Chapter 592: Charles's Tragic Ending

Hannah said nothing more in prison, turning to leave. All that needed saying to Charles had already been said. He was removed from her life, she decided; there would be no more feelings for him.

The greatest tragedy for a man is not death, but utter oblivion.

As Hannah departed, Charles suddenly shouted, "Hannah, didn't I love you in my last life?"

She paused. His words stirred a memory of her own confusion during his earlier torments. But now, she cared little whether he had loved her or not.

Turning, she replied ironically, "What else do you love except power?"

Men like Charles were pathetic. His life revolved around self-interest, devoid of genuine love. He would stop at nothing to achieve his goals, employing any means necessary. He lacked fundamental human empathy. What was the meaning of his existence?

Showing only a flicker of sympathy for his evident sorrow, Hannah continued, "We were married for ten years. But you were cold, venting your lust on other women – Jane, Mary, Sandra, Sarah, and many others… I've forgotten their names."

Charles watched impassively as she recounted his transgressions.

"And it was only in this life that I experienced wonderful sex," Hannah stated. "My feelings for Oscar seem to grow stronger because of it."

Charles laughed, a self-deprecating sound. He seemed a different man than the one consumed by anger. Now, he was unusually calm yet unreasonably sad.

"Hannah," he said, "what if I told you I was in love with you in this life?"

Hannah's brow furrowed. She'd anticipated rage, a breakdown, defiance—anything but these words.

She laughed ironically, unable to comprehend his professed love. She suspected he was merely employing his manipulative charm.

"I'll be jealous of your affection for Oscar. Fascinated by your charm. All I think about is you when I'm with Sarah!" Charles confessed, revealing the source of his turmoil: his love for Hannah.

Hannah smiled. Charles wasn't stupid; he knew his words were futile. There was no point in further futile gestures.

"Charles," she responded, "in my previous life, I gave you my heart and soul, and you killed me. In this life, I've relentlessly attacked you, even sending you to prison. Yet you claim to love me. Who is more pathetic?"

"Perhaps me," he replied calmly.

"However," Hannah said coldly, "it matters not. I sought your confession. I even wished your cruelty was a dream, that you still loved me upon waking. But having met Oscar and known true love, I accept everything with peace. You are nothing to me."

Charles nodded silently, surprised at the ease of confession. Loving someone wasn't the pain; it was loving someone who didn't understand.

"Hannah, take care," he said with unexpected tenderness as she turned to leave, perhaps the most sincere moment of his life. In the past, every action had been calculated; except now.

"Keep those words to yourself," Hannah said, walking away without looking back.

Charles watched her go, the pain in his heart escalating from a tingling to an unbearable agony. He laughed, a harsh, tearful laugh at the cruel irony of being loved in his final life. His laughter was hideous and miserable.

He abruptly closed his eyes and bit down hard on his tongue, until the pain was obliterated by a torrent of blood.

He knew the twenty-year reprieve on his death sentence was a chance for the Collins family to torture him. The next twenty years would be worse than death. Immediate death was the best way to end his suffering. He never thought death would be a blessing.

Charles fell heavily, blood pooling on the floor. Hannah's face flashed in his mind; they were children, holding hands. "Hannah, Grandpa said we'd marry. I'll treat you well." He couldn't recall his sincerity then, but her sweet face remained until his final breath.

News of Charles's suicide reached Hannah that night. Seeing the report of his self-inflicted death, she experienced a wave of complex emotions. She remembered his sweet words, the man she once considered the best in the world. She'd playfully asked, "Charles, will you ever lie to me?"

"If I lie, I'll bite off my tongue," he'd sworn seriously, and she'd believed him.

She now understood the depth of his lie, a painful memory she'd rather forget. His suicide, in the end, was perhaps the best outcome; life in prison would have been worse.