Steven went pale.

From where he stood, he could just make out the shape of a tall, imposing man sitting straight-backed in the back seat, visible through the half-rolled-down window. The distance made it hard to see details, just a blurred outline, but even then, it was obvious—this was no ordinary man. He looked elegant, powerful, and expensive in a way you didn’t see every day.

Was this… the father Nora had talked about?

Steven remembered when Nora saved him and first brought up their deal. She said Charlotte’s dad was dead. She’d even told him she was terminally ill, which was why she’d been desperate enough to do what she did.

But now, Nora wasn’t dead. And this mysterious father—he was here, alive and well.

Steven shook his head, trying to convince himself he was just seeing things. He felt cold all over, like all the blood had drained out of him. None of this made any sense.

Before he could pull himself together, the car door swung open. Everyone’s attention snapped to the tall man stepping out.

Franco emerged, wearing a stylish coat that matched Nora’s. He looked about forty, with sharp hair and silver-framed glasses perched on his nose. His features carried some lines, hints that he’d lived, but nothing could cover up the easy sophistication and quiet authority he gave off.

What stunned everyone even more was that, although Franco and Charlotte didn’t really look alike, you could tell at a glance they were father and daughter. There was something in the way they held themselves, something unmistakable.

Franco paused, straightened his collar with a practiced, graceful gesture, and walked right over to Nora and Charlotte.

“Dad,” Charlotte said, looking up at him politely.

Franco’s lips curved in a gentle smile. He reached into his coat and pulled out a carton of milk. “Just wait here a couple more minutes, okay?” His voice was low and warm.

“Okay.” Charlotte answered, voice calm as always, stepping back to take a relaxed sip of her milk.

“Charlotte…” Shirley hurried to her side, unable to hide her excitement as she watched the beautiful couple in front of her. Her emotions, which she’d just managed to settle, started bubbling up again.

“Oh my god, your dad is so handsome too! What is up with these fairy-tale good looks in your family?”

Charlotte gave a little smile. “So, who’s better looking, him or Anthony?”

Shirley looked thoughtful for a long moment, really considering it. Finally, she leaned in and whispered, “Anthony wins, but just barely. Seriously, it’s almost a tie.”

“Charlotte, if you and Anthony ever have a baby, that kid is going to break the beauty scale.”

A baby… It would be amazing, but whether it ever happened, well, that was up to fate.

Charlotte took another drink of milk, lips pressed together, saying nothing, her eyes drifting back to her parents.

It was obvious—everyone was still reeling from hearing Charlotte call Franco “Dad.”

Steven and Elizabeth had framed Charlotte, demanding that Nora come explain things. Nora came. Then they accused her of being a homewrecker who got dumped. Now, Charlotte’s real father had shown up.

The reporters on site looked completely lost, struggling to figure out what had really happened all those years ago. Meanwhile, social media was blowing up.

[This is so wild. Who’s actually telling the truth here?]

[Steven and Elizabeth look guilty as hell and they’re just lashing out now. Isn’t it obvious who’s in the wrong?]

[No matter what, Charlotte’s parents are both ridiculously good looking.]

[I heard Charlotte has a boyfriend. With her looks, he’d have to be some sort of heartthrob to match her, right?]

The internet was in a frenzy, but in person, the atmosphere was icy. Every eye in the room was locked on Franco, this mysterious “dad” who had appeared out of nowhere. People were dying to know who he really was and what had gone down in the past.

Franco stepped up to Nora, pulled out a fresh antiseptic wipe, and gently cleaned her hands, his voice soft and full of concern. “Did your hand get hurt?”