She turned around, folded the black coat she had just taken off, placed it on the sofa, and then, as if unconsciously trying to delay time, she tidied up the bag she brought back. Only after that did she open the door and slowly walked to that person’s room door.
The vermilion solid wood door, with a golden handle polished countless times to a shine, was now as smooth as a mirror, reflecting her current solemn expression.
Charlotte Smith gently reached out her hand and pushed the door open without difficulty.
The lighting inside the room was dim, with only an orange wall lamp on beside the bed. Charlotte saw the man leaning against the headboard, an open French book in his hand—a book she had found at an old library a few days ago.
She knew the preferences of this man, Robert Stephens wasn’t very interested in much, but he liked to skim through various kinds of books, and this interest of his had even influenced others...
Perhaps wanting to avoid punishment, she found herself easily distracted tonight, until the moment his gentle and soft gaze slowly focused on her, bringing her back to reality as she shivered and softly called out, "Teacher, I’m here." Follow current novels on 𝔫𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩·𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢·𝔫𝔢𝔱
Robert Stephens closed the book, placed it beside him, and took off the rimless glasses from his face, revealing a gentle yet aggressively youthful visage.
The man, at his most arrogant, when seated at a banquet, wouldn’t allow anyone within half a step of his side. Yet now, he seemed to have reined in all his vigor, making him seem as if he was a breath of spring breeze—friendly and gentle, yet one dared not meet his eyes.
However, she knew that from beginning to end, he hadn’t really changed; he had just learned how to deal deceitfully with the world.
"You returned too late."
She lowered her head, walked in, and stood a meter away from the man, her expression somewhat tense, though with her head down, no one could see it.
"Teacher, you called for me, is there something you need?"
Robert Stephens said blandly, "Is there something you haven’t told me yet?"
Charlotte pressed her lips together, thinking she could evade his attention by staying away for a day. Looking back now, it was incredibly naive.
His tone remained gentle: "Charlotte, once again you have done something unnecessary."
"I’m sorry, Teacher," Charlotte quickly apologized. "I just wanted to help you with the Second Young Master..."
"He didn’t appreciate it, did he?"
Charlotte bit her lip suddenly; she looked up to him, his youthful and handsome face wreathed in a smile that seemed like a fog—penetrating and mildly mocking.
"You’ve been by his side for so many years, yet unable to truly understand him, you’re lost in the situation, aren’t you?" He reached out and gently held Charlotte’s right hand. His body warmth was just like him, faintly temperate, slightly warmer than the winter air, but not warm enough to feel comforting.
Charlotte’s back stiffened; she was so frightened she was unable to be startled anymore.
"I can understand." Robert stated blandly, "After all, you almost married him back then. It’s normal that you can’t let go now."
Charlotte couldn’t help but say, "Teacher, I..."
Robert glanced at her, his eyes possessing the power to penetrate one’s soul, as if everything in this world couldn’t escape those dark eyes.
Charlotte couldn’t help but fall silent, though her pale lips trembled slightly, she didn’t have the courage to continue rebutting.