The scene before him was like a replay of the day he transferred Janet to work as his secretary.
Janice. Seeing that face — the one he could picture even with his eyes closed — his heart suddenly raced. Every ti he gave up searching for her, she would suddenly reappear in his life just like this.
Janice... it had to be Janet, right?
Charles pulled the sheet from the stack of papers with one hand, and under Novia’s surprised gaze, tore it to pieces.
"Handle it as we discussed. I need a secretary who’s efficient," he said, his handso face briefly flashing a restrained joy that vanished in an instant. Charles tossed the shredded paper rcilessly into the trash.
He admitted to himself he still loved her. But forgiveness? That was out of the question.
How could she be so selfish — disappearing from his life without a word, then suddenly returning as if she could co and go at will? Charles wasn’t soone she could call at her convenience. He had pride, self-respect, limits — all of which he’d thrown away for Janet. But in the end, what did he get?
Only her distrust and deceit.
Novia looked at Charles’s reaction with surprise. She had already seen the files and naturally knew Janice was Janet — the Janet he had been searching for all along. She had expected Charles to imdiately call Janet to his side, but instead, he seed indifferent.
"Yes, understood," Novia nodded and left calmly.
But before she reached the office door, a hesitant voice ca from behind her: "Wait..."
"When did those people join the company?" Charles asked, struggling with his own hesitation. Although it was confird Janet had returned and rejoined Black Rock Co., how much courage did it take for him to pretend not to notice her?
"They were just approved today and will officially start tomorrow," Novia replied steadily.
Charles waved her off. Novia understood and left, leaving Charles alone in the cold office, sinking deep into mories.
So many mories filled this room. Here, for the first ti, he had removed the glasses from her face. That clean, simple, beautiful face had been carved deep into his heart. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t forget.
Janice — she had reappeared, but in this way.
His heart was torn between resistance and anticipation — desperate to see her once more, yet afraid to see a stranger in her place.
Why had she vanished without a word? Why abandon the daughter she’d always cherished? He couldn’t comprehend her reasons for disappearing.
He spent the entire day distracted. After work, Charles received a call from Shaun: Angela had brought Trista back to their ho and asked Charles to co get her.
Driving into a fragrant garden estate, Charles spotted from afar two children happily playing on a broad lawn outside the villa’s courtyard.
Trista had just turned one and learned to walk. Led by Callum, clutching a pinwheel, she toddled in small circles on the grass. Her delicate face was pale, but as she grew, her features sharpened, and Janet’s shadow was clearly visible in her.
Although Charles usually paid little attention to Trista, the natural bond between father and daughter was undeniable. From a distance, the little girl spotted Charles’s figure and waved her tiny arms, babbling, "Da-da... Da-da..."
"Oh, little Trista’s so good, she sees her daddy!" Angela, who was feeding the kids fruit, noticed Trista pointing behind her. Turning around, she saw Charles walking toward them and quickly scooped Trista into her arms just as Charles reached them.
"Thank you," Charles said with a hint of apology as he took Trista from Angela. His hold was a bit stiff, but his heart softened more and more. Since birth, Charles had held Trista fewer tis than he could count on one hand. Now, holding her and slling the faint scent of milk, hearing her small words co out, a fatherly joy quietly touched him.
"Don’t be so polite. I’m not doing this for you — it’s for our Callum!" Angela ruffled the hair of the boy trailing behind. Callum’s eyes lit up, still clutching the pacifier Trista had been sucking, and he hugged Charles’s leg reluctantly. "Uncle, let Trista stay at our house!"
Although Callum saw Trista like a beloved little sister, Angela never kept her there too long. Both she and Shaun knew Trista was Charles’s only hope now — even if he didn’t love her, he couldn’t live without her.
"Callum, you can’t hang around with your sister all day. Trista might get tired of you. Let uncle take her ho. In a few days, mommy will bring you to see Trista!" Angela imdiately stopped Callum. The little boy pouted, unhappy but finally let go of Charles. Sensing Callum’s disappointnt, Charles crouched down and said, "Trista’s birthday is coming soon. How about we arrange a child betrothal for you two?"
Charles smiled faintly. In just a few days, Trista would turn one year old. Suddenly, he realized he had never officially introduced his little princess to the world. Although he watched her grow, he still felt he owed her. Compared to Shaun’s love for his daughter, Charles’s care wasn’t even one-tenth.
"Okay! When I grow up, I’ll marry Trista! Daddy and uncle both said it’s okay! Trista will be my bride!" Callum declared possessively, full of youthful bravado much like Shaun. Charles nodded, while Callum happily hugged Angela, beaming.
"What if they don’t get along when they grow up?" Angela’s mind flashed with a scary thought. Both she and Shaun hoped Trista would beco part of their family, but matters of the heart couldn’t be forced.
Though Callum liked Trista now, she was just a baby, barely able to talk. They had to consider her future.
"Then we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. But I believe that day will never co," Charles replied with a kiss-like gesture. His smile carried either trust in Callum or certainty in Trista — perhaps both. It hinted at a gentle yet unwavering authority.
Trista was always well-behaved, never crying or fussing during the ride. Charles placed her in the front passenger seat and buckled her in. The little girl gazed up at him with big, beautiful eyes. Maybe because she carried his blood, she felt no fear of his coldness; instead, she grew closer to him. Like Janet, Trista adored the scent of Dior that clung to him.
"Trista, if your mother cos back, will we forgive her?" Charles drove ho, carried Trista into her pink nursery, held her tiny hand, and asked seriously.
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