The Mocked Miss’s Hidden Crowns novel Chapter 112

Helen took Charlotte’s backpack, beaming. “I made some soup for you. It’ll be ready soon.”

Charlotte gave her a gentle smile. “Thanks, Helen.”

Helen waved it off. “Oh, don’t mention it.”

Helen had three grandsons and had always dreamed of a granddaughter. Now, having such a sweet, adorable girl around made her heart melt every day.

“Oh, by the way, Anthony said for you to go see him when you got home.”

“Okay.”

Charlotte slipped on her fluffy pink bunny slippers and headed upstairs. As she passed the study, she peeked inside, but Anthony wasn’t there.

If he wasn’t in the study, he was probably in his bedroom.

Anthony’s room was at the end of the hall. The door was slightly open, and for the first time, Charlotte saw what it looked like inside. The space was a blend of bedroom and sitting area, decorated in black and white with a minimalist vibe. It felt cool and distant, not at all cozy.

She didn’t see Anthony anywhere. Standing at the doorway, she politely knocked.

No answer.

He wasn’t in the bedroom either? But Helen said…

Just as Charlotte was starting to wonder, she heard movement. Anthony stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in nothing but a towel, his chest bare and damp.

He looked like he’d just finished showering. Water dripped from his messy hair, trailing down his toned chest, past those sharp lines of muscle, and disappearing beneath the towel.

Charlotte froze, her wide eyes locked on him.

Anthony hadn’t expected her, and for a moment he just stared. Then he quickly grabbed a robe, pulling it on as he strode over.

He stopped in front of her, noticing her flushed cheeks and steady gaze. Leaning closer, he grinned. “Did you get a good look?”

Charlotte couldn’t help smiling back.

“From now on, you can come in and out of my room whenever you want.”

He had her sit on the sofa, then turned to grab her an apple. He started peeling it with careful hands.

Charlotte frowned slightly. “That’s rude.”

Rude?

Anthony paused, glancing at her with a helpless, amused look. The past few nights, she’d picked the lock on his door, taken over his bed, acted like she owned the place… and she wanted to talk about manners?

He couldn’t stop smiling, and Charlotte noticed. She frowned a little, puzzled. “What’s so funny?”

Was it really that weird to be polite?