Emily strutted away, leaving Charlotte behind in the biting wind that did little to cool her flushed cheeks.
She wasn't afraid that Emily would ruin her; she was afraid Emily would ruin Leo.
It wasn't about love. It was because Leo's influence and his obsession with control were the most vital links in her chain of revenge. She refused to let anyone break her most valuable pawn.
On the ride back, Charlotte stared out the window at the passing cars, her expression dark and unreadable. Scenes from the hospital kept playing on a loop in her mind.
In the VIP suite, while waiting for her grandmother's check-up, Charlotte had gone about her usual routine of tidying the bedside table. She picked up a bottle of medication, only to realize it was a high-end imported supplement she'd never seen before.
Her brow furrowed. She hadn't authorized the nursing staff to buy this.
Before she could dig deeper, a nurse called out from the doorway, "Miss Charlotte, the results are in. The doctor would like to see you in his office."
"It's not looking good," the doctor said, his voice flat as he looked over the charts. "There are early signs of a pulmonary infection. Given her age, standard treatment has less than a thirty percent chance of working."
"Are there any other options?" Charlotte's heart sank.
The doctor nodded, adjusting his glasses. "We've brought in the latest T-cell therapy from abroad. It's designed specifically for elderly patients to bypass the issues of chemotherapy. The success rate is closer to 70%."
"Including the imported targeted medicine... We're looking at a price tag of at least six million."
"Six million?" Charlotte's hands balled into fists beneath the table. How was she supposed to scrape that kind of cash together on such short notice?
Noticing her hesitation, the doctor spoke up in a soothing tone. "Actually, Miss Charlotte, you don't need to worry about the cost. Mr. Blackwood has already pulled some strings. The best specialists and resources are already in place. Moreover, he left specific instructions..."
The doctor pulled a check from an envelope. "He said that if your personal funds run low, this ten million will make sure her treatment doesn't skip a beat."
"Mr. Blackwood is very dedicated. He comes by personally every week to check on her vitals."
Charlotte felt a cold pit form in her stomach.
She stared at the check, Leo's cold face flashing through her mind. He never spoke of love, yet he used this suffocating net of power to bind her to him.
"Miss, we're here," the driver's voice jolted her back to reality.
Charlotte stepped out of the car and took in the elite private club. With a look of grim determination, she gripped the folder in her hand and walked inside.
Inside the Luxury Lounge.
Charlotte took a seat opposite Caleb. The scent of expensive sandalwood hung thick in the air. She cut straight to the point; she told him straight about her grandmother's condition and the six-million-dollar price tag for the treatment.
Caleb set his glass down with a fluid, effortless grace. He let the silence linger.
After a moment of silence, he finally spoke. "You're not one to ask for favors, especially not for money. Do you realize what accepting this sum means for you?"
Charlotte took a deep breath, her voice steady. "I do. Think of it as an advance against my future earnings, which I'll pay back in installments over the next five years. If I don't get enough work, I'm willing to work for you pro bono until the debt is cleared."
She didn't use tears or pleas. She faced him with a contract that was borderline suicidal. She was selling her future, not begging for a handout.
Caleb looked at her. There was no mockery in his eyes, no intent to exploit her desperation—only a restrained sense of admiration and a flicker of pain for her.
"You always have to make things so complicated," he sighed. He pulled out his fountain pen, signed his name on a check, and pushed her folder back to her. "Take the contract back. I don't need an indentured servant."
"As for the advance..." He paused, his tone turning incredibly soft, yet maintaining the clarity of a man in power. "Think of it as an investment, not a loan. I believe in your future value. Six million is just a number; you're worth the price. For the next two years, I want you to focus on one thing: completing the film I'm having custom-written for you."
"I..." Charlotte was at a loss for words.
Caleb smiled and handed her a glass of warm water. "You don't owe me a favor. You owe me a masterpiece that will go down in cinema history. Remember, what I need is your talent. That's the only thing you can use to pay me back."
Looking at the check and the calm man before her, she felt like she could finally breathe again. She realized for the first time that owing a favor to someone who respected her felt much lighter than owing money to someone who sought to control her.
"Since we're finished," Charlotte said, tucking the check away and moving to stand, "I'll get out of your hair."
"Wait."
Caleb's voice dropped to a low growl. Before Charlotte could react, he had rounded the table. His tall frame closed in, forcing the half-standing Charlotte back into the plush velvet seat.
"Caleb?" She instinctively shrank back, her spine pressing into the upholstery.
Caleb leaned over, bracing his hands on the back of the sofa on either side of her, trapping her in a tiny, dangerously intimate space. The air felt thin, saturated with the aroma of red wine and the chill of his agarwood cologne.
"Don't move."
Caleb slowly raised a hand, his long fingers reaching for the gold-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose.
Click.
The glasses were removed and tossed onto the marble tabletop with a sharp clatter.
Without his glasses, the warmth was gone. Those bedroom eyes—the ones that always seemed so gentle—were now stripped bare, revealing a dark vortex of raw hunger and possessiveness.
"Looking at you through these... I always felt there was a layer between us," Caleb said, his voice husky with a trace of a smile. "This is much clearer."
Charlotte's breathing hitched. This was the man's true face: an elegant hunter.
He reached out, his cool fingertips lightly brushing the corner of her eye, which was still faintly pink from the despair at the hospital and the tension of the moment.
"You didn't cry just now," Caleb murmured, his thumb grazing her damp lash line as gently as if he were touching fine porcelain. "But I can smell the desperation on you."
Charlotte stubbornly tried to turn her head away, but he caught her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye.
"Heh." Caleb let out a low chuckle that vibrated from his chest. "Charlotte, first rule of being my leading lady: no lying to me."
He leaned in closer, his nose nearly brushing hers. In his pupils, Charlotte could see her own reflection, trapped and small.