Chapter 5
One second later, the screen went black.
I didn’t look at those messages.
Didn’t even care.
The plane soared through the sky, and just after breaking through the cloud layer, we hit severe turbulence. The entire cabin shook slightly.
I leaned against the window, watching the city I’d once called “home” grow smaller and smaller behind me, gradually disappearing into the clouds kicked up by the wings.
Without my phone to distract me, boredom quickly set in.
I reclined my seat and curled up under the blanket, trying to sleep.
But this wasn’t a short flight.
When I woke up, we weren’t even halfway there.
I rummaged through the seat pocket just to kill time. My fingers touched something thin–a newspaper from that
morning.
I pulled it out, and the moment I opened it, Mason Anderson’s face stared back at me from the front page.
I instinctively folded the paper shut, moving as quickly as if I’d been burned.
The entire newspaper covered the Anderson family’s annual social gala–an event the wealthy and elite took extremely seriously.
And this time’s “leading lady” was naturally Zoe.
But for the past seven years–I had been the one in those photos.
remembered the first year I organized that banquet. It was a complete disaster.
accidentally ruined the floral arrangements and took a nasty spill during the event. The next day, I was splashed across the gossip columns.
They gave me a humiliating nickname:
The Trailer Park Queen of the Manor.”
Mason felt I’d embarrassed him.
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His Rival’s Baby in My Belly While He’s Babysitting this Pregnant Ext
Chapter 5
As “punishment,” he locked me in the small chapel behind the estate for an entire week.
He said: “Make a fool of yourself in front of the media, and you atone for the entire Anderson family.”
Yes, in modern America–a grown woman was imprisoned in her own family chapel by her spouse, all because of a social mishap.
I had just gotten pregnant with Carson then.
I knelt on those cold stone floors for three days without food or water, until I started bleeding.
Finally, the butler found me nearly dead and called an ambulance.
Carson was born premature.
I spent three weeks in the hospital, too weak to barely speak.
During my recovery, postpartum depression wrapped around me like vines.
Those headlines, those gossip pieces, those jokes circled my mind like vultures.
I’d overhear Mason and his wealthy elite friends laughing by the pool:
“Charlotte? That country girl will ruin me eventually.”
“If it weren’t for her star chart saying she’d stabilize our finances… I would’ve divorced her ages ago.”
“She can’t even host a proper dinner party.”
I’d naively thought his coldness was just stern love.
That locking me in the chapel was just to avoid media attention.
I convinced myself he was cold because he believed I could handle it.
He was the type who showed support through actions, not words.
But I was wrong.
He never truly respected me.
He only saw me as a wife in name–a tool for family prosperity.
“I don’t want to organize Anderson family banquets anymore.”
I remember crying to Mason one winter, “I’m really not good at this.”
He stood there, looking down at me, peeling my fingers off his arm one by one, then gently pushing me away.
13:46
His Rival’s Baby in My Belly While He’s Babysitting His Pregnant Ex!
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Chapter 5
His voice was colder than I’d ever heard:
“If you can’t even handle this, what good are you?”
That sentence hit like a gunshot, nailing me straight into memory.
Later, I gradually became better and better at it.
Banquet flow, floral arrangements, guest seating, photography angles, menu release timing… I mastered it all.
But the media still mocked me–because Mason fed them material.
They said I’d never be “Anderson” enough.
I was always wearing a crown that didn’t fit.
Occasionally, some fringe outlets would mention my efforts in organizing those banquets, calling me the “invisible backbone.”
But those articles would always get pulled within hours.
Of course–Mason’s handiwork again.
So now that Zoe had taken my place as “lady of the house,” the world readily accepted it.
The media covered her every word with royal treatment.
Not one person asked:
“Where did the original Mrs. Anderson go?”
But just as I was about to shove the newspaper back into the pocket, I noticed something in the corner-
A small column.
The headline was plain, the layout unpolished, like something written during overtime. But the content was completely different.
It was about me.
The author wrote with an almost angry sympathy, detailing the humiliations I’d endured, the media misunderstandings, harsh criticism of the Anderson family’s corruption.
Between the lines lay anger and respect.
I couldn’t help but laugh.
Whoever wrote this article would probably get fired today.
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Chapter 5
But I actually felt… sorry for them.
“They’re brave, I’ll give them that,” I murmured.
“You’re right about that.”
A deep, magnetic voice spoke beside me.
I startled and looked up.
C
The man sitting next to me was tall and lean, wearing a navy shirt and fitted trousers. His hair had a slight curl, his eyes were a striking emerald green, and his skin had a healthy bronze tone.
His features were sharply defined like a sculpture, but at the corners of his mouth and eyes were subtle mixed–heritage traits that softened the purely imposing presence..
He lightly tapped the newspaper in my hands, pointing precisely at that small column.
‘So, Mrs. Anderson…” he said with a smile,
“What do you think of this report?”
