed over her.

This house had been designed according to her vision of home. She had selected every item in it, even leaving space

for a nursery.

She had been in it for the long haul, and now she was jumping ship midway.

While cleaning out the bottom drawer of her desk–one she hadn’t opened in ages–she found an old USB drive in

the corner.

Curious, she plugged it into her computer and discovered photos of her and Issac from high school and college. He had been so fresh–faced and handsome back then.

She scrolled through the youthful images, laughing and crying, transported back in time…

Suddenly, she felt an overwhelming urge to revisit those memories.

To properly say goodbye to the Issac she once knew.

Evening fell.

Issac came home for dinner, a rare occurrence.

Charlotte hadn’t cooked for him.

She had no intention of doing so. Instead, she practically threw at him a frozen lasagna that had probably expired

over a year ago.

Mr. CEO: “…”

“Or you could just eat out,” she suggested with thinly veiled contempt. You prefer everything outside anyway–other women, other beds. Even other people’s shit probably tastes better to you than anything at home.

“…!”

Was she trying to drive him away?

Issac’s good mood plummeted to freezing point. How dare she? After he’d deigned to come home to her? “Other men’s wives prepare hot meals waiting for their husbands. You’re giving me frozen garbage?”

Charlotte: Not putting rat poison in your lasagna is the last act of mercy you’ll get from me.

She couldn’t be bothered to argue. “There’s one portion of creamy risotto. I was going to eat it myself, but you can have it,” she offered with complete indifference.

Now Issac was truly angry. “…Have you forgotten I’m allergic to dairy?”

Charlotte smacked her forehead in mock surprise. “Oh, silly me! I completely forgot. Guess that means you’re

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cooking for yourself tonight. Welcome to my world.”

Issac’s face turned to ice. The audacity of this woman! After he’d generously allowed her the privilege of being his wife, after he’d given her everything–this was how she repaid his benevolence? With blatant disrespect? He stared at her with stony silence before stalking out of the kitchen and heading upstairs.

Charlotte took her creamy risotto to the dining room, found a comedy show, and ate while watching, relishing the quiet satisfaction of getting under his skin.

Issac sat alone in his study, seething.

The woman who had spent three hours carefully selecting a suit for him that morning now greeted him with this cold hostility?

Even if he hadn’t warned her he’d be home for dinner, she should have immediately gone out to buy groceries and cook! That was her job as his wife–to anticipate his needs and fulfill them without question. He provided her with wealth and status; her duty was to serve him.