Chapter 22
"It hurt a bit earlier, but it's not so bad now," Harper confessed, though she wasn't entirely truthful.
In reality, the pain had been far from minor. The excruciating sensation of undergoing surgery without anesthesia was not something she'd forget anytime soon.
'Just hurt a bit?' Francis didn't believe her for a second. He knew how much she feared pain—their very first time together had required him to be incredibly gentle and patient.
Whenever they were intimate, he always made sure to prepare her thoroughly, ensuring she never felt discomfort.
Her pale face and damp hair clinging to her forehead portrayed a somber image akin to a rose drooping from thirst.
A scowl darkened Francis's face as he struggled with the urge to comfort her, feeling as though something was lodged in his throat.
His grip clenched, but he managed to hold his composure.
'The one who hurt her deserves to pay.'
However, Harper mistook his anger for frustration over their not getting divorced.
Her bandaged hand resembled a tightly wrapped dumpling. Visiting the ancestral home in her current state would only worry Dylan. It was best to wait until she recovered to clear things up with Abigail.
"Don't worry. My hand injury looks terrible, but it'll heal quickly. As soon as it does, I'll talk to Mom. You—"
She was cut off as she stumbled into his warm embrace. He held her with a combination of careful strength and underlying restraint.
"Let's just hug for a moment," he stated in a low, resonant voice, his chin resting against her hair.
Harper was momentarily stunned.
His embrace inexplicably made her feel cherished, as if he genuinely cared.
But just as quickly, she scoffed at herself.
Having witnessed his tender devotion to Chloe so many times, it was ludicrous for her to harbor such a misconception.
If Chloe hadn't been abroad for two years, Harper wouldn't have stood a chance at getting close to Francis.
It was all coincidental. Her being favored by Dylan and ending up with Francis was nothing more than a serendipitous twist of fate.
After just two years, anyone would grow fond of a little dog or cat, let alone a living, breathing person like her.
'I shouldn't let myself be swayed by his tenderness, shouldn't cling to my craving. If I do, I'll never be able to move on,' Harper thought.
"Francis, that's too tight," Harper murmured, her voice muffled in his embrace.
He smelled great, an intoxicating scent that tickled her senses. She didn't want his touch anymore, not when they were on the brink of divorce. They couldn't keep up this closeness.
Francis loosened his hold but still kept his arms tenderly around her, his forehead resting against her hair as if afraid she would vanish.
After a while, Victor came over, announcing that the discharge paperwork was all set. The doctors had no choice but to let Harper go home for rest. Luckily, she had injured the fleshy part of her palm, sparing the tendons, so she was expected to recover quickly.
Once Francis released her, he slipped one arm behind her back and effortlessly lifted her, startling Harper into a reflexive push. She thought, 'Victor is still present.'
"Stay still," Francis commanded, recognizing her intent, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Harper thought of her injury and complied, although the thought of being carried out through the bustle of the hospital made her heart race uncomfortably.
Her cheeks flushed as she whispered, "I can walk on my own."
Her hand was hurt, not her legs.
"No," Francis flatly rejected her suggestion, even teasingly threatening, "Move again, and I'll kiss you."
The blush on her face deepened, and she immediately behaved.
Francis frowned slightly, a hint of dejection in his voice as he murmured, "Are you that afraid of my kiss?"
Harper found herself wishing he'd talk less.
Harper, embarrassed by the possibility of curious stares, nestled her head deeply into his chest as they left, curling up like a timid quail. Francis's heart softened at her gesture, and he carefully helped her into the car.
Before they even reached home, Francis's phone rang. Harper saw the screen. It was Chloe calling. He picked up, conversing briefly.
Harper felt disappointed, so she closed her eyes and feigned sleep, drifting off before long.
Seeing her asleep on his shoulder, peaceful and docile, Francis felt a warm surge of affection.
When they arrived at home, he delicately moved her to the bed.
Afterward, Victor approached him and reported, "Mr. Getty, he's surfaced."
Francis's expression turned grim in a heartbeat. He instructed the housekeeper to look after Harper and swiftly exited.
His black luxury car soon pulled up beneath the towering facade of Fisherman's Bay, one of Westerlyn's renowned spa establishments.
Francis strode through the corridor, casually unbuttoning his suit jacket, his gaze sharp and icy. "The details," he demanded coolly from Victor.
"The guy's name is Liam Lee. He stole the purse on a dare, just for kicks. His dad runs the Fisherman's Bay. He's got some pull around here. With a 'mental health issues' certificate, he was released this afternoon."
Back in the private room, a guy with bleached hair was bragging to his buddies about his day.
"You guys have no idea. I've never seen a chick so badass and beautiful. Man, did she make my heart itch. Lucky for me, I got her contact info from the lawyer on the sly. Heh, whether she likes it or not, I'm getting my fun."
The door slammed open with a resounding bang.
Francis walked in, took off his suit jacket with deliberate ease, and tossed it to Victor, casting a glance at the bleached-hair guy. "Are you Liam?" he asked, his tone dismissive.
Francis was slender and tall, with strikingly handsome features and an air of elegance, and Liam was momentarily dumbfounded and just nodded. Then it hit him—this was his turf—and he snarled, "Who the hell are you—"
He never got to finish his sentence. An ashtray flew at his head, smashing with force.
Blood began streaming down Liam's face. Clutching his head, his hands slick with blood, he howled, "What the... Who dares to hit me?"
Pointing at his so-called friends, he shouted, "Are you all dead? Get them!"
As a few shadows rose to stand, two well-dressed bodyguards sprang forward, making a beeline for Liam and letting loose a flurry of punches and kicks. They were trained professionals, so their strength wasn't something the average joe could withstand.
The room filled with Liam's pitiful screams.
His friends were frightened and barely stood up before begging on their knees, trembling. "We didn't do anything wrong. It wasn't us! Let us go, please!"
By then, Francis had lit a cigarette. Clenching it between his lips, he tilted his head impassively to one side.
Not giving a damn about Liam cursing them for their lack of loyalty, his pals were crawling, scrambling, making a beeline for the door, cursing their bad luck for crossing paths with this demon.
Meanwhile, Liam, wincing in pain, felt his mouth numb. He forced out, "You... just you wait... when my dad hears about this... You're dead meat."
Hearing this, a faint smirk crossed Francis's face, his brows arching. Victor immediately understood what Francis wanted and said to the bodyguards, "Bring Mr. Lee over."
Soon, the boss of Fisherman's Bay, Mr. Lee himself, entered the scene. Seeing his son on the ground, bruised and battered, his heart ached. His blood pressure also skyrocketed with distress.
He rushed to his son's side, crying and cursing at the same time, "Who did this to my boy? Oh, my son... my heart is breaking."
As the savior appeared before him, Liam was a mess, tears, and snot streaming down his face as he pointed shakily at the man behind him. His speech was slightly slurred by emotion, "It–it was him... Dad, it was him who hit me. You got to take this guy down, beat him...to a pulp."
Mr. Lee turned his attention to the nonchalant man leisurely smoking behind him, whose distinguished appearance couldn't hide an innate air of superiority.
He couldn't fathom who would have the audacity to lay hands on his son in his own territory.
With a cold, mocking smile, Mr. Lee gestured, "Well? What are you waiting for? Bring him down and show him some 'hospitality.'"
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