Farewell To My Endless Love

Scarlett's POV:

That evening, just when I was about to go to bed, I got a call from Abner.

"Scarlett, guess what I just saw? Rita was alone in the bar, drinking. She did not seem like she had terminal cancer at all!"

"Maybe the doctor had forbidden her from eating delicious food or drinking wine for a long time now, and that's probably the reason she was at the bar, having a binge." I didn't think too much of it. "But she doesn't look like someone who has cancer," Abner said after a moment's pause.

"Since she is a star, she always wears makeup, which is probably why she doesn't look all that sick."

Charles was the one who had found Rita's doctor. If there was something fishy going on, then he would be the first one to know.

Besides, he was smart, so how could he get fooled easily?

"Well, maybe I'm just overthinking things." Disappointed, Abner hung up the phone.

I quickly put the phone on the bedside table and began to sleep.

The following days were the weekend.

When I was sitting on the couch, watching TV, I heard someone knocking on my door.

I put down the remote and went to open the door. A man wearing a black mask and a black baseball cap was standing in front of me.

"Sir, what... Ah!"

Just when I was about to ask him if he needed something, he picked up a bucket and pointed it towards me. Realizing the danger, I screamed and quickly hid.

With a splashing sound, the red paint fell all over the floor, some of it stained my feet.

The man was not willing to accept his failure. In a fit of rage, he picked up the bucket again and was about to dump it on my head.

Suddenly, I heard him screaming as though someone had hit him, and the next second, I heard the bucket falling to the ground.

A familiar figure appeared in front of me, but before I could even get a clear look at him, he held me in his arms.

Still in a state of shock, the man glared at Charles before he ran away from my house.

"You're safe now." Looking at the paint tracks on the floor that the man had left before he rushed to the elevator, Charles stroked my hair to comfort me.

My body was still shaking from the fear. I couldn't hear him at all.

Charles wiped away the paint from my body with his hands and forced me to look at him.

"Scarlett, look at me."

I looked at him, and when I saw my reflection in his clear blue eyes, I was able to see how messed up I was.

"Why are you here?" My voice was hoarse.

Without answering me, Charles gazed into my eyes before he pulled me into a hug, ignoring the paint on my body. He then closed the apartment door shut and took me to the elevator.

"Now is not a good time to discuss this. You are not safe here, so I am taking you to my place."

My feet felt so weak that I could barely support myself by holding onto his arms.

When we entered the elevator, I tried my best not to look at my reflection in the mirror. I kept my head down and wondered, Who on earth did I offend for them to hate me so much that they sent someone to my house to pour a bucket of paint on me?'

However, I had no clue even after Charles took me to his house.

"Go take a shower."

Saying that, he took out a set of his pajamas and handed it to me.

But I was still in a trance.

"What are you still thinking about? Isn't all that paint making you feel uncomfortable?"

he asked with a disdainful look as he put the clothes in my hand.

Thirty minutes later, I walked out of the bathroom. Sitting on the sofa, he motioned to me.

"Come here," he said.

"What?"

I slowly walked up to him. When I got close to him, he pressed me down on the sofa, and made me lie down on his lap.

I was not used to being so intimate with him, so I tried to get up.

But Charles did not let me move at all.

"Don't move. I'm just going to dry your hair."

Drying a woman's hair was something that her lover could only do. It was not appropriate for Charles to do it for me.

However, he was being too bossy that he did not even allow me to show him resistance.

"Let me do it on my own."

"Don't move. It'll be done soon."

When I tried to get up again, he took the hair dryer and started blowing the warm air on my head. His slender and warm fingers separated my locks and massaged my scalp. He was so gentle, like he was taking care of a priceless treasure.

Although I was indeed feeling very upset, my infatuation with his tenderness was beyond description. I enjoyed it so much that I was about to fall asleep.

Only when the hair dryer stopped whirring and his gentle voice sounded in my ears did I come back to my senses. I quickly got up from his lap and moved away.

"Your place is not safe, so you can stay here from now on." Saying that, Charles put the hair dryer on the tea table.

"It's not like someone is going to attack me every day."

Though I said that, whenever I thought of what had happened at my apartment, I was still a little scared. But I also did not want to live in the same house with him because I found that to be too embarrassing. "Besides, I have somewhere else where I can stay. Or I can stay at a hotel and move back to my apartment after a period of time."

"Are you seriously trying to say that you would rather stay at a hotel than to stay here? Scarlett, you're saying it on purpose, right?" Charles furrowed his eyebrows, looking displeased.

"What do you mean?" I asked in confusion.

"Do you think the elders will let us divorce after they know about what happened?"

"What are you even talking about?"

"The fact that someone splashed paint on you, or the fact that you want to stay in a hotel..."

"But I can't live here." My anger died down a little when he mentioned the elders.

"This house is under your name. How is it not okay for you to live in your own house?" Charles was taking the situation for granted.

"But we haven't divorced yet, so the house is technically not mine," I retorted.

"Since we are a couple, we both share equal rights over the house." Charles' tone became more and more domineering.

I didn't say more because I did not know what to say. Besides, he was making it impossible for me to refute.

"I've changed the password of the door to our wedding date." His tone softened when he saw that I was not arguing with him.

"We are going to divorce. We should keep some distance between us." I tried to remind him.

But his frown deepened and his tone became more sullen as he asked, "Do you really want a divorce?"