Chapter 124: She’s pretty.
Charles tilted his head back slightly as laughter bubbled from his lips, rich and amused. "Seriously, Augustine?" he chuckled, shaking his head. "You’re just now clarifying that?"
Augustine smirked, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, I figured I should before you start overthinking."
Charles rolled his eyes playfully. "I wasn’t overthinking because it’s none of my business."
His lips curled into a small smile before he patted Augustine’s chest lightly. "Now go, Mr. CEO. You have an empire to run."
Augustine swallows hard as he nods his head. "Umm... see you later," Augustine mumbled, waving his hands.
Charles gave a slow nod, his eyes following Augustine as he turned around, firmly gripping his briefcase before striding toward the exit.
The sound of the door clicking shut echoed through the quiet space, leaving Charles standing there, his lips curling into a faint smile.
As the door became firmly shut, Charles let out a loud exhale, shaking his head.
’Augustine is such a weird freak,’ he mused to himself, but despite the thought, a warm smile tugged at his lips, lingering longer than he expected.
Charles made his way to the bedroom, grabbing his phone from the bedside table.
He had meant to text Freda last night to check on her, but exhaustion had stolen the thought from his mind.
As soon as Charles turned on his mobile data, his screen lit up with a flood of incoming messages.
Notifications stacked one after another, buzzing relentlessly in his palm.
His brows furrowed. "What the hell...?" he muttered, scrolling through the chaos on his screen.
Charles sighed as he scrolled through the messages.
Most of them were from Augustine, sent the previous day when he had been overwhelmed with worry.
Charles eyes lingered on a particular message.
"I love you, Charles."
There was no response from Charles. Then another message.
"I said I love you, Charles."
Still, no reply.
Charles ran a hand through his hair, guilt creeping up his spine. He hadn’t ignored Augustine on purpose—he had just... needed time.
Now, staring at the unread messages, he realized how much Augustine must have agonized over his silence.
As Charles scrolled, his eyes widened at the sheer number of messages.
"Charles, are you okay?"
"Why aren’t you answering me?"
"I swear if you don’t reply soon, I’m coming over."
"I love you. Did you even see my message?"
"Charles, please."
The texts continued every thirty minutes, relentless, until Charles had finally returned home.
’There’s no way I’m reading all of these,’ he thought, shaking his head.
Charles fingers moved faster as he scrolled, searching for the last message Augustine had sent.
Finally, he found it.
’Charles, I promise to hide my feelings from you so please... text me.’
Charles swallowed hard. He could practically hear Augustine’s voice in his head—soft, uncertain, maybe even a little hurt.
He exhaled deeply, running a hand over his face. "Damn it, Augustine..."
Seeing Augustine’s last message, Charles let out a small chuckle, shaking his head.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard before he finally typed a reply.
"Drama king."
With a smirk, he hit send.
’I hope you find nice models for your design’s launching.’
As Charles typed another message, he immediately sent it to Augustine.
His fingers instinctively navigated to his contacts, scrolling until he landed on Freda’s number.
Without hesitation, Charles tapped to call.
The phone barely rang twice before Freda’s voice burst through the speaker, brimming with excitement.
"Charles!" she squealed, the sheer enthusiasm in her tone making him chuckle.
He could practically picture her wide grin.
Charles smiled. "Hello, Freda. How was your night?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine concern.
"Last night was like every other night," Freda replied with a sigh. "Nothing special."
Charles heard the faint rustling of sheets before she added, "I just woke up a few minutes ago, and now I have to rush and get ready for work." Her voice carried a hint of reluctance, making him chuckle.
Charles’s lips parted slightly as he let out an "Ohh" in response. "I just wanted to check in on you," he said, his voice softer now.
Settling onto the bed, he adjusted his position, allowing himself to relax. "So, tell me," he continued after a brief pause, folding his legs and pulling a pillow between them. "How are you really doing?" His tone was laced with curiosity, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the fabric of the pillow.
