Chapter 32 

“No? Then why did you ask me that question that night? Why did you stop halfway? Isn’t it because you’re disgusted that I’ve been with Jason? That you know I’ve slept with him, so you think I’m dirty?” 

“Callan grew even more flustered, his usual composure unraveling as he shook his head like a broken 

bobblehead. 

“No! I’ve never thought that about you–not once.” 

Then why…” My voice softened, confusion creeping in. 

“That night… I was just afraid,” he stammered, his face flushing deeper with every word. “Afraid that you hadn’t really let go of Jason. I worried that while you were with me, you’d close your eyes but think of him. I don’t want to be a stand–in–especially his stand–in. That’s why I…” 

As Callan continued, his words trailed off, his embarrassment reaching its peak. He looked so out of 

sorts that even I started feeling unsure. 

“Oh, my dear daughter–in–law!” a voice interjected suddenly. “It’s because this brat likes you! He likes you so much it’s driving him crazy!” 

I froze, turning to see Callan’s mother, who had somehow entered the room without us noticing. 

“…What?” 

She clicked her tongue, shoving the stammering Callan aside. 

“You’re useless! Can’t even woo your own wife! You’ve got the marriage certificate in hand, and your still haven’t managed to win her over? Useless, I tell you! Watch how it’s done!” 

With that, she grabbed my hand and, in one swift motion, kicked open the door to Callan’s study. 

“Daughter–in–law, you’ve never been in here, have you?” 

She dragged me inside, gesturing toward the room’s decorations. “Take a look around! Here–your high school photos! All of them! And in the drawer–look, in the drawer! Letters! This brat wrote you fove letters back then! The coward didn’t even have the guts to give them to you after graduation–he just kept them stuffed here.” 

She pulled a letter from the drawer and handed it to me. 

Hillionaire Heiress. 

opened it, glancing at the familiar handwriting. “Why would there be photos of me from high School…” 

Before I could finish, my question was answered by the sight of Callan, still standing in the doorway, his face as red as a tomato. Despite his towering height–nearly six–foot–three–he looked utterly lost, nervously fiddling with the hem of his suit jacket. 

Thankfully, his mother filled in the blanks. 

“This brat went to high school in New York back then, living with his grandmother.” 

“He was in the same school as you, Caroline. He liked you even then, but you don’t remember him, do you?” 

I shook my head in stunned silence. 

Someone as exceptional as Callan–with his striking looks and effortless charisma–how could I not remember someone like him from high school? 

His mother burst out laughing. “That’s because back in high school, he was a little chubby! Haha, his grandmother spoiled him rotten and fed him so much he practically turned into a pig! He was bullied all the time back then.” 

And everything else, I pieced together from the love letters in my hands. 

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