"Aren’t you afraid of me?" Philip’s husky voice carried the gentle stir of an ocean breeze. From this close, he could see just how flawless her pale, delicate face really was. Her long, curled lashes cast faint shadows on her cheeks, fluttering with each blink.
"Afraid of what?" Janet’s hands rested lightly on his stiff legs. She could feel the cold, unyielding hardness beneath the blanket—like two iron bars, completely devoid of warmth. But when she looked up into his deep blue eyes, the feeling of unfamiliarity between them seemed to fade. Maybe it was because they both carried a similar sadness—one that made her feel more pity than fear.
He must be in so much pain, she thought.
"I’m a cripple," Philip said quietly, watching for any flicker of discomfort on Janet’s calm face. But instead, her composure stirred something inside him, like a pebble dropped into still water.
"You’re my husband. I’ll take care of you," she said, more certain than ever. Now she finally understood what Derrick meant that morning when he told her to take good care of his son. Compared to the cold, calculating vibe from the Louis family, Philip felt gentle—almost kind. This was far better than she had imagined.
"You... you’d really be willing to be the wife of a man like me?" Philip stared at her in disbelief. She was the daughter of the Louis family—she could have had a better life. How could he have known that, in that house, even the servants were ranked higher than Janet?
"We’re already married," she replied, her clear eyes locking with his. Philip was stunned for a moment, then lowered his gaze, trying to suppress the strange stir of emotion in his chest. Gripping the armrests of his wheelchair, he rolled himself back a little.
"As my wife, the only thing I can give you... is the title of Mrs. Elwin."
"I don’t care about titles..." To her, that kind of privilege had always been out of reach. She never dreamed of marrying into wealth, never even dared to hope for it. What mattered more to her was something else entirely—their relationship.
"Then fulfill the duties of a wife," he said, turning his gaze away. He felt a flicker of something like hope. If he weren’t crippled—if he were whole—maybe he would cherish a girl like her. But reality was cruel. And with the heavy burden his brother Charles carried, he had no choice but to push her away.
Janet only half understood what he meant. Was he telling her to accept this relationship and stay by his side?
But if so... then why did he let that happen last night?
"I want to know... the man from last night..." Janet met his evasive eyes, struggling to understand his intentions. If he recognized her as his wife, why let another man touch her? That was humiliating—for both of them.
"You’ll understand eventually," Philip said. Truth was, he had his own reasons. Letting her stay by Charles’s side... part of him hoped she could bring happiness to his troubled younger brother. But if one day, Charles or August realized this woman was at the heart of the hatred that tore them apart... Philip would never allow her to remain between them.
"My father thinks I can live like a normal man. So last night—just treat it like a dream," he said softly.
Just as he finished speaking, Robert entered. He glanced briefly at Janet, still crouched on the carpet in a daze, then silently wheeled Philip out of the room.
The silence in the room stretched on. Janet only snapped out of her daze when a stiff ache crept into her legs. She moved to stand, but a sudden cramp shot through her calf, sending her collapsing back onto the thick carpet. The room wasn’t cold, yet a chill settled into her bones.
Was that what it had all been? A trick—just to throw Derrick off, just to escape his constant watch? A random man, used to take her innocence?
The thought hit her like a slap. Whatever warmth she’d begun to feel toward Philip instantly vanished. Her face turned pale, her fingers clenched the edge of her nightdress, teeth biting down hard on her lower lip in an attempt to stay grounded.
Pretend it was just a dream?
Even if she wanted to forget, how could she? Her most precious possession—her purity—had been taken by a man she didn’t even know. Was she supposed to cry?
A dull ache bloomed in her chest, but all she could do was curl up and hold herself tightly.
Back at the Elwin estate, after August’s car pulled away from the gate, the butler stepped into the study and reported to Derrick.
"My lord, Mrs. Janet has returned."
"Mmm. August brought her back?" Derrick’s sharp eyes had already seen everything through the skylight.
"Yes, sir," the butler replied, though he noticed Derrick’s brows tightening into a hard knot.
"Call Lord Charles. Tell him to keep an eye on that woman," Derrick said coldly.
Just the sight of August—his features so eerily similar to Norman’s—was enough to drag up the rage and resentment Derrick had buried for years. The woman he had once loved had been stolen from him, and that wound still festered. His fists clenched tightly behind his back.
No one steals from the Elwin family twice.
Not without paying the price.
If they wanted to play the game, he would lay the perfect trap—slow, calculated, and inescapable.
The next day, as Janet stepped into the company building, she immediately heard whispers among the female staff about the new general manager—August.
Apparently, lightning had struck twice. Two incredibly handsome, powerful men had shown up in their midst—both heart-stoppingly attractive, both VIPs in every sense. Even the women who usually just coasted through their nine-to-fives were suddenly working with unprecedented enthusiasm.
Charles, on the other hand, remained elusive. Even now that he’d returned to the public eye, he still carried an air of mystery that only deepened his allure.
"Janet, take these proposal files to Mr. August’s office."
It was Novia, striding up in sleek stilettos, a stack of documents in hand. "From now on, everything except final executive decisions goes through him. After he signs off, send them to the president. Got it?"
She gave Janet a once-over, clearly surprised. Gone was the ill-fitting suit Janet used to wear. Today, she was dressed in a chic, tailored outfit. Even the thick-rimmed glasses were gone, revealing a naturally beautiful face.
So that’s why Charles treats her differently, Novia thought, eyes narrowing slightly.
This woman... she really wasn’t like the others.
"Yes, I understand," Janet replied, flipping casually through the folders in her hands. They were all freshly signed contracts—important ones—and yet Charles had instructed her to send them to August first?
Taking the elevator up to the 55th floor, she walked directly toward August’s office. As she passed the hallway leading to his door, she happened to glance through the frosted glass panel. Just in time, she caught sight of his secretary handing him some documents. Their hands brushed—barely a graze—and yet Janet saw the young woman immediately retreat, flustered and clearly panicked.
August’s face darkened, cold and unreadable.
The word cut through the air like a blade.
The office door swung open just as Janet approached, and the secretary rushed out, eyes glossy with embarrassment. Janet stood frozen at the doorway, catching a clear view of August picking up a disinfectant wipe. He carefully, even methodically, began scrubbing the spot on his arm where the woman had touched him.
The look on his face? Disgust. Plain and unfiltered.