“Lottie, you’re still a kid. If it hurts, you can cry. If you’re upset, it’s okay to be mad. You don’t have to pretend you’re fine.”
Anthony leaned in, gently blowing on her scraped skin. His voice was soft, almost soothing.
“There we go. Try not to get your left hand wet. I’ll change the bandage for you in the morning.”
He finished with her hand but didn’t move away. Instead, he bent down, close enough for her to see the gentle warmth in his deep, dark eyes.
“Lottie,” he said, his voice low and a little rough, “with me, you never have to hide how you feel. You can be upset, you can act spoiled. I’ll never mind.”
He paused, watching her. “And if someone’s bothering you, you can tell me. I’ll stand up for you, all right?”
Charlotte’s lashes fluttered, her eyes wide and unreadable. Her face was so pretty, but there was something hidden behind her calm expression, something he couldn’t quite figure out.
Had she been abandoned before? Was she so used to being on her own that she didn’t know how to accept kindness?
Maybe.
Otherwise, why would she act like getting hurt meant nothing?
It was heartbreaking, seeing a kid force herself to grow up too fast.
When she didn’t answer, Anthony didn’t push. He just took her hand gently and led her toward the dining room.
“Let’s eat, then you should get some sleep. Tomorrow’s the weekend, you can sleep in.”
“Okay.”
Charlotte nodded, following along beside him, letting him hold her hand without pulling away.
Anthony glanced over at her calm, quiet face. The corners of his mouth lifted into a small, real smile.
After dinner, Charlotte went back to her room.
Anthony stayed in the living room, standing tall by the floor-to-ceiling window. He held a cigarette between his fingers, the glow of it reflecting off his sharp features, casting his face in a dark shadow.
“Anthony.”
Hans came in from outside, bowing his head.
“Any news?”


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