Chapter 50 Ten Slaps to the Face
The teacup shattered at Francis's feet, water splashing. He glanced down at the broken prayer beads on the floor, then at the bruise on Harper's forehead. It added up.
His eyes ice-cold, he instructed the bodyguard, “Go inform my grandfather and great-grandfather that Whitney has had a senile episode. She's not recognizing people and needs to be taken to a care facility today.”
“You wouldn't dare!” Whitney barked.
Whitney was eight years younger than Abigail's father and just past sixty. She was at the peak of her life for enjoyment. 'And this bastard wants to lock me up?
'As an outsider, by what right did he think he could rule over the Hearst family?'
She declared fiercely, “I was merely correcting your ill-mannered wife, who broke a vase and showed no respect for her elders. Since when is it wrong to chastise her?”
Francis, however, let out a light chuckle.
"Whitney, whatever Harper does, it's with my blessing. Even if she trashes your whole room today, I'll stand by her!"
The declaration turned Whitney and Amelia's expressions sour in an instant.
How could this woman mean so much to Francis?
It seemed inconceivable.
Amelia was the first to balk at the thought because she had been green with envy for years, witnessing Francis dote on Chloe.
Harper glanced up then, catching the profile of the man bathed in the sharp contrast of light and shadow, strikingly handsome. She then looked away as her heart drummed a chaotic rhythm.
'Francis just said he'll indulge me even if I demolished the place.'
Shortly after, he turned toward Whitney and said with a commanding tone, "My wife doesn't need anyone's instruction!"
Harper’s heart sank for a brief moment.
On reflection, his declaration was only because his wife represented the dignity of the Getty family. To strike his wife would be tantamount to challenging the Getty family—unthinkable.
Whitney trembled with rage, "You little beast! Have you forgotten that I am your grandma?"
With a sneer, Francis retorted, "Whitney, it seems like you forgot that my grandma rests in peace at Fragrant Treasure Hill."
Whitney's face contorted with anger. 'This defiant wretch had never acknowledged me as his grandma in all these years. It confirmed the bitter truth, if there was no blood tie, there could be no familiarity.
'His mother had never held me in regard, and it appeared neither did this brat.'
Soon, the bodyguards returned with their report, along with Abigail, who had rushed over.
Upon seeing the scene, Abigail’s volatile temper erupted.
"Who did this?" she demanded, staring at Harper.
Before Harper could answer, Abigail’s eyes landed on Amelia, who was cowering behind Whitney, and everything clicked.
She surged forward, seizing Amelia by the hair and dragging her down.
Amelia wailed like a banshee, calling for her mother in vain—Anna was nowhere to be found.
Abigail did not hold back.
Slap, slap, slap—!
With swift back-and-forth motions, she delivered ten unrelenting slaps to Amelia's face.
Amelia sat on the floor, dazed and disheveled from the barrage.
Once things quieted down, the bodyguard stepped forward, "Mr. Getty, the elders say the decision is yours."
Whitney's face fell in an instant, murmuring, "Impossible, I must see him!"
But there would be no chance of that. The bodyguard promptly escorted her out—Whitney's departure was non-negotiable.
As for Abigail's father, he hadn't even considered coming.
Confronted with choosing between the future of the company and an aging woman past her prime, he didn't hesitate for a second to opt for the company's prospects.
Whitney was dragged along, cursing as she went, her dignity in tatters.
Francis, as if deaf to her complaints, held Harper up in his arms and strode toward the exit.
Harper was startled, her little hands frantically clutching at his clothes, her wide, almond-shaped eyes filled with shock as she looked up at him.
He put her in the car and commanded coldly, "To the hospital."
Arriving at the hospital, Harper's mind was blank.
Everything had happened too fast, too chaotically, like a dream.
She didn't even notice when Francis carried her out of the car.
Looking down at her with furrowed brows, Francis appeared uneasy.
At the door of the office, he ordered, "Get Wesley here immediately!"
It was then that Harper snapped back to reality, protesting, "I can walk on my own."
Unyielding, Francis carried her straight to the bed in the VIP clinic room and tucked her in.
"Stay put. Wesley will be here soon to check on you," he said with a gentle tone, a stark contrast to his demeanor back at home.
Harper almost leaped up, vehemently refusing, "No, no, I'm fine!"
If Wesley came in for an examination, she wouldn't be able to keep her secret.
As she spoke, she flung off the covers and swung her legs out of bed, only to be pushed back down by him.
"You're not going anywhere until you're checked out," he declared imperiously.
"I'm really okay. No need for a check-up."
Harper tried to wave her arm to prove her point, but he caught her hand firmly.
He held her hand without any intention of letting go, his gaze sweeping over her face before he smirked, "If you don't want him to check you up, I can do it myself."
His words were inappropriate, making Harper's face flush with embarrassment.
Francis raised an eyebrow, "Behave unless you want Dr. Getty to be involved."
They were so close.
Harper could clearly see her reflection in his deep, dark eyes.
She couldn't help but remember the way he'd protected her, pressing down on her. At that moment, he was like a beam of light descending from the heavens.
Even now, Harper could hardly believe that it was Francis who had saved her.
Her heart uncontrollably began to race.
But she couldn't just lie there. 'Francis didn't want a baby.
'I can't let him find out about the baby!'
As she was contemplating her next move, Wesley walked in.
Seeing their interlocked fingers and the affection between them, he teased, "Do you guys need a little more time?"
Silence fell.
Wesley's words were laden with implication, "Is two hours enough?"
Francis shot him a sidelong glance, "Cut the crap and just get on with it!"
"First, let's draw some blood, then a CT scan."
Wesley turned to call a nurse over.
Harper was frantic. Out of desperation, she blurted out, "I have a stomach ache. I need to go to the restroom."
"Really?" Francis seemed skeptical.
"Really," Harper replied firmly.
"Okay, I'll go with you."
Harper panicked even more, hastily declining, "No need, I can handle myself."
As she rose to her feet, Francis suddenly grabbed her hand, pinned it against the wall, and leaned in close, "Harper, are you hiding something from me?"
Her heart raced wildly.
Suddenly, a strong scent of blood filled her nostrils.
She clamped her hand over her mouth to suppress the nausea.
"Harper, what's wrong?"
Francis's piercing gaze moved from her face down to her abdomen, inquiring.
Harper felt her heart might stop at any moment.
'Could Francis be onto something...'
Her palms were covered in a cold sweat.
Images of Francis pinning her down to an operating table, terminating her unborn child flashed across her mind...
"No!"
She screamed, shoving Francis away and bolting for the door.
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