The Illegitimate Flame: Bride of Ashes
Chapter 169- She will

Chapter 169: Chapter 169- She will

Charles and Janet’s standoff lasted two days. Janet was stubborn, determined even in the face of consequences. Charles was always strict, but only before Janet had he ever compromised repeatedly.

"Charles, Reyn’s keeping an eye on things. It should be fine. If you want, I can go to Italy instead." Shaun understood Charles’s pain and dilemma. No matter what, he’d support him.

"No use. Janet’s made up her mind. If she won’t let me go, she definitely won’t let you." Charles knew Janet well. Beneath her gentle appearance was the same stubbornness as his. But this time, he wasn’t ready to give up—he was so close.

"And what about your decision? You’re really not going?" Shaun leaned against the stark white wall, one hand on Charles’s shoulder. The contrast was sharp, the hallway silent except for their voices.

"I don’t know." Charles lowered his head, hands covering his face. "My daughter... in my heart, she’s not more important than Janet. Every time I think of that child, I think of everything Janet’s suffered—how close she’s come to death. I don’t know how to love her properly..."

From down the hall, Brian’s low voice startled Charles.

"What do you mean?" he asked sharply, sensing the cold truth behind Brian’s words.

"Your daughter has been diagnosed with myocardial ischemia and infarction. She needs you—she’s your blood bank. Trista shares your rare RH-negative blood type, and since you’re her direct relative, your blood is the safest for her."

"How could this happen? Is she alright now?" Charles’s face stayed calm, but inside the storm roared. No matter how distant he’d been, hearing Trista was in danger tore at his heart. He didn’t care how much blood he had to give—he’d give it all if it meant keeping her safe.

"There’s no active bleeding at the moment, but you’d better stay close—she might need a transfusion at any time."

To ensure no risk was taken, the hospital had no stock of the extremely rare RH-negative blood. Only Charles could supply the blood needed to save Trista’s life.

"SHIT!"

Charles cursed under his breath, his clenched fist slamming violently against the wall behind him.

His proud figure vanished from sight, leaving a deep, crimson streak running down the pristine white wall...

"Janet, are you really sure about this?" Manfred’s voice carried a hint of doubt, a fragile uncertainty as he repeated the question to Janet, who sat quietly on the hospital bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Janet said nothing, but gave a firm nod—just as resolute as when she had once decided to leave Charles. Manfred knew he couldn’t change her mind; all he could do was accept it.

He had planned to find Charles again, but from a distance, he caught sight of the tall, imposing figure standing by the window. Wrapped in solitude and pride, Charles radiated an impenetrable aura of coldness. Manfred chose to avoid him and quietly took the elevator at the other end of the corridor.

Tonight would be yet another sleepless night.

"Can Trista sleep with me tonight?" Janet’s voice trembled as she broke the cold war that had lasted for days between her and Charles. She knew he’d been by her side all along, just unwilling to speak. She understood he had already compromised, but the anger still lingered.

Tomorrow, she would leave for Italy. Except for the day after Trista’s birth, when Charles had carried her briefly to the nursery, Janet hadn’t held or kissed her daughter yet. Even without seeing her, just feeling her presence would satisfy her.

"The doctor says Trista’s too fragile, being a premature baby. It’s not good for her to leave the incubator. Let me stay with you on this last night." Charles gently refused her request, though reluctantly he had agreed to let Manfred accompany her to Italy—for Trista’s sake, he had no other choice.

"Oh." Janet nodded, disappointed, but she tried to convince herself to trust him. She had to believe Trista would be fine—that was why she insisted Charles stay behind.

"Janet, I promise to stay and take care of Trista. But you must promise me one thing—you have to come back safely. After your surgery, I’ll bring Trista to meet you." Charles wrapped his arms around her from behind. In the vast, silent hospital room, the night was heavy with sorrow. His warm chest pressed against her, and Janet felt a sudden heat surge through her body. Tears quietly streamed down her cheeks.

"Yes... then I’ll finally see you both." She longed so deeply for the light—to see Trista and him—that her heart ached.

"Janet..." The hot tears fell on Charles’s hand, burning, stirring pain deep within his heart.

"Charles..." Janet whispered back. In this moment, silence spoke louder than words.

"Tomorrow, Manfred will come to get me. You stay here, alright?" Both were afraid to face the parting—Janet feared Charles’s sorrow, his reluctance, his inability to hold back. So she suggested this.

"Alright." This time, Charles answered Brian without hesitation. They still had a lifetime ahead to be together. This separation was only for their next reunion.

"Charles, thank you." Janet lifted her delicate face, a soft smile touching her lips. The gentle glow of the room lit her like a moon goddess, pure and radiant—an image that stirred his soul.

"And..." Her small hand, held gently in his palm, moved slightly. With slender fingers, she traced three words—stroke by stroke: I love you.

She had promised him that after giving birth to Trista, she would tell him those three words. Now, she had written them down—because she wanted to wait until she was fully recovered before saying them aloud.

Charles’s heart trembled violently. Her fingers traced the words slowly and clearly in his palm, carving them deep into his soul. He clasped her small hand in return and, with his other hand, wrote the same three words—the lifelong promise—on her palm.

The next morning, when Janet woke, the space beside her was empty. But his warmth lingered, and the faint scent of Dior still hung in the air.

She knew he had just left not long ago. When Shaun and Angela arrived, Charles still hadn’t shown up—because they had agreed last night that he wouldn’t see her off.

"Janet, let’s go." Angela and Samantha each linked an arm, gently guiding her downstairs. Shaun followed behind them, the last to step into the elevator.

When they got into the white Ferrari, Shaun slipped on his sunglasses. With a subtle "OK" gesture toward the hospital’s third floor, a silent understanding passed between him and Charles, who watched quietly from above.

As the white car disappeared into the crowd, Charles wiped the moisture from his eyes. He turned and walked toward the operating room—today was also the day their daughter needed emergency care.

His heart ached unbearably.

"At the airport, Janet, keep fighting. We’ll be here waiting for you!" Angela and Samantha’s tears flowed freely, while Shaun stood quietly behind them. They watched as Janet hugged, shook hands, and then parted ways.

"I will. Thank you, Samantha, Angela. Please take good care of Trista." Janet clutched the safety amulet Samantha had given her, filled with Angela’s and Samantha’s sincere blessings and encouragement.

"Don’t worry. When you come back, you’ll see a lively, bouncing daughter!" Angela smiled warmly.

Just then, Brian appeared, leading four men in black suits, walking steadily toward them.

"Janet, let’s go." Manfred lifted Janet from her wheelchair, nodded to Shaun and Brian behind him, and followed Reyn’s team toward the private boarding gate.

"Goodbye, Janet!" Samantha waved at their retreating backs. Soon, they disappeared from sight.

"She’ll be fine, won’t she?" Tearful, Samantha relaxed against the broad chest beside her. Brian pulled her close and firmly replied, "She will."

"With Reyn and Dr. Corrine there, she’ll be fine!" Shaun stepped forward, wrapping his arm around Angela. His words were meant for all four of them.

Soft laughter and quiet air flowed gently. The clouds scattered in the sky, and warm sunlight poured endlessly, illuminating every corner of the city.

Spring had arrived.

At the other end of the city, outside the operating room, a figure was pushed out. Charles looked down at the newborn life in his arms. A weak but satisfied smile spread across his handsome face. His large hands held those tiny ones—their blood flowed as one.

Janet, can you see? Our daughter is strong. So, you must be strong too.