Chapter 2

At an upscale neighborhood, Linden Grove.

When Harper returned home, her mind was foggy, as if wrapped in cotton. She went straight into the shower, then crawled under the covers and fell asleep in a daze.

It was the cold that woke her.

She didn't know how long she had slept, only that the chill had reached into her bones. Her skin prickled, her body shivered. That was when she realized—she must have a fever.

Slowly, with effort, she opened her tired eyes and forced herself to stay awake. She picked up her phone and ordered medicine through the delivery app.

Worried about dehydration, she dragged her aching limbs out of bed, went to the living room, and poured herself a glass of warm water. She drank it in large gulps.

The water helped. Her thoughts began to clear a little. The delivery should be arriving soon, she thought. Wrapping herself in a blanket, she sat cross-legged on the sofa, waiting quietly.

Ding!

The distinctive Twitter notification chime shattered the silence.

Her unfocused eyes sharpened instantly. She unlocked her phone to see a post from an account called @Sophilas.

It was Sophie's secret account.

Five years ago, after learning of Sophie's existence, Harper couldn't help herself. She would search the internet for any news related to Sophie. But every time, all she saw were carefully crafted stories from Sophie's public relations team. All Harper knew was that Sophie was an actress, had starred in several major productions abroad, and beyond that, nothing.

She had stumbled upon this secret account by chance. But from the moment she saw the username, she had a strong feeling—it was Sophie.

She had followed the account for five years. Not once had Sophie posted anything.

Until today.

Harper's fingers clenched around her phone, turning white at the tips. She tapped on the post. There were three photos.

The first: a deliberately blurred marriage certificate where Silas's name was still discernible.

The second: two hands tightly clasped.

The third: a steaming bowl of fish porridge

The caption read: [Married my childhood sweetheart today <3 After all these years, he still remembers my favorite comfort food!]

Harper's lips drew into a thin, pale line. Her dark eyes stared at the screen, unblinking. Then, slowly, her mouth curled—not into a smile, but into something colder. A quiet, mocking curve.

She lifted her fingers and gave the post a like.

Harper knew Silas. If he had wanted to keep this from her, there was no way he would have allowed Sophie to post it. And yet, here it was, from her secret account.

She must have known Harper was following her all along. She had waited for this moment to flaunt it.

Fine, Harper thought. Let her have it.

She exited Twitter and opened her Notes app, typing out her exit strategy.

First, resign. Then erase all traces. Wrap up her comic series. Finally, sell the apartment and leave for good.

The sound of the front door interrupted her planning.

Must be my prescription delivery, she thought, heaving herself off the couch. She reached the door and started speaking before fully opening it, "Hey, just leave the meds on the—"

"Harper, you're still up?"

Seeing her appear so suddenly, Silas tensed. A flash of guilt passed through his eyes.

"Sophie had a fight with her family. They kicked her out. She and her son had nowhere to stay tonight, so I thought I'd bring them here, just for one night. I assumed you were asleep. I didn't want to wake you. I was going to explain everything tomorrow."

His brows drew together slightly. Standing behind him were Sophie and her son, bundled up. Silas spoke in a low voice, shielding them behind her.

Sophie added quickly, "Harper! I feel awful about this. Silas insisted hotels weren't safe with my... public situation. He said he'd feel safer being nearby."

She stepped out from behind him, removed her sunglasses, and offered a gentle, bright smile.

"Harper, this may be our first meeting, but I've heard so many wonderful things about you. You seem like the type who'd help a stranded mom and her son, right?"

Harper's grip on the doorknob turned vise-tight. She looked at the scene before her, irony stinging behind her eyes.

Suppressing the tide of emotion, she swept her gaze over Sophie.

"Come in," she said.

Then she turned and walked straight back to her bedroom.

…

It was hard to say how long had passed.

When Harper finally drifted into a feverish, medicated sleep, the mattress beside her gave way without warning. A moment later, a pair of broad hands found their way around her waist.

Her body tensed instinctively in the dark. She opened her eyes and reached for the small bedside lamp. Its soft glow spilled into the room.

"What are you doing?!"

"Harper, what's wrong? Are you mad at me?"

Sensing her resistance, Silas raised a brow and leaned in, resting his chin lightly on her shoulder. His voice was low and unhurried.

"What happened tonight was my fault. I should've told you in advance. I brought you your favorite—fish porridge. Don't be upset, okay?"

His warm breath curled around her ear. His cool lips brushed softly along her earlobe, tracing down toward her cheek, the corner of her mouth...

"You said you'd only touch me on our wedding night." Her voice was quiet, almost brittle. She turned her face sharply away just before he reached her lips, a flicker of coldness in her eyes.

"I did say that," he replied, voice husky, "but every time I hold you, it's unbearable. Harper, can I use my husband's rights early? Let's just pretend tonight is our wedding night."

As he spoke, his hand slipped beneath the hem of her nightdress, inching upward.

A thin sheet of frost seemed to spread over her eyes. Her white teeth sank into her lower lip until it broke. The taste of blood thickened in her mouth.

His words echoed, strange and far away, as if spoken from behind glass.

Ironic, she thought. If you went by the date on the marriage certificate, tonight really was his wedding night.

But not with her.

With another woman.

So what gave him the right to come here, to her bed?

Anger surged in her chest. Harper caught his hand, stopping it just before it went further.

"I have a fever."

"What? You have a fever?" His eyes narrowed. He touched her forehead with his palm. The heat startled him. His brows drew together, then a teasing grin tugged at his lips.

"I've heard people say it feels even better when you're burning up. Why don't we try it?"

"What did you say?" Her heart thudded hard. She clenched her fists so tightly her nails dug into her palms. But she felt no pain.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding. I'm not a monster." Sensing her genuine anger, Silas quickly withdrew his hand with a laugh.

"Come on, eat some porridge. I'm going to take a shower."

He disappeared into the bathroom.

Under the muted yellow light, Harper sat up slowly in bed, her face pale as paper. It felt like something inside her was being pulled tight, tangled, suffocating her breath.

She turned her head.

The fish porridge sat quietly on the nightstand, still warm, neatly packaged.

She picked it up and threw it straight into the trash.

…

The night passed in a blur. When Harper got up the next morning, she found that Silas had already left—taking Sophie and her child with him.

Her head still swam. Her limbs were weak. But she forced herself into the shower, changed her clothes, and left the apartment.

Today, she would tender her resignation letter.