His Beloved Witch. (Editing )

Chapter 2- Their First Encounter.

Decades Later...

The sounds of little footsteps echoed in the corridor as a small girl with curly brown hair ran joyfully, her black teddy tightly clutched to her chest.

She giggled, her eyes sparkling as she spotted a familiar glass door. With a giddy bounce, she stopped, pressing her petite hands against the cool surface to peek inside.

Through the glass, she saw her father, a middle-aged man with kind eyes, lean back in his chair, a broad smile spreading across his face.

"My little butterfly, I know you're there," he chuckled, the warmth in his voice sending a thrill through her. The unmistakable outline of her curly hair always gave her away.

With a playful squeal, the she burst through the door just as he stood up, scooping her into his arms.

Her laughter filled the office as he twirled her around, his heart swelling with joy at the sound of her delight.

"Aren't you supposed to be in bed, Butterfly?" he teased, looking down into her hazel eyes that sparkled with mischief.

"She wanted to go for a ride, dear," came the melodic voice of her mother, who stepped into the office. Celine, petite and radiant, stood with a playful smile, her hair glinting under the overhead lights.

"But of course," Charles replied, shaking his head with mock exasperation.

"I told her no, but it seems she had other plans."

"Oh, I'm sure she just wanted to see you!" Celine laughed, her eyes dancing with affection for her husband and daughter.

"How can you resist those big eyes?"

"Guess we'll have to go for a ride then," Charles whispered conspiratorially to Esme, a glint of mischief in his own eyes.

But his light skin flushed red under Celine's playful glare.

"Okay, fine," she relented, shaking her head as she let out a mock sigh of defeat.

The car ride was quiet except for the soft hum of the engine and Esme's occasional whispers to her teddy bear.

Celine glanced at Charles, intertwining her fingers with his, feeling the familiar tension rising between them.

"I don't want Esme to go with that—" Celine's voice trailed off, her gaze flicking to the backseat where their daughter slept peacefully, oblivious to the brewing storm.

"Celine, we've already discussed this," Charles said, his jaw tightening as he focused on the road.

"It's a family tradition."

"You know I left my coven just to be with you! I moved to this silly town right outside Transylvania for us!" Celine's voice rose, laced with desperation. Memories of her mother's warnings flooded back, each one sharpening her anxiety.

Charles's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles white.

"She'll come back, I promise. They always do. He just looks and leaves."