The Illegitimate Flame: Bride of Ashes
Chapter 23- Was it you... that night?

Chapter 23: Chapter 23- Was it you... that night?

"What are you doing?" Janet glared at his retreating figure, irritated by how roughly he had pulled her outside. The cool summer breeze brushed past them, and a few fireflies flickered around, scattering tiny clusters of light in the dark.

"Janet, are you really Harold and Anila’s biological daughter?" Charles said with a single glance—it was clear to him she wasn’t welcomed in that family. And he was certain Elvira harbored deep hostility toward her.

"What does that mean?" Janet’s clear eyes met his, her dark pupils piercing in the night’s shadow.

"Nothing much. Just a message from Philip," Charles said, knowing exactly what she was asking. After all, wasn’t Harold marrying her off to the Elwin family just for the benefits?

To them, she was nothing more than a bargaining chip.

Janet shivered slightly. As Charles helped her into the car, she finally spoke softly, "I’m just Harold’s illegitimate daughter. That family... has nothing to do with me anymore."

Even after being raised there for ten years, it was time to settle the score. Seeing their greedy faces twisted with the favors Charles had given them, Janet felt no debt owed.

Her serene face was unusually composed, but hearing her words, Charles felt a strange pang of sympathy—illegitimate daughter...

Driving back to Snowpeak Villa, Charles rested one hand on the steering wheel, not rushing to get out. He turned to look at Janet’s fair, porcelain-like face. Her trembling eyelashes cast delicate shadows over her lids, and her slender figure was perfectly shaped. He took a steady breath and reached out—

"Thank you for today. I’ll go ahead," Janet said, about to open the car door and step out, but suddenly her arm was grabbed.

Before she could turn, a soft wave of Dior perfume enveloped her nose.

The gentle kiss was warm and tender, lacking his usual dominance and intensity. He nibbled slowly on her lips, his smooth, lilac-tinted tongue teasing hers. The more he tasted, the more he craved her scent.

Charles was never impulsive, but holding this soft, delicate body in his arms, all reason and restraint vanished. Janet’s mind went blank. That familiar scent and his unmistakable presence left her limp, paralyzed in his embrace, yielding to his desires.

What was meant to be just a taste soon awakened her body’s instinctive response. His agile fingers, eager and practiced, slipped beneath her clothes, skillfully cupping the softness of her chest. His fiery kiss traveled down her exquisite jawline to the slender curve of her neck, occasionally pressing harder, making Janet gasp. She wanted to stop him, but like that night before, her whole body refused to obey—though now, she wasn’t drugged!

Just as his commanding hand slipped under her skirt, Janet suddenly sat up and grabbed his hand. Her usually pale face was flushed with a fierce blush. "No... you can’t..." she whispered fiercely.

What were they doing? Their strong sense of morality and reason wouldn’t allow such ambiguous intimacy. The moment Janet stopped him, Charles muttered a frustrated curse under his breath and pulled away from her delicate body. Damn it—he had once again harbored dark thoughts about Philip’s woman, yet he couldn’t control himself.

Janet’s heart raced in panic. She hurriedly smoothed her clothes and, just as she opened the car door to get out, the memory of their closeness this time and that night’s passion hit her like a punch to the chest. Her voice caught in her throat as she blurted out, "Was it you... that night?"

She could smell the wildness in his scent—so much like that night’s feeling.

Charles heard her words and calmly straightened his suit, catching the tremor in her voice. But she didn’t turn around; her voice was so soft, it almost sounded like a trick of his imagination.

Janet’s hand shifted slightly on the car door, but after a moment, still no answer came.

"Don’t overthink it. Get some rest. Good night," Charles said suddenly, stepping close and kissing her cheek from behind. The light, fleeting touch of his lips sent a sharp, burning sting to Janet’s skin.

He watched her hurried retreat, brow furrowed in tired frustration. Then, glancing at the dim lights inside the villa, he steadied himself, opened the car door, and headed toward the main house.

"Lord Charles is back tonight, my lord!" the butler informed Derrick as Charles passed by the study and went straight upstairs to the master bedroom.

"He went to the Louis house today?" Derrick’s dark expression flickered with unease. He already knew the answer but couldn’t help asking with displeasure.

"Yes, they came back together. Young Master Philip knows, too," the butler replied, sensing Derrick’s discontent.

Normally, Charles wouldn’t return here unless Derrick called him. And now that he’d heard about Charles’s closeness with Janet—even with Philip’s consent—he still didn’t want Charles having too much contact with her.

That woman belonged only to Philip. Charles must not have her.

Janet walked quietly down the peaceful corridor, her mind quickly settling into calm. Passing Philip’s room, she recalled the checks and property deeds Charles had given to the Louis family—she knew Philip had instructed him to do so. Subconsciously, she felt she ought to thank him.

She knocked twice with no response. Pushing gently on the carved wooden door, she found it unlocked. When she stepped inside, Philip was nowhere to be seen. Puzzled, she glanced around until her eyes landed on the bathroom beyond the glass door, where dim light spilled out.

The soft sound of running water drifted from inside. Janet tilted her head and started to leave.

Just as her hand reached for the door handle, a heavy thud echoed from the bathroom, followed by a muffled groan of pain. Without hesitation, Janet pushed the glass door open and found Philip, his robe half-open, frowning deeply. His back was turned as he lay on the cold marble floor, stretching his hands toward a nearby wheelchair.

Their eyes suddenly met—hers wide with shock, his flashing with something unreadable. Janet rushed to his side, struggling to help him up.

"Philip, are you okay?" After several attempts, she managed to lift his tall frame into the wheelchair. She grabbed a towel to wipe the sweat from his face, but Philip turned away, taking the towel from her and drying himself.

He looked helpless—unable even to manage daily tasks, and Janet felt a pang seeing him so vulnerable.

"Push me out," Philip snapped, tossing the damp towel aside. He tried to maneuver the wheelchair himself but quickly gave up—the floor was slick with water spilling from the bathtub. His handsome face darkened with frustration; his sapphire eyes caught the chandelier’s reflection and took on a hint of sadness.

Understanding, Janet moved behind him and gently wheeled him out of the bathroom.

At that moment, the door opened—and whoever entered clearly froze at the sight of Janet...

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