CHAPTER 8: The Daughter He Underestimated
Charles walked to Emily at last.
He did not ask whether she could stand. He knew pride could keep a woman upright longer than pain.
Instead, he crouched beside her, careful of the broken glass, and studied the bruise on her cheek.
His expression did not soften much, but something in it changed enough for Emily to feel it.
When she was twelve, she fell from a horse and Charles had flown home from Zurich that same night.
When she was twenty-two and heartbroken, he sent flowers and a driver instead of coming himself.
He had always loved her in the language of control, protection, and late correction.
Tonight he was finally here in person.
“Can you stand?” he asked.
Emily nodded.
He offered his hand. She took it and rose slowly, silk dress brushing the marble, phone still in her grasp, wedding ring still fixed on the finger Mark once promised to honor.
Standing again hurt.
Standing again also felt like evidence.
