Chapter 3

Lucas immediately coughed nervously. "You should get married into the Edward family first. As for your brother, I'm actually arranging a school transfer for him right now."

The hastily concocted excuse was awkward and illogical. Even if Michael Seymour was transferring schools soon, that wouldn't prevent Lucas from telling Charlotte which school he currently attended.

Charlotte knew perfectly well what was happening, but she chose not to expose their lies immediately. Instead, she extended her hand. "In that case, please transfer the money we just discussed to my account—a total of six million dollars."

Hearing that figure, the family's hearts bled.

It wasn't a small sum by any measure—Charlotte was clearly here to extort them!

Meredith still wanted to negotiate, but Charlotte cut her off. "You all promised me just now. If you can't follow through, then I'll have to back out of our agreement as well."

Lucas gritted his teeth as he glanced at Saskia. No matter what, his daughter's safety was more important than money.

"Fine!" he spat out.

The next morning, Charlotte left for the Edward Villa with six million dollars in her account and her small, battered suitcase.

The Edward family was an elite dynasty—the ultimate aristocracy.

They had built their fortune through underground dealings decades ago before expanding into real estate. The Edwards essentially ruled Everglade City.

Charles was its dictator. If not for his violent temperament and the suspicious deaths of his previous wives, this marriage wouldn't have fallen on Charlotte's shoulders.

The car soon stopped at the Edward Villa. Charlotte stepped out with her luggage and surveyed the extraordinarily luxurious neoclassical building before her.

She knew land in this area was astronomically expensive, yet the Edward Villa was the size of a football field.

Following the butler's directions, she entered the mansion. A well-preserved older woman sat on the sofa, her brow immediately furrowing when she saw Charlotte.

"You're Charlotte?" she asked.

"Yes," Charlotte replied obediently.

She had thoroughly researched the Edward family members. Charles had, besides his parents, a grandfather and a brother still living.

Charlotte understood why Victoria Edward was frowning.

She was a skinny girl just retrieved from an orphanage, wearing shabby clothes.

"How exactly did the Seymour family raise their daughter? You look worse than a beggar off the street," Victoria said with displeasure.

But then she seemed to reconsider. After all, Charles's fearsome reputation was well-known—what girl would willingly marry him?

Victoria cleared her throat and continued, "Now that you're here, you need to rid yourself of that impoverished air. Every movement you make represents Charles's reputation. If you embarrass him, don't expect me to go easy on you."

Charlotte kept her eyes downcast and nodded obediently.

Her meek, cautious demeanor left Victoria without an opportunity to intimidate her further.

The more Victoria looked at Charlotte, the more irritated she became. She waved her hand dismissively. "Enough. Alfred will explain the rules to you. Don't appear before me unless necessary."

"Yes," Charlotte responded once again.

Her repetitive answers were beginning to give Victoria a headache. She wondered how long Charlotte would survive under Charles's control.

Charles's quarters were on the top floor.

Charlotte examined her surroundings carefully while following Alfred with her suitcase toward Charles's rooms.

The moment she knocked and opened the door, however, she found herself staring down the barrel of a gun.

Charlotte's body instantly tensed.

The man holding the gun was Charles himself. He wore a smile that resembled a predator eyeing its preferred prey.

"So you're my new wife?" he asked casually.

Charlotte didn't dare move. The gun in Charles's hand had its safety off and could fire at any moment.

At such close range and with a gun aimed at her, even if she wanted to counterattack, it would be impossible.

"Yes. Are you going to shoot me now?" she asked calmly.

A flicker of interest passed through Charles's eyes. Previously, women who opened the door to find his gun pointed at them had screamed and fled in terror.

So far, only Charlotte had remained this composed.

Charles asked languidly, "Aren't you afraid of dying?"

Charlotte answered honestly, "Of course I am. Is there anyone in this world who isn't afraid of death?"

The interest in Charles's eyes deepened. "If you beg me right now, I might consider sparing your life."

"Killing you like this seems too boring. What if I break both your legs instead? After all, my previous wives all tried to escape me. I broke their legs and cut out their tongues. They never thought about running away again." His casual tone belied the horrifying content of his words.

He spoke of breaking legs and removing tongues as casually as discussing the weather. In his eyes, human lives seemed to be mere playthings to be disposed of at will.

'Psychopath,' Charlotte thought instantly.

Charles's ruthless reputation, combined with the Edward family's power and his own authority...

If Rebecca had fallen into his hands...

Charlotte stood straight-backed, her expression remarkably calm. "I've done nothing wrong, so why should I beg you? Besides, I came here to live with you. You shouldn't be pointing a gun at me."

Charles's smile deepened as he lowered the weapon, tossing it carelessly onto a nearby table. He looked Charlotte up and down appraisingly. "You're certainly interesting."

"If it had been Seymour's biological daughter who came, she'd probably be carried out full of bullet holes by now."

With those words, Charlotte realized Charles knew about the substitution but wasn't opposing it. Either he didn't care who married him, or perhaps he believed they would all eventually die at his hands anyway.

"Did your uncle and aunt tell you that I not only enjoy killing people, but I also suffer from intermittent mental illness episodes?"

Charlotte shook her head.

The Seymour family would never have shared such information with her, but when she had researched Charles, this detail had been concealed.

"Where are your medications? How many times daily? How much per dose?" Charlotte looked around and indeed spotted several white pill bottles on the bedside table.

They showed signs of being opened. She quickly examined two of the bottles and recognized them as medications for mental disorders.

So Charles truly had a mental illness?

Charles seemed to guess what Charlotte was thinking, but before he could speak, his body suddenly began to convulse violently.