CHAPTER 3 - HARPER’S POV

By the time I pulled my bike into the driveway and cut the engine, I was still fuming and muttering curse words under my breath.

"What an absolute jerk," I hissed, ripping off my riding gloves. "Can you believe that guy? He's supposedly desperate to meet me, offering ridiculous amounts of money, and then he turns around and calls me hideous."

I swung my leg off the seat and just stood there for a second, letting the anger simmer.

If he only had a clue.

If he only knew that I'm the exact same Scarlet Rose he's been trying to bribe for seven months straight just to get ten minutes of my time.

The same Scarlet Rose who makes grown men completely forget their own identities when I'm on stage.

The same Scarlet Rose with four college degrees, a resume packed with accomplishments, and combat training that could take down half the security teams in this country.

The same Scarlet Rose who moves across a stage in ways that leave entire audiences mesmerized.

"How many women out there can say that?" I muttered to myself. "I'm gorgeous, I come from an incredible family, and oh right, let's not overlook the fact that I'm also one of the wealthiest women in this entire city."

And yet... there I was... getting verbally destroyed by some pompous idiot.

The worst part? I'd actually felt a tiny bit bad for him earlier.

For a brief moment, I'd even thought he seemed somewhat charming. His determination had been almost flattering. I'd wondered if maybe, just maybe he wasn't quite as terrible as he appeared on paper.

And then...

Boom. The guy opened his mouth and immediately proved every negative assumption I'd had about him was correct.

I shook my head hard, yanking my helmet off as I headed toward the front door.

"Harper, sweetheart! You're home," Mom called out from the living room, her voice bright and welcoming. "How was your shift tonight?"

I gave her a tired smile. "Oh, you know how it goes. Work is work. My job's pretty low-key... just the way I prefer it. Half the time I'm catching up on sleep at my desk or handling a few minor tasks here and there."

She let out a long sigh, shaking her head with exaggerated disappointment. "I really wish you'd consider taking the car instead of riding that beat-up bicycle everywhere. Every single time you leave the house on that thing, I'm terrified something's going to happen."

"Mom, seriously," I said, setting the helmet down on the side table. "The bike makes me genuinely happy. Plus, nobody bothers me when I'm riding it."

Her expression softened for a second, but then her voice shifted into that careful, measured tone she always used right before dropping some kind of bombshell on me. "You're aware your father's out of town, correct? He left early this morning. Won't be back until sometime next week."

I frowned immediately. "Okay... and why does it feel like you're building up to something?"

She pressed her palms together, almost like she was praying. "Well, here's the thing... it's about my closest friend, Veronica. You remember how much I adore her, right? She has a son. One of the most sought-after bachelors in the entire city. He's currently looking to settle down, and he's expressed interest. I genuinely think you two would be an amazing match."

The smile dropped off my face like melted butter sliding off hot bread.

"Oh no. Absolutely not. How did I end up in this situation?" I groaned out loud. "Mom, I'm twenty. I'll be twenty-one in a couple of months. Marriage isn't even remotely on my radar right now..."

"Harper, please." Her voice got gentler, but her eyes stayed locked on mine with absolute determination. "I'm genuinely concerned about you. You barely have any friends. You never go anywhere. You're either taking naps at your office or taking naps here at home. You don't socialize, you don't... exist in the world. I'm scared that once I'm gone, you'll be completely isolated and alone."

"Mom..."

"And this guy, Veronica's son, he's genuinely a good person. Responsible. No messy scandals or affairs. A true gentleman. Every woman in the city would kill to be with him, but he specifically chose you. I have a strong feeling once you actually meet him, you'll understand why I'm so excited about this."

I looked away, biting down on the inside of my cheek... but then she did it. That quiet, weak cough that always made my resolve crumble instantly.

I let out a long breath. "Fine, Mom. Don't worry about it. If this will bring you some peace, I'll go meet him."

Her entire face transformed. "Wait, seriously?"

"Yes, seriously."

"Oh, sweetheart, thank you!" she practically squealed, her voice jumping up several octaves with pure joy.

I started heading toward my bedroom, my boots making sharp clicking sounds against the tile floor. Mom had diabetes and her blood pressure was always all over the place, which meant one absolute rule in this house: I couldn't let her get stressed out. Dad would literally murder me if he found out I'd upset her.

The honest truth? I hated watching her suffer. Which is exactly why she had absolutely no idea who I actually was behind closed doors.

Sure, she knew the basics. I was intelligent. Really intelligent, actually. Graduated high school early, finished college with honors, collected multiple degrees while everyone else my age was still trying to figure out what a "degree" even meant. She knew all that.

But my actual life? She didn't have the faintest clue.

She had no idea I was heavily invested in the stock market. That I'd purchased so many shares over the years I'd genuinely lost count. That my personal investments had made me wealthier than Dad... and definitely wealthier than that self-absorbed jackass who'd insulted me earlier tonight.

And she absolutely didn't know about my extracurricular activities.

Like my combat training. My street racing habit or the dancing.

The dancing was exactly why I'd opened my own nightclub to begin with. Most people assumed I was just another performer. Which worked perfectly for me. The actual staff handled the payroll and operations, while I only performed on that stage twice weekly... wearing a totally different appearance.

The "wild look."

The version of myself that would probably give Mom a heart attack if she ever saw it. So I kept it completely secret.

I danced because it made me feel alive, made me feel like myself for those brief moments. Then I'd come back home, remove the fake mole and oversized glasses, slip back into my quiet persona, and play the part of the reserved, introverted homebody.

It worked flawlessly. Nobody had ever figured it out. And I fully intended to maintain that secret. I was still just a kid in many ways... I wasn't about to give my mom something else to stress about.

I closed my bedroom door behind me and immediately my thoughts drifted back to him. That man who'd called me an "ugly disaster."

"What an absolute idiot," I mumbled under my breath, kicking off my shoes. "On one hand, he's supposedly obsessed with meeting me. On the other hand, he stands there insulting my appearance. Men... they're so shallow and self-centered. If he possessed even a tiny shred of awareness, he'd recognize the similarities between me and the performer he's so desperately chasing."

I stopped in front of my full-length mirror. "Then again," I added with a slight smirk, "maybe not."

I carefully peeled the prosthetic mole off my cheek, removed the chunky glasses, then reached up and tugged off the wig. My actual red hair spilled out everywhere.

I'd been naturally blonde as a child, but I'd dyed it this vibrant red shade years back. These days, I kept it concealed... hidden beneath wigs when I was home. I only ever let it loose at the club. The second I walked off that stage, I transformed right back into my disguise. Right back to my bicycle and my "normal" life.

Half the people I performed for wouldn't have the slightest chance of recognizing me if they literally walked past me on the sidewalk an hour after my show.

But right now... marriage was suddenly being thrust onto the table.

Marriage.

Just thinking the word made me want to laugh hysterically and scream in frustration at the exact same time. It had absolutely never been anywhere in my plans. Not at this stage of my life, not ever.

But Mom was set on it. And Mom had spent over twenty years married to Dad, still acting like they were newlyweds who couldn't keep their hands off each other. Honestly, I'd never witnessed a more perfect example of what marriage could actually be.

So... fine. I'd go along with it. For the time being, at least.

Roll with whatever came next.

But God help whatever poor guy thought this arrangement was going to be smooth sailing with me.