The Mocked Miss’s Hidden Crowns novel Chapter 1814

“Yes.” Hans answered politely, though inside, he was a bundle of nerves. Charlotte was in a mood, and he had no idea if she’d even accept what he was delivering.

Half an hour later, Hans rang the doorbell at Stella’s apartment.

“Charlotte, it’s Hans, from Anthony’s team,” Stella called out, up on her toes to peek through the peephole. “Should I let him in?”

Charlotte lounged on the sofa, barely skimming a book, her tone lazy. “Let him in.”

“Okay.”

As soon as she heard the go-ahead, Stella swung open the door and moved aside. “Hans, please come in.”

“Thank you. Really, thank you.” Hans mopped his brow, stealing a nervous glance at Charlotte, who looked perfectly unbothered on the couch. He straightened up fast. “Charlotte, Anthony wanted me to bring you something to eat,” he said, trying to sound cheerful, though his voice almost shook.

Charlotte looked up from her book, her eyes cold and direct. Hans froze. This was exactly the kind of thing that always landed him in trouble.

“Um, he also told me to tell you to rest tonight. He’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.” Hans carefully set the food on the table and hurried out, not waiting to be dismissed, clearly relieved his job was done.

Once the door shut, Stella walked over and started unpacking what Hans had brought.

Warm milk, neat slices of fruit, and a single piece of candy. All the little things Charlotte liked before bed.

Happiness. The word seemed to shatter something in Stella. She drifted, her smile slipping away. Maybe everyone could have happiness. Just… maybe not her.

Charlotte noticed, but didn’t push. She could tell Roger liked Stella—a lot. As for Stella, it was clear she was running from it. Letting someone in wouldn’t be easy for her. Whether or not Roger could break through was his challenge alone.

That night, Charlotte barely slept, tossing and turning until almost morning. Sunlight was just creeping in when knocking finally pulled her out of a shallow sleep.

“Charlotte…” Stella was already dressed, clinging to the doorknob and looking at her like she’d been wronged. “Anthony’s here.”

Charlotte sat up and walked to the living room. There was Anthony, standing calmly in the kitchen. He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and black slacks, looking perfectly put together—gracefully chopping cabbage.