The Illegitimate Flame: Bride of Ashes
Chapter 69- I hate women

Chapter 69: Chapter 69- I hate women

"What about your car?" Janet glanced at Charles, who was driving the small red sports car. Somehow, it looked a bit funny seeing such a tall, handsome man behind the wheel of something so compact.

"Left it at the company." Charles gave Janet a quick sideways glance with a faint smile at the corner of his mouth, answering calmly. He didn’t ask why Peggy’s car was in her hands.

The tense silence made Janet feel a little breathless. Charles focused solely on driving, not saying another word, but a faint haze of gloom seemed to settle over his sharply sculpted face.

When they arrived back at the villa, Auntie Fang had already prepared dinner on the table. Janet watched his reactions — still so distant, neither cold nor warm. He cared for her deeply, reminding her not to wash the dishes lest her injured hand get infected. Yet, he wouldn’t spare her more than a passing glance. Janet disliked this push-and-pull feeling.

After dinner, Charles stayed in the study. When Janet finished her shower and came out, he still hadn’t returned to the bedroom. She had thought about sleeping separately tonight, but when he truly didn’t come back, she felt a sudden emptiness.

Janet didn’t know what was wrong with him all of a sudden. Everything had seemed fine at work earlier. Could it be Harold’s situation troubling him?

But she hadn’t asked for his help.

The swirling confusion gave Janet a headache. She hated feeling this way — sensing his emotions but not being able to reach them. It made her feel unsafe.

Determined, Janet brewed some coffee and walked into the study without knocking. The only light came from a dim desk lamp, but she immediately noticed a strong scent of smoke.

She had never seen him smoke before. Those long slender fingers of his rarely touched anything like that. So why was he so heavy-hearted tonight?

"Charles, what’s wrong?" Janet put down the cup in her hand and walked behind him. Charles stood facing the bookshelf, his back to her. Between his lowered fingers glowed the ember of a cigar, flickering like tiny stars. He didn’t actually like smoking — he just liked the haze it created, the smoky atmosphere that somehow helped clear his clouded mind.

Janet wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. Her soft, freshly bathed body pressed against his back, and he felt his blood surge through his veins.

Before leaving work, Giles had given Charles the results of the investigation he had ordered on Janet. Charles was shocked.

Before she was nine, Janet’s name had been Janice. She had lived with her mother Cornelia at a resort in the outskirts. That woman — Charles remembered her clearly — was the little girl he had accidentally knocked down ten years ago. That girl was Janet.

He recalled Cornelia’s face vividly. After Janet had fallen, Cornelia had looked at Charles with a mixture of worry and blame, softly calling her daughter "Janice."

When Giles showed him the photos of Janet and her mother, Charles immediately recognized Cornelia. And the little girl in the picture was the Janet of ten years later.

Those eyes, so bright and clear in his memory, matched perfectly. When Charles realized that the Janet before him was the same girl from his past, he was filled with joy — the woman he loved had always been her.

If this news brought him joy, another revelation stirred deep anger.

Ten years ago, a terrible fire had claimed Cornelia’s life. That was why Janet was taken into the Louis family. Giles had hired a professional detective who confirmed that the fire was not an accident — it had been deliberately set.

Anila and her daughter, the pair who had bought the original arsonist from overseas, were implicated in the plot. Cornelia was Harold’s woman on the side, and Anila, filled with hatred, was behind the cruel act that burned Cornelia alive.

Cornelia died a tragic death—her face was unrecognizable, burned beyond recognition. Janet herself had suffered a serious head injury from a falling block and spent a long time recovering before returning to the Louis family. And even after that, the mother and daughter pair continued to mistreat Janet in subtle ways.

For a full ten years, it was hard to imagine a nine-year-old girl witnessing her mother’s death and swallowing her pain silently, enduring all that suffering.

Only after meeting him did she begin to transform bit by bit. If not for his firm insistence, she would still be that rigid, insecure woman he saw at first—hiding her beauty behind a wall of doubt.

She had endured too much hardship. From now on, he vowed to take responsibility for her life. He swore he would never let her suffer another moment of injustice. Yet, there were truths she deserved to know, but Charles wasn’t sure if he should reveal them now. Looking into her pure, untainted eyes, all he wanted was to shield her with his wings and weave a fairy tale world free from pain.

His Janet was kind and innocent. She shouldn’t have to bear the weight of those filthy, scheming women’s grudges. He refused to let her pure heart be stained by hatred. She was his — and so her enemies should be his to face.

"Janet, my Janet..." Charles turned around and pulled her into a fierce embrace, so tight and so earnest that Janet nearly couldn’t breathe.

The scent of tobacco was unfamiliar to her, filling her nose. She responded by wrapping her arms around his neck, soothing his raging heart. "Mmm, Charles, I’m here."

"I love you, Janet. I love you!" Charles buried his head in her fragrant shoulder, his lips pressing against her fair skin, leaving his mark—an imprint that would never fade.

Charles was not a man given to sweet words. Yet now, holding her, he spoke those words of love. Janet’s heart trembled as she returned his embrace. She sensed his turmoil deeply, felt the fierce love he carried. There was nothing she could do but hold him tightly in return.

The night was silent and still. Moonlight, soft as silk, filtered through the blinds and fell upon the entwined couple—a tender moment frozen in time, broken only by the steady beating of two hearts.

Manfred heard the noise outside the door and stepped out, shirtless. He saw August stumbling in, his face flushed red. When August caught sight of the moving figure, he staggered forward and clung to Manfred.

"Why are you drinking?" Manfred frowned deeply, his face darkening as he carefully guided the unsteady man into the bedroom, handling him with surprising gentleness.

"Manfred, I hate women. I hate Peggy. I hate them all!" August slurred, his consciousness blurry. Normally, with Manfred watching over him, he never had a chance to get drunk. But tonight, that annoying girl had relentlessly bothered him, so he drank more than usual to vent. Then, when Peggy reached out to steady him, whether because of the alcohol or her touch, he suddenly vomited.

Peggy felt hurt by his rejection but still tried to see him home, only to be refused again.