Chapter 7: The Real Home

Alexander's POV:

I couldn't stay there for another minute. The mere thought of this transaction-filled marriage involuntarily filled me with irritation.

The Porsche seemed to understand my urgency, hugging the curves of San Francisco's steep streets as I descended from Nob Hill. Everything gradually receded in my rearview mirror, as if this brief escape could help me flee from all this unpleasantness.

Charlotte Cole. No, now she was Charlotte Kingsley. I had been forced into a bond with her, and this thought made me unconsciously clench my jaw. But recall the look she gave me as I left, I couldn't calm down for a long time. When she confronted me about her family's company, the fire in her eyes didn't seem fake. I wondered how much truth there was in what she said.

My headlights swept across the driveway of my Marin County residence—my true home, filled with clean lines and technology, unlike the oppressive antiques and traditions of the Nob Hill mansion. But as the beams illuminated my front door, I seemed to see an unexpected figure—Karen.

I'd heard she had thrown a fit at home when she learned about my wedding. Her father, fearing she might cause a scene at the ceremony, had locked her up, only releasing her after the wedding was completed.

She sat slumped at my doorstep, holding a half-empty bottle of wine in her manicured fingers, with several empty bottles scattered around her.

I parked and approached, frowning as I spoke, my voice colder than I had intended.

"What are you doing here?"

Her head snapped up, her eyes bloodshot and unfocused. Before she spoke, tears were already streaming down her face, carving tracks through her perfect makeup.

"Why, Alexander? Why her?" Her voice was filled with anguish, yet I felt no sympathy. "Why did you marry her?"

I remained silent, watching as she struggled to form words through her sobs.

"Alexander, please tell me." Her voice was now barely audible. She looked exhausted, as if the act of crying had drained all her energy. In my memory, the Barrett heiress was always elegant and composed at social gatherings. This was the first time I had seen her so undone.

"You're drunk," I stated flatly.

"I'm not!" Her voice suddenly rose. "I've loved you for fifteen years, Alexander. Fifteen years. I've been by your side longer than any other woman. I thought... when you finally decided to marry, it would be me." Her voice broke. "Is it because she's younger? "

Seeing that it had started to drizzle outside, I sighed and bent down to lift her from the cold concrete. As I placed her on the living room sofa, she continued speaking through choked sobs. "Tell me why you married her. You can't possibly love her."

"Sleep it off and leave," I replied coldly, maintaining my distance without answering her question.

"No!" The intensity in her voice surprised me. "You're avoiding the question because I'm right. If you loved her, you wouldn't be here on your wedding night. If you loved her, you would have brought her to this house instead of leaving her at the mansion."

I ignored her and turned to leave, but she continued to loudly accuse me of retreating.

"I've known you for fifteen years, Alexander. I understand you. The woman who gets to live in your Marin County home is the one you truly accept." Her voice carried resentment and anger. "That woman is me, isn't it? But why marry her? Who is she? Why is she coming between us?"

I realized she was completely drunk. Rubbing my temple, I picked up the phone to call the Barrett family.

"She's here, intoxicated. Come get her," I said curtly to the Barrett family assistant who answered.

"I won't go! I want to be with you," Karen protested, her voice rising in panic. "Alexander, let's run away together. Why? Why did you marry her?"

She continued crying until she was exhausted. When the Barrett family staff arrived, she refused to leave. I had to carry her to their car myself.

"Take care of her," I instructed them.

After sending Karen away, I entered my study with a throbbing headache and pulled out the files I had received from my father, the only reason I had agreed to this marriage. Page after page of information about "her," illuminated by the glow of my desk.

I wasn't sure if I had made the right decision. Marrying a stranger for these documents seemed extreme, even for me. But I had been searching for answers for so long...

I must find her.

The next morning, my phone wouldn't stop buzzing. Morris: Your father demands your immediate return. He's furious about your absence last night.

I ignored the message, deliberately slowing my pace as I showered and changed. Let him be angry. I had done what he asked—I had married the Cole girl. The terms of our arrangement didn't specify how I spent my time afterward.

Soon, another message came through: The situation is deteriorating. Mrs. Kingsley is making things difficult for your bride.

Victoria. I could imagine her sharp tongue and dismissive attitude toward Charlotte. My sister-in-law had never approved of anyone she deemed beneath the Kingsley status, and over the years, she had made it clear that she preferred Karen Barrett.

I had no obligation to rescue Charlotte from Victoria's cutting remarks. Marrying into the Kingsley family was her own choice, and she had to take responsibility for that choice, including accepting the family's difficult nature.

But for some reason, my hand hovered over my car keys. Something compelled me to grab them. Perhaps it was the memory of her defiant eyes when I threatened her family's company.

As I drove back to the city, I realized I had left my new bride to face the wolves alone on her first morning in the family. What I felt wasn't worry or concern, but merely... curiosity.

What would Charlotte Cole do when cornered? For some reason, I found myself unexpectedly eager to find out.