Chapter 3

Harper’s POV

"A few days?" I slowly lifted my head, my eyes as dead as stagnant water. "Ethan, how many days is 'a few days'?"

Ethan averted his gaze. "Until her vitals stabilize..."

"And when she's all better, I move back?" I cut him off with a quiet, mocking laugh. "Do you honestly think I still want this room?"

Ethan flinched. "Harper, don't talk like that."

"I'm giving you two what you want."

I stood up, pulled down my carry-on bag, and packed only a few changes of my own clothes. The expensive jewelry Ethan had bought me over the years remained untouched in the drawers.

As I walked out of the master suite, Chloe stood leaning against the doorframe, wearing the smirk of a victor.

I stopped right beside her and murmured:

"Enjoy the room, Chloe. Enjoy the man, too."

"Because very soon, every single debt you owe will be paid back in full."

Chloe froze. Before she could snap back, I dragged my bag down the hall and stepped into the damp, chilly guest room at the end of the corridor.

"Slam." The door shut tight.

A few days later, Chloe invited several socialite friends over for afternoon tea.

I walked past the living room carrying a tray and heard their laughter drifting out.

"Chloe, Ethan is totally head over heels for you. He said it himself years ago—if you woke up, he’d divorce Harper in a heartbeat."

Another voice chimed in: "Seriously. During the year you were in a coma, he kept flying abroad just to care for you personally."

My steps paused for half a second. The china cup clinked against the saucer.

I didn't stop; I kept walking.

"Hold on."

Chloe called out from behind.

"Harper, you brewed this tea completely wrong. Take it back and make a fresh pot."

I didn't turn around. I kept walking toward the kitchen.

"Are you deaf? She's talking to you!"

One of the women bolted upright, grabbed the teapot off the table, rushed over, and dumped the scalding water right at my feet.

The boiling water soaked through my pant legs, the intense heat scorching my skin.

I winced, standing rooted to the spot without making a sound.

"Get on your knees and clean it up," the woman barked, crossing her arms. "Use that apron you're wearing. You think Chloe's fine tea is meant to be wasted by the likes of you?"

I didn't move.

"She told you to kneel! Don't you speak English?"

Another woman closed in, shoving my shoulder hard.

I glanced over at the couch.

Chloe cradled her teacup, gently blowing across the surface, a delicate smile playing on her lips.

I crouched down, untied my apron, and pressed the fabric against the soaked floor.

Suddenly, the front door swung wide.

"Stop it!"

Ethan stormed into the living room. Seeing me kneeling on the floor, his face darkened instantly.

He crossed the room in long strides, grabbed my wrist, pulled me up, and shoved me behind his back.

"Who gave you permission to treat her like this?"

Ethan glared at the women gathered in the room.

I stood behind him, the warmth of his palm still lingering on my skin.

"Ethan..."

Chloe suddenly clutched her stomach, collapsing against the cushions, her face pale as a ghost.

"It hurts... my stomach hurts so badly..."

Ethan whipped around. "What happened?"

"Harper..." Chloe trembled violently. "She put crushed peanuts in the pastries. She knows I've been deathly allergic since I was a child..."

Ethan's expression changed on the spot.

He turned back to look at me, every ounce of warmth vanishing from his eyes.

"You did this?"

"I didn't," I rasped. "The pastries were store-bought. She's setting me up!"

"Enough."

Ethan cut me off, scooped Chloe into his arms, and headed for the door.

At the threshold, he stopped, his back turned to me.

"Take that shattered tea set and dump it on the gravel path in the courtyard."

"Pick up every single shard before sundown."

"No gloves. And nobody helps her."

I stood in the center of the living room, watching the heavy doors slam shut.

Two in the afternoon. The summer heat radiated off the stone.

I knelt on the gravel path in the yard, reaching down to pick up the jagged shards of broken porcelain.

The sharp edges sliced into my palms. Blood mixed with sweat, dripping onto the stones.

I picked them up piece by piece from afternoon until twilight, my hands and forearms covered in bleeding cuts.

As darkness fell, my vision blurred, and I collapsed forward into the gravel.

Before losing consciousness, I heard the maids whispering under the veranda.

"Of all people to cross, she had to pick Chloe."

"Doesn't she know who Mr. Vance really cares about?"

When I woke up, I was lying on the small bed in the first-floor guest room.

Ethan sat at the bedside.

Seeing my eyes flutter open, he let out a breath, though his tone remained laced with reprimand.

"I know you feel wronged, but you can't try to hurt Chloe. Her body just recovered; she can't handle shocks like that."

I looked at him, curling my lips weakly. "You just believe everything she says, don't you?"

Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose, looking exhausted.

"Enough. I already had people take care of your father's arrangements. Stop making a scene."

"Chloe is in terrible shape right now. Insomnia every night."

He paused, looking down at me.

"Her psychic said the person who traumatized her needs to hand-peel ten pounds of fresh shrimp overnight. Only eating that will help her recover."

I stared at him, stunned.

He had waited here for me to wake up not out of concern for my wounds, but because he needed me in the kitchen peeling shrimp.