Freda inhaled deeply and some seconds later, she exhaled. "I’m not feeling so great." She whispered. "Last night, I couldn’t stop thinking about how I ruined my own life. If I had made better choices, maybe I wouldn’t have ended up as a cleaner—"
"Hey," Charles interjected, cutting Freda off before she could finish. "Don’t do that—don’t belittle yourself," he said firmly, shifting to lie on his back as his gaze drifted to the ceiling.
"Plenty of people fight tooth and nail just to land a job in a good company. Some would do anything to work as a cleaner in one of the biggest corporations in the country. You’re not failing, Freda—you’re surviving."
Freda scoffed, a teasing sneer in her voice. "Charles, just stick to being an emotional support buddy, okay? Motivational speeches clearly aren’t your thing."
Her remark sent Charles into a fit of laughter, his chuckles ringing through the phone.
Within seconds, Freda joined in, and soon, the only sound filling the call was their shared laughter—light, genuine, and comforting.
"Hey, you have to get dressed."
The deep timbre of a male voice suddenly echoed in the background, cutting through their laughter like a knife.
Charles’s amusement faded instantly, his expression turning serious.
"Freda," he called, his voice laced with curiosity. "Are you with someone right now?"
On the other end of the line, Freda swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around her phone.
Her gaze flickered toward the young man lounging across the room—the same man whose place she had crashed at the night before.
"Freda, why the sudden silence?" Charles drawled, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Don’t tell me you’re tangled up in the arms of some handsome stranger right now."
"N... No! And nothing happened, okay?" Freda blurted out, her voice a little too sharp, a little too rushed—making Charles chuckle knowingly.
A mischievous chuckle slipped from Charles’s lips as he pressed the phone closer to his ear. "Well, well... look who’s getting all flustered. And wait—why does that man’s voice sound so familiar? Don’t tell me he’s someone I’ve met before."
Charles tone was teasing, but there was a hint of curiosity laced within it.
"Hey! Just... just..."
Freda became tongue-tied as she found it difficult to say the right set of words.
Seconds later, she swallowed hard before speaking up. "Umm... Charles can we... let’s talk when we see tomorrow, okay."
Without waiting for Charles’s response, Freda hangs up the phone call.
She pouted, placing the phone on the bed with an exaggerated frown. "Seriously? Couldn’t you see I was on a call? Did you really have to make your presence known?" Freda sneered, shooting a glare at the man beside her.
The young man scoffed, crossing his arms as he leaned slightly toward her. "Let me get this straight—you stumble into a club, get drunk off your mind, and I, out of the kindness of my heart, bring you here so you don’t end up face-down in a gutter. And now, you’re mad at me for existing in my own damn house?"
He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head before turning away and strolling toward his wardrobe. "Unbelievable."
He pulled out a long black T-shirt and walked back to the bed, extending it toward Freda. "Here, you can wear this," he muttered, his voice quieter this time.
His gaze remained fixed on the floor, as if looking at her would make the situation even more awkward.
Freda swiftly rose from the bed, stepping closer to Reginald as she grabbed the lapels of his suit with both hands. "Reginald, you should have just left me at the club last night," she spat coldly.
The previous night, Reginald.. had gone to a club, only to unexpectedly find Freda there—completely drunk, despite it being well past midnight.
Currently, Reginald slowly lifted his gaze, locking eyes with Freda.
For a brief moment, he found himself lost in her deep, captivating stare.
’She’s pretty,’ he thought, his grip unconsciously tightening around the T-shirt in his hand.
"Gree... Gree... Gree!"
Just as Reginald’s phone began to ring, he instinctively turned to grab it from the couch but in his sudden movement, he didn’t realize Freda was still gripping his suit.
The unexpected force sent her tumbling backward onto the bed—taking him right down with her.
Before either of them could react, Reginald crashed on top of Freda, his lips pressing against hers in an accidental kiss.
Time seemed to freeze, the ringing phone now a distant echo as their breaths mingled, eyes became extremely wide open with shock as they gaze at each other.