What Happens in Chapter 647 – From the Book The Day Our Promise Breaks (Charles and Evelyn)
Dive into Chapter 647, a pivotal chapter in The Day Our Promise Breaks (Charles and Evelyn), written by C.M. Thompson. This section features emotional turning points, key character decisions, and the kind of storytelling that defines great Romance fiction.
“Charles, are you going to marry me, or just stand there and watch little Charlie die?”
Charles’ glare was icy enough to chill her to the bone. Luna’s tongue nearly slipped—she almost called Charlie “that brat”—but she swallowed it down and used her full name, cold and formal.
She’d already won.
No reason to antagonize Charles now, not over a single word.
Luna stood tall, every inch the victor. When Charles kept silent, she pushed herself up, meeting his frostbitten stare head-on.
A gentle, mocking smile tugged at her lips as she spoke, slow and clear. “Charles, you’ve let Charlie die once already. You wouldn’t let it happen again, would you?”
“Stop wasting your breath.”
She gave a small shake of her head, eyes steady and ruthless. “Torture me all you want—I’m not giving you the antidote. Marry me. That’s the only way you can save your daughter.”
She knew Charles hated the thought of marrying her.
He was still clinging to that pathetic hope—maybe, if Evelyn learned Charlie was alive, she’d forgive him. Maybe they could start over.
Not with Luna around.
She’d never let that happen.
“Charles, every second you stall is another second Charlie suffers. Isn’t she the one you love most?”
“If you love your daughter so much, I’m not asking you to die for her. Just marry me. Is that really so hard?”
“So that’s what Charlie’s life is worth to you?”
Her words hit home, every one a poisoned blade aimed at his deepest guilt.
Frost seemed to fill the room, Charles’ gaze sharp as broken glass. Luna didn’t flinch.
She just needed him to break.
Charles stared her down.
No one could guess what was running through his mind in those long, tense moments.
Then, suddenly, the storm in his eyes—rage, hatred, violence—was locked away. All that was left was a flat, unreadable calm.
He loosened his fists, knuckles white. His voice was low and even, giving away nothing. “Fine. The antidote.”
He didn’t bother with another word.
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