Chapter 302 I Agree to the Divorce
Harper was too mad to do anything, and calling the cops wouldn't help.
She glared at him. "Mr. Getty, is this what you call love?"
The topic shifted suddenly.
Francis was taken aback, swallowing hard. "What else could it be?"
He had nothing better to do than find ways to bump into her.
Harper's lips curled in mockery. "To me, Mr. Getty, it seems like you're just curious. Even if I was your wife, after five years apart, there'd be something new. What happens when that newness wears off? Will you toss me aside or lock me up like a pet you're bored with?"
A dull pain in his chest made Francis's voice urgent and hoarse. "Harper, it's not just curiosity. I would never throw you away. You are my wife, irreplaceable."
These words made Harper's head hurt again.
She exhaled, forcing herself to say, "Mr. Getty, in your memory, I'm your wife, but to me, you're just a stranger. What you think is normal husband behavior, I find annoying. Do you really think it's fair to force me to be with you?"
Her cold tone felt like a blunt knife to Francis's heart. His eyes filled with despair, and he couldn't speak.
"Is this what you call love?"
Harper's eyes were full of mockery, each word piercing. "So your love is just selfishly forcing someone against their will."
An intense pain struck Francis.
He let go of her hands weakly, struggling to breathe, his expression deeply wounded.
"Harper," he wanted to explain, to speak, but to the amnesiac Harper, his words were meaningless.
Harper couldn't understand and didn't want to listen. The pain out of nowhere in her head was making it hard for her to hold on.
"Mr. Getty, right now you're just a stranger to me. No matter our past, it's all blank to me. Please don't make me go from disliking you to hating you."
After saying this, Harper didn't look at him again and turned to leave.
She walked quickly, not wanting to show any weakness in front of Francis.
Outside, Harper felt increasingly disoriented. It was like an unknown beast was rampaging in her mind, making her head swell and her vision blur.
The conversation with Francis was like a tsunami, causing tremors. It made her feel like she was remembering something, yet she couldn't recall anything, and the sense of collapse kept circling, refusing to go away.
Harper was nearly driven mad by the noise, her body swaying uncontrollably before she collapsed.
Just as she was about to hit the ground, a warm hand caught her shoulder. Then, Vincent's voice came to her ears.
"Harper, are you okay?"
Vincent supported her shoulders from behind, his broad chest shielding her from the wind, making it look like he was hugging her from behind.
Harper tilted her head slightly, the streetlight reflecting in her eyes like shattered diamonds, making her look otherworldly beautiful.
"Vincent," she whispered, sounding drained.
Vincent replied calmly, "It's okay. Take it slow. I'll help you to the car."
His gentle voice and steady demeanor gradually calmed Harper down.
With his right hand on her shoulder, Vincent's tall figure stood behind her like a protective barrier, making her feel safe.
Harper said nothing more, letting Vincent help her into the car.
Francis, who had rushed out, saw them and felt his heart shatter.
He staggered backward, feeling like he had nowhere left to go.
The night was deep and quiet.
Francis's car was parked outside Harper's apartment.
He had followed them, watching Vincent take Harper home. Each second was torture.
He kept himself in check, not rushing forward.
When Vincent finally left, Francis felt a bit relieved, but his heart still ached, twisted by a thin rope of panic.
The night grew deeper, wrapping the city in a blanket of stillness. Francis sat in his car, chain-smoking until the ashtray overflowed with the remains of his thoughts. His once confident face was now a mask of desolation, his eyes vacant and soulless.
Things hadn't gone as Francis expected. He thought if he held on, Harper would come back. But he never considered her feelings. To her, he was just a stranger, and his actions only disgusted her more.
Francis sat in his car, thinking maybe this was karma.
He smoked all night, parked outside Harper's apartment, silently until dawn.
At eight o'clock.
Harper stepped out and saw a black limo parked conspicuously outside.
Their eyes met, and Francis got out of the car.
Harper didn't know he hadn't left and thought he was there to bother her early in the morning, which made her immediately displeased.
Her undisguised emotion pricked Francis's heart.
"Harper, we need to talk." Francis's voice was hoarse and desolate, a stark contrast to his overbearing demeanor yesterday.
Harper took a step back and frowned. "Mr. Getty, I have to go to work."
Francis couldn't ignore her instinctive rejection, feeling like another knife had stabbed his heart. "I just have one question. Are you really with that man?"
"No," Harper answered decisively. She had let Francis misunderstand out of anger yesterday, but now that she was clear-headed, she didn't want to get Vincent into trouble.
She had already made herself clear. Even if she didn't have a boyfriend, she could never like him.
Feeling no need to chat further, she turned to walk towards her driver's car.
Francis watched her walk away, exhaling deeply and gritting his teeth. "Harper, I agree to the divorce."
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