Chapter 4: Mistress and Maid

Harper didn't move.

It felt like someone had hit pause on the whole world. The candles stopped flickering. The music from the dining room faded into a dull hum. All she could hear was her own pulse, slow and heavy, like a drumbeat at the bottom of a pool.

Valentina's hands closed around hers. Her nails were warm and sharp, her grip fierce. She pressed one finger to her lips. Shh.

Harper nodded once. She couldn't have spoken if she'd tried.

Behind Myles, a man stepped through the door, and the room seemed to shift around him.

Keaton Ashford.

Harper knew the name. Everyone in Los Angeles did. Keaton was older than Myles, broad-shouldered, with a clean-shaven jaw and black hair brushed back from his face. He carried himself with an assurance that made the other men seem suddenly young. Valentina had once called him a demigod. Harper had laughed at the time. She understood the comparison now.

And he wasn't famous just for his looks. Keaton was the heir to Ashford Global, a multi-billion-dollar aviation and hospitality empire, planes and five-star hotels and half the skyline. His grandfather, Harlan Ashford, was a retired general and a former senator, with friends in every important office in the country. It was the kind of name that made rich playboys line up to suck up to him just to be seen in the same room.

What is he doing with them?

He stuck out among Myles's crowd like an eagle among a flock of sloppy pigeons. While the others slouched and laughed too loud, Keaton sat down at the far end of the table, his back straight, a glass of whiskey in his hand, swirling it slowly and watching everyone.

"Oh my God," Valentina breathed in her ear. "If I could ever get him in bed, I'd let him control me for once."

Harper didn't answer. Her eyes were on Myles.

The blonde was Serena Calloway.

Of course she was.

Harper had seen her face on billboards and magazine covers. Serena was an A-list actress, a fan favorite for her talent, her flawless beauty, and, if the tabloids were to be believed, her famously generous figure. She was also the daughter of the chairman of Westbridge Studios, one of the oldest and most powerful studios in Hollywood.

She was sitting sideways in Myles's lap, one hand sliding slowly up and down his thigh while he fed her a bite of duck from his fork. She giggled and leaned in. He kissed her sauce-glossed lips.

Harper had once cooked that same duck recipe for him. He'd said it was too heavy.

"So, Myles," one of his friends called out, a lean man with gelled hair named Tyler. He raised his glass. "When are you finally making an honest woman of Ms. Calloway? She's been on your arm at the company parties, at every gala. When do we get to call her Mrs. Crawford?"

Myles froze for half a second.

Harper's breath caught. Her fingers tightened on Valentina's hand. What will he say?

"Shut up, man," muttered a heavyset guy named Mike, elbowing Tyler. "Remember, he's got a girl at home."

"Oh, right." Tyler gave an ugly little laugh. "The diver. Haven't seen her in ages."

Myles laughed.

It wasn't the warm laugh she used to know. It was cold, low, and sharp, and it slid down her spine like ice water.

"Harper's comfortable where she is," Myles said. "She takes care of the house. Takes care of me. Never asks for much." He kissed Serena's temple. "Serena's the woman I'm going to marry. Harper just hasn't figured that out yet."

"So what happens to her?" Tyler asked.

Myles shrugged. "Maybe I keep her around. She's practically a maid already. Might as well get something out of it."

Several men laughed. The sound made Harper's stomach turn.

All except one. At the end of the table, Keaton's jaw had gone tight. A scowl pulled his dark brows together as he swirled the whiskey in his glass.

Harper waited for the heartbreak. She waited for the tears, the shaking, the sob that would break her in half. She'd imagined this moment a hundred times at night beside his turned back, and in every version she'd fallen apart.

But nothing came.

She felt cold and still and heavy, like stone. All she felt was regret, a dull, aching regret for the years she'd handed over to a man who had been laughing at her the whole time.

I wasted my best years on a piece of garbage.

Beside her, Valentina was trembling with rage. Her eyes burned. She started toward the glass like she meant to shatter it with her bare hands and go in screaming. Harper caught her wrist and shook her head.

"Wait," she whispered. "I want to hear everything."

Valentina stared at her. Then, slowly, she exhaled and nodded.