Chapter 2

“I’ve never slept with Harper. And I never will.”

The words sliced through the room like a blade of ice, hitting Harper so hard she felt as if she were being torn in two.

She stood there frozen, eyes wide in shock.

So that was why he had always been so cold to her, why he had never touched her. Was it all because of Irene?

Around the table, Rupert’s friends exchanged startled looks.

“If my grandfather hadn’t forced me, I never would’ve married her.” Rupert let out an irritated breath and tipped back his glass in one swallow.

At last, one of his friends broke the tense silence with a teasing grin. “Rupert really is loyal to his true love to the bitter end. Not even a beauty like Harper could shake him.”

“If I were Irene, I’d be moved to tears right now.”

Harper stood stiffly outside the door, her face drained of color.

For years, she had tried to save their marriage, only to be rejected again and again. Now, the brutal truth was finally laid bare.

He loved his stepsister, Irene—even though she was already married and had given birth to another man’s child.

What a devoted pair of lovers.

A bitter, mocking laugh rose in Harper’s chest, but a voice behind her cut through her thoughts.

“Mrs. Getty is here. Why not come in?” The speaker had just arrived and clearly had no idea what had happened in the room.

The lively atmosphere vanished at once, replaced by deathly silence.

Harper dug her nails deep into her palms. The sting gave her just enough strength to force a composed smile.

“I just got here,” she lied, her voice perfectly calm.

Rupert’s lips pressed into a hard line, and a flicker of annoyance flashed through his dark eyes.

“Well, since your wife is here, we should probably head out,” one guest suggested tactfully. “Rupert, don’t drink too much.”

Before Rupert could answer, a sweet voice floated in from the doorway. “You’re all leaving just as I arrive?”

Irene stepped into the room, perfectly made up and elegantly dressed. The moment Rupert saw her, every trace of coldness vanished from his face, replaced by unmistakable delight.

He shot to his feet at once. “Irene? What are you doing here? Where’s Jared?”

Irene smiled gently. “Jared’s at home. He wanted me to read him a bedtime story, but I didn’t want to miss your gathering, so I made an excuse and got him to sleep.”

“I’m done drinking anyway. Let’s go home,” Rupert said softly.

Without a second thought, he reached for Irene’s hand. As he led her toward the door, he didn’t even spare Harper a glance.

Harper stood rooted to the floor, watching them leave. Then she noticed the pity in his friends’ eyes. The humiliation hit her like a punch to the chest.

To everyone watching, Rupert and Irene were the real couple, the real family. And Harper? She was nothing but a ghost lingering at the edge of their world.

Harper didn’t remember how she got home. She collapsed numbly onto the living room couch, staring blankly at the ticking clock as time crawled past.

After two agonizing hours, the front door finally clicked open.

Harper lifted her head and looked straight at Rupert’s neck. It was marked with vivid red stains—undeniable proof of what had happened.

She sucked in a breath, nausea rolling through her.

Irene came in right behind him. She stumbled slightly and let out a soft, breathless whimper. “Rupert, my legs feel like jelly… can you carry me upstairs?” Her tone was playful, but every word was carefully calculated.

Then, over his shoulder, she threw Harper a smug, taunting smile.

Rupert didn’t hesitate for even a second. He swept Irene into his arms with ease. “Let me take you upstairs. You need a hot bath and some rest,” he murmured, his eyes fixed entirely on the woman in his arms.

“Don’t do this. Jared is still in the room.”

They walked right past the couch as if Harper didn’t exist.

“You two…” Harper’s voice broke the silence, flat and dry with pain.

“I’m tired,” Rupert cut in, impatience lashing through his tone. “Whatever it is, we’ll talk tomorrow.”

Then he turned and carried Irene upstairs.

The rest of Harper’s words died in her throat. She watched his broad back disappear into the shadows of the second floor.

Three years of marriage had shattered in one unbearable night.

He didn’t even have the patience to let her finish a sentence. Yet he was willing to carry another man’s wife upstairs and soothe her to sleep.

Bitter tears burned behind Harper’s eyes. She squeezed them shut, refusing to let herself cry.

That night, Harper didn’t start to feel sleepy until well past midnight.

But then a strange sound came from outside her room.

She walked into the living room and froze on the spot. Rupert was sprawled across the couch, his face flushed red, his eyes glassy and unfocused.

He was panting heavily, his chest rising and falling with harsh, uneven breaths.

Startled, Harper stepped closer. “What’s wrong?” she asked, panic instantly overtaking her anger. “Are you sick? Are you hurting somewhere?”

He looked feverish—as if he’d been drugged with something far stronger than alcohol.

Before she could pull away, Rupert suddenly lunged. His hand clamped around her wrist like a vise. In one swift, staggering motion, he dragged her down onto the couch cushions and pinned her beneath him.

His dark eyes were completely clouded over. “I feel awful,” he rasped, his voice thick with heat. “I’m burning up…”

Harper’s mind raced. The symptoms were obvious. Someone had drugged him.

For years, countless women had tried to seduce Rupert at social events, but he had always remained untouchable. Until tonight.

“I need to take you to the hospital,” she stammered, trying to push her hands between them.

Rupert didn’t answer. Instead, he scooped her up and carried her effortlessly to the master bedroom. He set her down on the mattress.

Harper’s head spun. She stared at him wide-eyed and breathless as he began frantically tearing at his shirt.

“Rupert…” she whispered, her heart pounding.

He froze. Then he shook his head sharply, as if trying to wake himself from a dream. “Harper?” he rasped, uncertainty flickering in his hazy eyes.

Harper gave a small nod, hesitant. “It’s me.”

The desire in his eyes died instantly.

He shoved himself off the bed and staggered into the walk-in closet, leaving Harper sitting there in stunned confusion.

She had already prepared herself to sleep with him.

But he had walked away.

Harper followed Rupert into the closet, and her blood seemed to freeze.

Rupert was gripping a piece of red lingerie against his erection. His eyes were squeezed shut, his hand moving in a steady rhythm as one desperate name fell from his lips—

“Irene…”