Charlotte’s POV:

As the car stopped, I eagerly called out, “Mom! Dad! We’re here!” My voice filled with a warmth I hadn’t felt in days.

Alexander followed closely behind me, carrying the expensive gifts he had insisted on bringing—limited edition wine and the latest tech gadgets. When I rushed forward to embrace my parents, I didn’t notice his expression, didn’t see how he observed my transformation.

Later, I would learn that he had been moved by how effortlessly I displayed genuine emotion with my family—something he had forgotten how to do in the cold, business-oriented environment of Silicon Valley’s elite circles.

Dad smiled broadly, saying, “Come in, the sun is too strong out here.”

Walking into my childhood home felt like stepping into another world. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the simple, cozy Scandinavian decor my mother had always favored. The walls were filled with family photos, and I noticed Alexander’s gaze lingering on several pictures of me with my brother Matthew.

I began recounting my carefully crafted tale of marital bliss. “You know, Mom and Dad, I’ve found marriage surprisingly freeing. I can sleep in as late as I want—Alexander never interferes with my schedule.”

I made sure my voice sounded light and happy, returning to the vibrant way of speaking I used at home but had suppressed in the Kingsley mansion. Alexander supported my performance with well-timed nods and smiles, though we both knew the truth: he had never spent a night in our marital chamber.

“How is Matthew doing?” Alexander politely inquired. “Has he adjusted to life in England?”

Mom smiled, “He’s doing very well. His school hasn’t started summer break yet.”

“I recall Charlotte mentioning he was interested in returning to the U.S. for university,” Alexander added.

I turned to him, feeling confused. When had I ever told him this?

“That’s right,” Mom replied, looking somewhat surprised. “But we believe the British education system has less pressure. American top universities are too competitive—we hope he can complete his studies in a more relaxed environment.”

I had almost forgotten that my parents had concealed my marriage from my brother. Matthew, only seventeen, was studying at a prestigious British boarding school, completely unaware that his sister was now married to one of Silicon Valley’s most powerful men. The thought made my chest tighten.

Mom noticed me staring at Alexander and smiled knowingly: “Charlotte, stop staring at Alexander. You’re at home now, you can look more at your father and me.”

“I wasn’t!” I protested, feeling my cheeks heat up involuntarily.

While my mother and I sat on the sofa, catching up and discussing trivial matters, Alexander was talking with my father about business affairs.

“Sir, I noticed you recently declined fifteen project proposals from Kingsley partners. Is Cole Technologies experiencing financial or technical difficulties? If you need support, you can tell me directly.”

Dad’s response was characteristically sincere. “That’s not it at all. Alexander, we all know the motives behind those fifteen proposals—they’re only interested in the Kingsley family’s influence, wanting to use me as a middleman. If I accepted, people would think I was profiting from my daughter’s marriage. I rejected these proposals firstly to show Silicon Valley that Cole Technologies doesn’t depend on Kingsley enterprises—we develop through our strength, not coveting resources that don’t belong to us. Secondly, I wanted to make it clear to your family that we won’t take advantage of this marriage, and I hope you will respect Charlotte and treat her as an equal.”

Alexander was silent for a moment, digesting this unexpected perspective. Then he asked the question that had been troubling him since our hastily arranged wedding: “You cherish Charlotte. Why did you ultimately agree to let her marry me? We had no emotional foundation, our age difference is obvious, and our social statuses are unequal.”

Dad looked at him curiously: “Hasn’t Charlotte told you the reason?”

Their conversation was interrupted by a servant’s voice: “Sir, lunch is ready!”

After several pleasant hours of conversation following lunch and coffee, it was time to leave. Standing at the door, I hugged my parents tightly, trying to memorize the feeling of home.

As our car drove away, I watched my parents’ figures through the side mirror, growing smaller with each passing second. My vision blurred, and I kept wiping my eyes, hoping Alexander wouldn’t notice.

Of course, he did. He did not comment, only accelerated slightly, quickly leaving the neighborhood. Not until my parents’ modern white building had completely disappeared from view did he slow down. I silently closed the window and took a deep breath.

Alexander turned slightly toward me: “Are you always this talkative at home?”

His question wasn’t accusatory, just curious.

“Not entirely,” I admitted. “Today was your first formal visit to my parents, and their first time seeing you as their son-in-law. As both daughter and wife, if I hadn’t constantly guided the conversation, things might have become awkward.”

I hesitated, then added: “By the way, thank you for how you behaved today.”

It was the first time since our marriage that I had sincerely thanked him for anything.

“I thought you didn’t believe everything I told you,” I continued, observing his profile.

“I’ll investigate for myself,” he answered simply.

I couldn’t help but smile slightly: “You could have just said so. I wouldn’t have wasted two hours explaining every detail, only to be thrown out of your room in the end.”

That evening, when we stepped into the grand foyer of the Kingsley mansion, our briefly established peaceful atmosphere was immediately shattered. Standing before that magnificent main living room was an uninvited guest—Karen Barrett.

Her presence was like a bucket of cold water. It immediately chased away my good mood. I leaned toward Alexander, lowering my voice: “You helped me today, and I believe in returning favors. Now it’s my turn to help you.”

I looked into his eyes, nodding slightly: “Watch me.”

Walking forward confidently, I greeted Richard with affectionate familiarity: “Dad, we’re back.”

Richard looked up, suddenly appearing tired: “I’m feeling somewhat exhausted, Charlotte. As the lady of this house, perhaps you could entertain our guest.”

His emphasis on “lady of this house” was not subtle. Karen’s expression visibly tightened.

“Of course, Dad. Let me first escort you back to your room to rest,” I respectfully suggested.

Richard waved dismissively: “No need. Morris will accompany me upstairs.”

After the elderly patriarch left with the butler, Karen turned her full attention to me, narrowing her eyes.

“Charlotte Cole,” she said sharply, “Alexander doesn’t love you.”

I maintained perfect composure, my smile unchanged: “I know.”

Then, turning to Alexander with a casual shrug, I added: “Richard has gone. You can take her away now.”

I started walking toward the stairs, but something made me stop and turn back. My gaze met Alexander’s deep, intense stare, and for a moment, some silent communication passed between us.