This house was full of my traces, but nothing of Charlotte’s. She had barely come home all year and I’d always believed she was abroad working hard for the company. Turns out, she’d been abroad giving birth to Eric’s child—after first getting rid of mine.
I sank into the couch, trembling all over.
Three years ago, when she started her business, she didn’t even have a proper office. I quit my stable job to help her run operations and negotiate deals, staying up countless nights drafting proposals.
When she said cash flow was tight, I mortgaged the house my parents left me. When she had to attend business dinners, I went in her place and drank until my stomach bled.
Then I heard the sound of the door unlocking.
Charlotte stepped in, changed her shoes and walked over. Her brows furrowed when she saw me slumped on the couch.
“Are you just lying around all day?” she asked flatly.
“Too hurt, to move," I muttered.
She glanced at me briefly, not even noticing the faint bloodstain on the couch.