Chapter 47 If You Want Crazy
Shaking with anger, Harper gritted her teeth, "For the last time, Francis. Senior and I are just friends! He treats me like a sister, and that's it!"
'A sister?' Francis released her with a cold laugh. As a man, he was not blind. The blatant desire in Keith's eyes was not that of a "dear brother!"
He glanced at Harper's curves, feeling a surge of irritation as she stood there in the revealing gown. It was unlike her to attend such events, and her departure from the norm only added to his frustration.
Narrowing his sharp eyes, Francis stepped closer, emitting an aura of extreme danger. "So, you came to this party just to secretly meet up with him?"
Harper felt overwhelmed by Francis's baseless accusations, questioning why she even hoped for his trust. She pondered if he would label her as 'flirtatious' and 'cheap' now, despite his own infidelity.
The anger she'd suppressed for so long exploded in an instant. Harper couldn't contain herself any longer and lashed out.
"You always tell me to keep away from Senior, but what about you and Chloe? Aren't you two having an affair?" she countered fiercely.
"Senior and I are honest people. We have nothing to hide, not like your sneaky affairs!"
"Times have changed—it's the 21st century. The days when the rules only applied to those in charge but not to the rest of us are long gone, you know!"
Harper was livid, and her tears were on the brink of breaking free.
How was it that they were clearly in the wrong, yet she was the one being bullied?
Was it just because she loved him?
Because she loved him, he felt entitled to demean her.
If that was the case, then this love, marred by constant grief, she would force herself to abandon completely.
Her fists clenched tightly. She said coldly, "If you make Senior disappear, I'll disappear alongside him."
"Do you even realize what you're saying?" Francis spat out, grinding his teeth, his eyes suddenly flaring up with a blood-red fury as if he could tear her apart with mere glances.
The agony in Harper's heart threatened to spill out.
In Francis's eyes, anyone other than Chloe and his family must seem insignificant.
'In his eyes, are Keith and I mere ants to be crushed underfoot? Their small, ordinary lives, devoid of noteworthy pedigrees, should just bow down?’
'Absolutely not.'
"Francis, our divorce has nothing to do with Senior."
She locked eyes with him, each word deliberate, "If you insist on hurting him, I will pay him back with my life!"
Her declaration ignited his rage tenfold.
Francis felt as if his heart was being clenched, leaving him breathless.
She was willing to go to this extent for another man, even willing to die. It was unacceptable. He would never allow it!
His furious gaze solidified, and he forcefully grasped her chin, "Don't even think about it! Let me tell you, even if we divorce, don't you dare dream of marrying another man! I forbid it!"
Harper winced as he pinched her chin hard, struggling, "Francis, have you lost your mind?"
"Lost my mind?" Francis's mouth twisted into a sneer, and with a sweep of his arm, he cleared the table.
The vase rolled across the carpet, scattering petals and soaking the Persian carpet with water.
He pulled Harper into his embrace, his hot breath on her ear, mocking, "Then let me show you just how crazy I can be..."
"Ah!"
In a dizzying instant, Harper found herself lying on the table, with Francis's overpowering body pressing down on her.
Harper realized his intentions, and her face turned deathly pale. Tears fell out of her eyes like pearls.
She struggled desperately, "You psycho, you bastard!"
What was he doing here?
In a strange room, at his great-great-grandfather's birthday celebration, he was humiliating her!
Her struggles were futile, like a mantis trying to stop a chariot, unable to move him in the slightest.
"You drove me to this," Francis said, his eyes dark.
And then there was the sound of tearing fabric.
Her elegant dress was ruthlessly ripped apart, exposing her fair, slender legs.
Her pretty face was blurred by tears, a sight that would drive any man wild.
Francis's Adam's apple bobbed with agitation at the mere thought of another man ever seeing Harper in such a state, the very thought sending him into a murderous rage.
Harper was in full-blown panic mode. "Francis, what the hell are you trying to do?" she gasped, shoving against him in a frantic attempt to escape his grasp.
Francis pinned her wrists above her head, his hot breath grazing her ear as he hissed, "You're mine, Harper. I won’t let anyone else touch you!"
Outside, the sound of passersby filtered through the air. Desperation clawed at her— the door was closed but not locked. Anyone could stumble in and witness their sordid encounter.
Taut as a bowstring and driven by sheer desperation, Harper drove her knee hard into his groin. Caught off guard, Francis grunted and bent over slightly, still gripping her wrists.
Their eyes met, and her loathing was plain to see. It didn’t escape Francis's gaze. His look turned icy, and a mocking sneer curled his lips. "After two years, you start to hate me now— isn't it a bit late?"
"Shut up!" Harper hissed through gritted teeth, seething with anger that he could still so easily provoke her.
Tears welled up in her eyes, and her hair was a wild mess. She was trembling all over, displaying a delicate and fragile beauty. Francis’s voice was husky, "But I'm not satisfied yet..."
Enraged even further, Harper couldn't believe it—wasn't Chloe enough for him? 'Did he want to add yet another to his list, as if one woman wasn't enough? What a fantasy.'
The thought that he had done the same to Chloe made her feel sick. Staring at Francis, she suddenly turned her head and bit him hard on the wrist. The pain was sharp and immediate.
Lowering his gaze, Francis saw the wildness in her, like a tameless cub now baring her fangs, biting him with all her might.
Before he could react, Harper had already pushed him away and bolted from the room.
Harper, only after fleeing, realized her torn dress would draw unwanted attention. Turning to find Abigail for assistance, she was intercepted by a villa staff member.
The staff member eyed her torn dress and said calmly, "Miss Harper, do you need to change? Please, follow me."
Without giving it much thought, Harper assumed that this place had staff as capable of handling extraordinary situations as those in the Getty ancestral home.
Silent, the staff member led the way, and Harper followed, only to realize something was off when they arrived at what looked more like private quarters than guest accommodations.
This certainly wasn't a place for visitors.
She paused, wariness edging her voice, "Where exactly are we going?"
The staff member glanced at her with a touch of disdain, "The Old Lady wants to see you."
'The Old Lady? That must be the stepmother who can't stand Abigail.’
'Nothing good can come from meeting her.'
"I'm sorry, but I'd rather not," Harper declined unequivocally.
A scoff escaped the staff member as she clapped her hands dismissively, "It's not up to you to decide."
Suddenly, from either side, two bodyguards appeared, whisking Harper away and tossing her into a room.
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