Chapter 25
Annoyed by Wesley's scrutiny, Francis lifted his eyes with a mocking smile, suggesting, "Maybe you'd like to take a closer look?"
His smile was chilling, clearly a warning.
Wesley gave a nervous chuckle, unable to resist commenting, "That love bite looks pretty intense. Can little Chloe even handle that?"
At that, Francis's handsome face turned stern as he replied coldly, "It wasn't Chloe."
"What?" Wesley's jaw dropped, his tone stretching out the curiosity, "Then it was Harper?"
Francis's silence was confirmation enough.
Wesley couldn't help teasing, "I always thought she was so well-behaved. She's playing wild now?"
Robert, lounging with a voluptuous woman at his side, gave a light scoff, "Maybe she doesn't want to let you go, pulling stunts like that."
In their circle, it was an unspoken understanding that Francis was destined to marry Chloe.
After all, Francis never showed much interest in women, except for Chloe, whom he adored deeply.
And given their matching social status, everyone in high society was betting on Chloe being Mrs. Getty for sure.
Nobody could have foreseen the turn of events halfway through the plan. For reasons unknown, a rift had formed between the two. After Chloe moved abroad, Francis, who had always been the picture of fidelity, suddenly got hitched in a whirlwind wedding.
Initially, everyone back home thought Francis had been tricked, and they held a grudge against Harper. However, as time passed and Harper stayed out of trouble, their attitudes shifted. Still, they favored Chloe. In elite social circles, marriages were often seen as business deals rather than fairytales.
After a long silence, Francis murmured, "No."
If it had been a calculated move, he wouldn't be feeling this rattled and irritable.
'Now, I feel like the pet cat I kept for two years now rebels against me for someone else.'
It drove him insane, igniting a wild rage within him that could've easily spurred thoughts of murder.
He couldn't comprehend how she managed to get under his skin so easily, and suddenly, he found himself not wanting to let go.
When he really thought about it, it boiled down to possessiveness.
Divorce was one thing, but her being with another man? He couldn't accept that.
Meanwhile, Wesley eyed the silent Francis, and with a sly lift of his eyebrow, he said with feigned profundity, "Not so simple, is it?"
Robert scoffed, "Big deal, she's just a woman. Have your fun and move on. Getting serious? Now, that's stupid."
Wesley gave Robert a sidelong glance, "You've been busy, haven't you? Stirring up quite a bit with The Koch family. Xavier's starting to feel the heat."
"Hmm," Robert replied nonchalantly.
Out of the blue, Francis asked, "What's your plan for The Koch family?"
He asked that because Harper mentioned tonight that Molly was her close friend.
Robert exhaled a plume of smoke, his visage momentarily shrouded, the scar on his forehead the only clear feature. He said with a chilling voice, " The Koch family will get a taste of the sufferings I've endured."
Wesley's eyebrows arched at that statement.
This was a vendetta that wouldn't end well.
He recalled how deeply Molly and Robert had fallen for each other, only for Xavier to betray his future son-in-law. Now, Xavier's daughter would likely see Robert exact his revenge firsthand.
With a shake of his head, Wesley looked at Francis and Robert, saying in resignation, "You guys, just don't end up regretting this."
Little did Wesley know how prophetic his words would be.
The trio sat in silence, and soon, they seemed to be drunk.
Robert was escorted away by the woman accompanying him while Wesley eyed the half-drunk, Francis, his eyebrow raised teasingly. "You're not crashing at my place tonight. The last thing we need is some tabloid snapping photos and starting rumors about us."
"Get lost," Francis muttered coldly and then announced, "I'm heading back."
In the car, Francis's phone rang. Xenia was on the line, her voice thick with worry, reporting that Chloe was feeling under the weather and in tears.
After hanging up, Francis instructed the driver, "Take me to the hospital."
The luxury car came to a halt in the hospital parking lot. Despite the missed calls still flashing beside him, Francis stepped out and lit a cigarette. He smoked it down to the filter without once making a move toward the hospital.
Suddenly, a streak of lightning split the sky, followed closely by the ominous rumble of thunder.
Francis glanced at the hospital, then yanked open the car door and commanded, "Head back to the Moou Residence."
Harper had only just settled into her bed, still feeling queasy from throwing up earlier. The maid at home had prepared a midnight snack for her, but she couldn't stomach it. After a soothing bath, thanks to the maid, Harper had slipped into sleep.
The downpour outside was heavy, but the room was soundproof, muffling the tumult of the storm.
Harper thought about Francis's behavior that day. She pondered the stark differences between men and women. Men could engage in intimacy without affection, while for her, giving herself to him was an act of love. Yet, what she considered precious might be deemed worthless in someone else's eyes.
A sudden deflation gripped her. Despite her resolve not to think about him, when her mind cleared, he thought of him again. Perhaps it was because she lived in Moou Residence, where every corner was imbued with the traces of their past love. Once her hand healed a bit, she planned to move back to her own home to ward off the relentless tide of her thoughts.
Abruptly, the door creaked open.
Startled, Harper bolted upright, "Who's there?"
"It's me," came a familiar voice, instantly soothing her racing heart.
The bedside lamp flickered on, casting a gentle glow. Harper's unease only grew as she recognized the visitor.
"Why are you back?" she asked.
Francis said nothing. The sting of her apparent disdain made him upset.
He moved further inside, taking a seat at the edge of the bed, his voice cold. "This is my house. Why can't I be here?"
Harper scooted back, thinking, 'Weren't you supposed to be with Chloe?'
She dared not voice her thoughts, as she was kind of scared of him. Despite their earlier disagreement, she hadn't expected him to return.
Francis sat there in his pale silk pajamas, his hair damp, carrying the scent of his usual cologne. It was a cool, familiar fragrance. The warm light softened his sharp features, made him less formidable without his usual suit, and he somehow appeared both more handsome and less forbidding.
"Do you like what you see?" Francis frowned, his gaze piercing as he challenged her. "Still staring at me even though you fancy someone else?"
Harper immediately dropped her gaze.
After a long moment, Francis's irritation spilled out, "What's the matter? Do you think I'm going to bite your head off from all the way over here?"
Harper stayed silent.
It was clear to her—this was the fallout from a clash with Chloe. She was now his outlet for frustration.
She intended to leave the bed, but he stopped her.
"Where are you going?"
Her eyes met his as she murmured, "I'll go sleep in the guest room."
Francis sized her up thoroughly before finally, after an uncomfortable pause, he dismissed her with two words, "Go ahead."
Harper bounded off the bed gleefully but froze at his icy voice from behind her.
"The moment you step out of this bed, I'll take you right now."
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