The Godfather's Love (Erika and Charles) novel Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The car pulled up to the departures level at the airport.

Charles stepped out, opened the trunk, and took out Evelyn’s suitcase. He handed it to her with brisk efficiency, no hesitation, no sentiment.

“Go on in. Someone will help you check in and get through security.”

He didn’t even look her in the eye.

“When you get to Paris, live well. Don’t contact me again.”

“Charles…”

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Evelyn reached out, trying to grab his sleeve.

He stepped back, avoiding her hand.

“Goodbye, Evelyn.”

With that, he turned, got back into the car, started the engine, and drove off without a second thought.

In the rearview mirror, Evelyn’s figure shrank rapidly, standing alone beneath the bright airport lights, suitcase at her side-until she disappeared from

view.

Charles exhaled, long and deep.

That heavy breath had been stuck in his chest ever since Evelyn entered his life-an ugly mix of temptation, guilt, irritation, and a strange excitement.

Now, it was finally out.

The problem was solved.

Erika would be satisfied now.

They could go back to how things were…

No. He would be better to her. He’d make up for everything.

By the time daylight fully broke, Charles had returned to the Nell estate.

The manor was quiet. The servants moved silently, going about their morning cleaning.

He walked straight into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out Erika’s favorite ingredients-fresh clams, cream, parsley, white wine.

From the cellar, he picked out a decent bottle of white Burgundy.

He tied on an apron-one that Erika had bought him, printed with a ridiculous cartoon kitten-and began to work with practiced ease: cleaning clams, dicing onions, sautéing over low heat.

A warm, familiar aroma slowly filled the kitchen.

Chapter 8

While the soup simmered, he picked up his phone and recorded a voice message.

“Erika, I’m back.”

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His voice tried to sound light, casual.

“Evelyn’s already on the plane. I watched her leave with my own eyes.”

“Stop working so hard. Come home early. I made your favorite clam chowder.”

He paused, then walked into the dining room.

On the table, a bouquet of fresh red roses bloomed beautifully-the ones he’d had delivered before leaving that morning. Beside them sat a delicate strawberry cream cake-her real favorite.

He snapped a photo and sent it.

“Your favorite cake. And roses. Let’s have a proper dinner and talk.”

After sending everything, his mood lifted inexplicably. He even started humming off-key under his breath.

It felt like sending Evelyn away had erased all the unpleasantness of the past weeks. As if life could now quietly return to normal.

The soup bubbled in the pot, the scent rich and inviting.

Charles untied the apron and checked the time.

By now, Erika should have seen his messages.

Knowing her, even if she was still angry, she would’ve replied.

But the screen stayed silent.

He frowned and typed out another message.

“Soup’s almost ready. Waiting for you.”

Send,

A red exclamation mark popped up without warning-bright, jarring.

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