Chapter 40

In the expansive dining room of Oscar’s villa, the morning light felt far too bright for the video Hannah was forced to watch. On the screen, Jane was seen supporting a swaying Charles as they entered a residential building. Despite the distance of the CCTV, there was no mistaking them.

Hannah’s grip tightened on the phone. As soon as the door to the apartment closed, the "gentle" Charles she had known for a decade vanished. He pinned Jane against the wall, kissing her with a frantic, raw hunger—a desperate eagerness Hannah had never seen in all their years of marriage.

It was sarcastic, really. For ten years, she had been a devoted wife, and for ten years, he had been a statue of propriety. It turned out he wasn't cold; he just didn't want her.

She didn't feel heartbreak—only a deep, settling disgust. She had already accepted that Charles was a creature of the gutter; this was just the visual confirmation.

Suddenly, the phone was snatched from her hand.

Hannah whirled around, her eyes flashing with irritation. "What are you doing? Give it back!"

"You're getting angry?" Oscar asked, raising a dark eyebrow as he looked down at her. "Does watching your fiancé devour another woman sting that much?"

"No," Hannah snapped, her voice cold. "I was just determining whether they actually went through with it."

"Miss Cooper, you clearly don't understand men," Oscar said, sliding the phone into his pocket. "A man doesn't stop when he's on the verge of that, unless..."

"Unless what?" Hannah challenged.

Oscar didn't finish the thought. Instead, he leaned against the table, his expression unreadable. "I’ve had it checked for you. They did. A hundred percent."

"I didn't ask you to check," Hannah said, her temper rising. She hated being led by the nose, especially by a man as unpredictable as Oscar Wells.

"So, what? You wanted to see Charles's naked body with your own eyes?" Oscar’s tone shifted from gentlemanly to roguish in a heartbeat. "Take my word for it: there's nothing on that man's body worth seeing."

Hannah rolled her eyes. Talking to Oscar was an exhausting exercise in navigating double meanings and arrogance. "Nothing good on his body? I suppose you think yours is a masterpiece?"

"It is," Oscar replied with absolute, maddening certainty. "Mine is significantly better."

Hannah opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. She couldn't exactly deny the facts; even in her anger, she knew Oscar had the kind of physique that belonged in a sculpture gallery.

"Miss Cooper," Oscar said, ignoring her silent fuming. "Aren't you afraid of being disowned? Your phone was screaming for mercy all night."

Panic flared in Hannah's chest. "Where is it?"

Oscar handed her the device. "It was making too much noise, so I turned it off."

"You did what?" Hannah hissed. Her parents would be frantic.

She powered it on, and the notifications flooded in like a tidal wave: twenty missed calls from her parents, several from Susan, and the most recent one—a call from Charles.

She ignored Charles and dialed Susan immediately.

"Hannah! If you didn't call in the next five minutes, I was calling a SWAT team!" Susan yelled the moment she picked up. "Did Oscar kidnap you? Tell me where you are, and I'll have him thrown in a hole!"

"I'm fine, Susan. I got drunk and crashed at Oscar’s place."

"You slept there?" Susan’s voice dropped an octave. "Did he...?"

"Nothing happened."

"He had you in his house, and he didn't do anything?" Susan sounded skeptical.

Hannah glanced at Oscar. Surprisingly, he had behaved himself. She wondered briefly if she was simply unattractive to men—Charles hadn't wanted her, and now even the "playboy of Kensbury" had passed on the opportunity. She shook the thought away; she didn't need a man’s validation. She needed their blood.

"Susan, listen to me," Hannah said, her voice dropping. "Tell my parents we both got wasted and I stayed at your place. Tell your family to back the story. And if Charles calls, give him the same lie."

"Hannah Cooper, you've changed," Susan remarked. "You're actually learning how to play the game."

"I'm not the one playing games, Susan. I'm just finally matching the stakes."

Hannah hung up and turned back to Oscar. He was leaning back, seemingly bored, tapping away at his own phone.

"Keep the video," Hannah said, her tone business-like.

"You don't want to use it yet?"

"No." Hannah’s eyes turned stone-cold. "I want to wait. I want to wait until Charles thinks he's reached the pinnacle of his life. I want to watch his face when I pull the rug out and send him screaming into hell."

Oscar stared at her. He couldn't reconcile this version of Hannah with the "soft, elegant" woman the city raved about. He thought back to her drunken ramblings from the night before: 'Charles, you killed my parents... you made me die with a grievance...'

Was it just a nightmare? Or did she know something she shouldn't?

"I'm leaving," Hannah announced, turning toward the door.

"Wait," Oscar’s voice trailed after her, tinged with a smirk. "Are you planning on walking out in my clothes?"

Hannah froze, realizing for the first time that she was draped in one of his oversized shirts. Her face heated up instantly.