Chapter 23
The Fisherman's Bay had plenty of muscle on the payroll, and at that moment, all of them rushed into the room. There was a formidable group of twenty-some men.
In stark contrast, the young man had brought only two bodyguards and an assistant who looked every bit the gentle, intellectual type – clearly not someone cut out for a brawl.
Mr. Lee grinned wickedly, thinking he had the upper hand. He signaled his crew to attack with a crooked finger. But the young man facing him remained calm, lounging comfortably with crossed legs as if he were on vacation.
Then came the pounding rhythm of a fierce altercation. Before Mr. Lee could even see what was happening, his twenty-some strong men had all been taken down. The whole ordeal lasted less than five minutes.
The young man's two bodyguards had effortlessly defeated the crowd of burly guards.
A slow, creeping terror oozed into Mr. Lee's eyes as he stammered, "Who... who are you?"
Victor presented a gold-embossed business card, "This is Mr. Getty."
Upon glancing at the card, Mr. Lee's knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor.
The Getty family of Westerlyn was so powerful that their simple moves could make the city tremble.
"I'm so sorry. It was my fault for not recognizing you. I beg your magnanimity to overlook my foolishness," Mr. Lee groveled.
Meanwhile, Liam, lying on the floor, whined, "Dad, what are you doing? How will I face anyone after this?"
"Smack!" Mr. Lee spun around and silenced his son with a slap.
"Shut your mouth!" Liam had no clue about the weight of their trouble.
Ignoring his son's whimpers, Mr. Lee continued to bow and scrape, "If my foolish son has offended you, please enlighten us on how to make amends, and I will personally see to it that an apology is made."
Francis extinguished his half-consumed cigarette and stood up. His tone was as casual as if commenting on the fine weather. "No need for apologies. Considering what he did today, I don't think he'll be needing this hand of his anymore."
"Right away, Mr. Getty," Victor responded promptly.
Mr. Lee's mind raced. 'What happened today? Liam had made the foolish bet to snatch someone's purse, but a young woman in her twenties stopped him and got injured,' he recalled.
Piecing the facts together, Mr. Lee instantly knew what had gone wrong, and his back was drenched with sweat. His voice trembled as he started pleading, "Mr. Getty, I had no idea she was with you. If I'd known, I'd have let that little punk rot in jail rather than let him out. Have mercy on me, please. He's my only son. How's he going to live if he's maimed?"
Francis had already made his way to the door. His lips curled into a mocking, icy smirk as he glanced sideways at the man, "Mr. Lee, if you don't discipline your son, rest assured the world will."
And with that, he left.
Behind him, the shrill, tormented screams of Liam echoed, growing weaker and weaker until they ceased completely as he passed out.
At Yuejing Villa.
Harper woke up to the darkness enveloping her room.
The space felt empty, lonesome.
Thoughts of the call that got cut off earlier in the afternoon crossed her mind—Francis must have gone to see Chloe.
A fleeting wave of desolation washed over her, but it was just that. Fleeting.
Her cell phone on the nightstand vibrated. It was Molly, letting her know about an alumni gathering that evening and inviting her to join.
Not wanting to worry Molly, Harper just mentioned she was feeling unwell, omitting further details.
Right after hanging up, she received a voice message from Keith Perot.
There was concern in his voice, "Heard from Molly you're not feeling well. What's up?"
Harper fabricated an excuse, waving it off.
Keith sent another voice note.
"Take care of yourself, and once you're feeling better, let me take you out for a meal."
Just as Harper was about to reply, the room lights snapped on.
The sudden brightness made her squint.
"Who are you going out to eat with?" Francis asked, one hand casually in his pocket, standing at the doorway. He looked gloomy.
Harper was taken aback, unsure of when he had arrived.
Francis sauntered over leisurely, stopping by the bed, and said in a nonchalant tone, "Reject him."
Harper almost thought she'd misheard.
"I'll do it for you," he said, his voice a magnetic rumble.
Before she could recover from her surprise, his strikingly handsome fingers took her phone. He was ready to speak into it.
"Hold on," Harper said, a bit irritated, "Why are you taking my phone?"
"If you can't say it, I'll do it for you," Francis said as if it was the most natural thing.
Harper, holding back her frustration, tried to reason with him. "He's a senior from college. He was just being polite, showing some concern because Molly said I wasn't feeling well."
Francis glanced down, "You're not going out to eat with him."
"That's not your decision to make." Harper shook her head swiftly.
'He has no right. He's the one who has been cozy with Chloe, so why should I obey him?
Moreover, my interactions with Keith are innocent and legitimate. There's no reason I shouldn't see him.'
Francis managed to keep a calm facade, but his eyes were icy. He ran his tongue across his back teeth and smirked, "Say that again."
Harper was livid. This man was beyond unreasonable.
"Do you even understand what respect is? We're getting divorced. You can't meddle in my social life anymore."
Francis snorted lightly. "Do you want the divorce because of him?"
Harper was stunned by his audacity. It was he who had his heart elsewhere, always treating her as a stand-in. Now, he had the nerve to question her.
She felt a bitter urge to laugh yet was too weary to argue. "Think whatever you want."
Arguing with a man who never truly had her in his heart about who fell out of love first was pointless.
"Is that so?" Francis's complexion darkened, a menacing glare almost spilling from his eyes.
"Francis, we're getting divorced," she repeated.
The words hit him like a gut punch, draining the color from his face.
Harper looked up, undeterred. "You and Chloe are intimate every day, and I don't say a word. Don't you think you're overstepping by controlling my social life?"
"You're jealous," said Francis, his gaze deep and probing.
A sharp twinge gripped Harper's heart. Jealousy was a luxury afforded to those loved.
And she had no right to it.
"I just don't get it. If you can be cozy with other women, why can't I dine with my friends? Aren't you being a bit overbearing?"
"From now on, you do your thing. I'll do mine. I'm not your accessory. Once we're divorced, I'll start fresh. We might as well get used to that idea now."
As she spoke, Harper stood up, retrieved her phone from his grasp, and set it down on the bedside table.
Something she said seemed to hit a nerve. Francis's face fluctuated between anger and confusion, making his handsome features momentarily contorted.
After a tense silence, he let out a mocking chuckle. "I'll show you why."
Before Harper could grasp his words, she felt herself pressed against the wall by the bed. There was a heavy thud, but she barely felt it as a strong hand braced her back just in time.
Francis lifted her chin with his elegant fingers. His eyes were pitch black, and his voice was husky. "Look closely."
Then, he leaned in and captured her lips in a fierce kiss.
Harper's head spun, and she couldn't see straight.
But she had no time to think. The heat of his lips, fervent and scorching, infused her mouth.
Her heart hammered, and her only free hand instinctively pushed against his chest in rejection.
But her feeble resistance seemed like a kitten's scratch to him, almost an enticement.
Francis's Adam's apple bobbed, his gaze intense. He felt his body restless with barely suppressed desire.
He hadn't touched her in weeks, and the mere kiss was nearly too much to bear.
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