Chapter 166: Was He Wrong All Along?

Kristoff’s eyes darkened, a storm gathering behind them, as though it had been waiting for the slightest excuse to break loose.

"Owen," he said, his voice cold enough to frost glass. "Arrange for Lucinda to work as a maid in my parents’ house. Then investigate Charlotte."

He paused, his gaze turning even sharper.

"I want everything. From the day she was born until now."

Owen blinked.

...Everything?

He scratched the back of his head, trying to process the order.

Did the Boss hit his head on the way here?

Charlotte wasn’t some random stranger. She was his childhood sweetheart. They’d practically grown up together—same grade school, same high school, same college. If there was anyone who should know Charlotte’s life story, it was Kristoff.

What’s next? Investigate whether she cried when she lost her first tooth? Find out what brand of milk she drank as a toddler?

Either the Boss had suddenly developed trust issues... or something had happened that Owen definitely didn’t know about.

He wisely chose not to ask.

Experience had taught him that curiosity around Kristoff was an excellent way to shorten one’s lifespan.

"On it, Boss."

With a respectful nod, Owen ushered the former nanny out of the office, deciding that whatever mystery had turned his boss into a one-man detective agency, he was better off staying out of it.

He left with the Lucinda still wondering what was wrong with his boss.

Kristoff stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows, his gaze fixed on the glittering skyline. Below, millions of headlights flowed through Novare like rivers of light, but he wasn’t seeing any of them.

His mind was somewhere else.

On Charlotte.

Had he been wrong about her all this time?

He closed his eyes, letting old memories surface.

The Charlotte he knew had always been gentle.

He was two years older than her.

He remembered a rainy afternoon back in grade school when they found a shivering puppy curled up beside the school gate. While everyone else hurried home, Charlotte took off her pink Barbie jacket and wrapped the tiny animal in it. She had stood in the rain for nearly an hour until an animal rescue volunteer arrived.

She had caught a terrible cold the next day.

When she entered high school, nothing had changed.

She still carried extra lunchboxes because she knew some of their classmates couldn’t afford decent meals. Somehow, she always managed to make it look as though she couldn’t finish her own food, sparing them the embarrassment of accepting charity.

In college, whenever he buried himself in assignments or business competitions, she would quietly leave coffee on his desk with a handwritten note.

"Don’t skip meals again. You think better with a full stomach."

She never waited for him to thank her.

After becoming a model, fame hadn’t changed her either.

She spent hours signing autographs long after events had officially ended, refusing to leave until the last fan had gone home smiling.

Every Christmas and during her birthdays, she visited orphanages without inviting reporters, reading stories to the children, helping them decorate trees, and organizing fundraisers so they could have clothes and school supplies.

She never wanted credit.

She only wanted to help.

Then he remembered the accident.

His chest tightened.

He could still hear the deafening screech of twisting metal... still see the car barreling toward them.

Charlotte hadn’t hesitated.

She had thrown herself over him, shielding him with her own body.

She had taken the worst of the impact.

The doctors had saved her life...

...but they couldn’t save her chance of ever becoming a mother.

For years, guilt had haunted him because of that sacrifice.

How could someone who had risked everything to save him...

...be the same woman Lucinda described?

His thoughts drifted to Alexander.

He could still see his son’s tiny face turning purple after he kicked the teddy bear that had nearly suffocated him.

Fear squeezed his chest all over again.

...

But memories were often selective.

People remembered the version of someone they had been allowed to see.

And Charlotte had always been exceptionally good at deciding which version of herself the world would witness.

Before Kristoff...

She was warmth wrapped in a gentle smile. Thoughtful. Patient. Kind.

She knew exactly when to lower her voice, when to offer comfort, when to let tears gather in her eyes.

Every gesture was effortless, every expression perfectly timed, until even the most suspicious person would find nothing to question.

Kristoff had fallen in love with that Charlotte.

Unfortunately...

That wasn’t the whole Charlotte.

The moment she was certain no one was watching, the sweetness would vanish as though someone had flipped a switch.

One afternoon, a dirty little puppy wandered through the gates of the Harris residence, its tail wagging innocently as it searched for scraps of food.

Charlotte looked down at it with open disgust.

"Filthy thing."

Without a trace of hesitation, she drove the heel of her shoe into its tiny body.

The puppy let out a heartbreaking yelp before tumbling across the stone pathway.

It struggled to its feet and fled through the gate, whimpering all the way.

Charlotte merely brushed imaginary dust from her skirt before walking inside as though nothing had happened.

No one had seen.

Or so she believed.

There had been another close call years earlier.

Back then, she had been waiting outside Kristoff’s classroom after school.

A skinny orange kitten wandered over, rubbing affectionately against her ankles while letting out soft, hopeful meows.

Charlotte frowned.

"Go away."

The kitten only meowed louder.

The sound grated on her nerves.

With an irritated click of her tongue, she bent down, grabbed the tiny animal by the scruff of its neck, and flung it toward a garbage bin several feet away.

The frightened kitten cried out as it landed beside the overflowing trash.

"What are you doing?"

Kristoff’s voice rang out behind her.

Charlotte froze.

For the briefest moment, panic flashed across her face.

Then it disappeared.

Almost instantly, she switched masks.

She secretly scraped her fingernail across the back of her own hand, leaving thin red marks. By the time she turned around, tears already shimmered in her eyes.

"Kris..."

Her voice trembled.

"The kitten scratched me."

She sniffled and lifted her hand for him to see.

"It startled me... I—I accidentally threw it."

Kristoff’s expression softened immediately.

"Let me see."

He gently took her hand, his brows knitting together with concern as he examined the fresh scratches.

"They’re bleeding."

Charlotte lowered her head, hiding the faint smile threatening to curl at the corners of her lips.

The lie had worked.

Just as it always did.