Chapter 146

Christopher POV

"You went by yourself?" I asked, keeping my tone light despite the suspicion gnawing at me.

A noticeable pause. "Yes, I went alone."

The lie hung between us, invisible but palpable even through the phone connection. I didn't need to see her face to know she was hiding something-her hesitation said everything.

She had gone with Sean.

The realization made my knuckles whiten around the phone.

"I see," I replied, forcing a smile into my voice that my face didn't mirror. "Would you like to meet for coffee tonight? We haven't had a proper conversation in days."

"I can't tonight," she said quickly. "The children-"

"I'll have my assistant look after them," I interrupted smoothly. "We'll stay at the café near your home. An hour at most."

"Christopher, I don't think-"

"I'll see you at eight," I said firmly before ending the call, refusing to give her another chance to reject me.

I watched Angela from across the small table, studying the subtle tension in her shoulders, the forced politeness in her smile. The café's ambient lighting cast soft shadows across her face, highlighting her cheekbones but failing to soften the weariness in her eyes.

"What do you think about the hazelnut latte? Or perhaps the caramel macchiato?" I asked, deliberately weighing each option as I examined the menu. "They also have a new vanilla bean pastry that pairs well with either."

"That sounds fine," Angela nodded, her patience still intact.

"Or the chocolate croissant? I've heard it's exceptional here."

A flash of impatience crossed her features. "Christopher, honestly, I don't need anything elaborate. Just coffee is fine."

I continued as if I hadn't noticed her growing irritation. "What about their almond cake? Would you prefer that instead?"

"It doesn't matter," she said, her polite mask slipping. "I won't eat much anyway. Let's just order."

I handed the menu to the increasingly uncomfortable server. "We'll start with these, thank you."

When the server departed, I reached into my inner jacket pocket and withdrew a small blue box, sliding it across the table toward Angela.

"Aria and Ethan already have their Christmas gifts," I said softly. "This is for you."

Angela hesitated before accepting the box. Opening it, she revealed an elegant brooch-a delicate design from this season's most exclusive collection, perfectly matching the beige coat she favored.

I watched her expression carefully, noting the conflict playing across her features. She recognized the thought behind the gift, knew rejecting it outright would seem ungrateful after everything I'd done for her family.

"This brooch is beautiful," she said finally, offering a polite smile.

My heart accelerated as I leaned forward slightly. "I'm glad you like it."

Her next words cut through my optimism like a blade. "I do like it. But I like the brooch-not the person giving it."

My expression froze as the words registered, a sharp pain blooming in my chest.

"Beautiful jewelry deserves appreciation," Angela continued, her voice gentle but firm. "But accepting gifts depends on who's giving them. Not everyone's gifts should be accepted."

She carefully returned the brooch to its box and pushed it back toward me. The simple gesture felt like a physical blow.

"This gift... you should save it for someone deserving. And please stop wasting your time on me. These past five years, you've been so kind to me and the children. I'm grateful, truly. If you ever need anything, I'll help however I can."

I pressed my lips together, fighting to maintain my composure despite the ache spreading through me.

"When I choose a gift, it's because I, Christopher Blake, believe the recipient is worthy. Your existence inspired me to buy this brooch. If you won't accept it, what value does it have now?"

I lowered my gaze, attempting to hide my devastation. "Is that why you refused to let me accompany you to look at cars this afternoon? To tell me this?"

"No," Angela replied. "I just don't want to waste your time anymore."

She paused, then added with unsettling calmness, "If you hadn't shown up unannounced, we wouldn't be having this conversation now. I'm... tired, Christopher."

"Tired?" I echoed, surprised by the depth of pain her words inflicted.

"Yes, tired. I've made it clear I don't have feelings for you, but you continue to pursue me. I spend energy every day managing this situation, and it's exhausting. Especially since returning to New York, I don't have the patience for this anymore. Please stop wasting your time on me. Find someone who deserves your attention."

Her words triggered something deep within me. A cold flash shot through my eyes as unbidden memories suddenly surfaced.

"Don't you know how annoying you are?" My mother's voice, sharp and cruel, echoed from my childhood. "Is your world only about me? Why do you always cling to me? Go bother your father! You useless child, what are you telling me? It's because you're so worthless that he treats me this way!"

I could feel the cold marble floor beneath my knees, the icy water poured over my head, the sensation of nearly drowning in that apartment so many years ago.

"Mom... I'm sorry... I was wrong..." My childhood voice trembled in my memory as my mother turned away, leaving me shivering alone.

I bit my lower lip unconsciously, my hands clenched into fists so tight my knuckles turned white. I struggled to contain the emotions threatening to overwhelm me.

Angela continued, oblivious to my internal turmoil. "I've been very clear. I hope from now on you'll focus on your own life and stop seeking me out."

She gathered her purse and stood. A server approached with our order. "Ma'am, your latte..."

"No need, thank you," Angela responded, then walked out of the café without looking back. I watched her silhouette disappear into the night, feeling a cold emptiness spread through me.

The server noticed the change in me-the sudden chill emanating from my body, the pallor that must have overtaken my face and lips, as though I'd been struck physically.

"Sir, are you alright?" he asked, leaning closer with concern.

"Get away!" I exploded suddenly, violently sweeping the tray from his hands.

Hot coffee splashed across his uniform and skin. He cried out in pain, stumbling backward. The café fell silent as other patrons turned to stare, whispers and gasps filling the space.

Reality crashed back into me. I blinked, suddenly aware of my outburst and overcome with shame. I quickly moved to help the server up.

"I'm terribly sorry," I said with genuine remorse. "I lost control. Are you hurt? I should take you to the hospital to be checked."

Confusion and wariness filled the server's eyes as he struggled to reconcile the enraged man from moments ago with the polite gentleman now helping him.

"I-I'm fine, sir," he stammered.

I gently pulled up his sleeve to examine the injury. His arm was already turning red and swelling. My expression darkened with concern.

"Use cold water immediately to reduce the temperature," I instructed, accompanying him to the back of the café to rinse the burn.

I watched his hands grow numb under the cold winter water and insisted, "I truly apologize. Please let me take you to the hospital."

"It's not necessary, sir," he protested weakly. "It's just a minor burn. The cold water helps."

"Please, come with me," I persisted. "This is my responsibility."

Eventually, he relented with a hesitant nod.

As I led him out of the café, Angela's words continued to echo in my mind: "I'm tired."