Chapter 522 I Want You to Swear to God
Francis swaggered over to the parking lot, feeling kinda off. He'd been hanging around too long tonight and even skipped his medicinal bath.
While chilling in the car, Victor got a text from some random number. [Victor, it's Azalea. Here's my number. Thanks a ton for today. Let's grab a bite sometime.]
Victor rolled his eyes and blocked the number right away.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Francis coming and quickly hopped out to open the door for him. As his fingers brushed the door handle, Victor muttered, "Someone's tailing us."
Francis's face went serious in a flash. He didn't say a word and got ready to hop in the car.
From behind, someone shouted, "Francis!"
He turned around just in time for Harper to throw herself at him, wrapping him in a fragrant hug.
Harper buried her face in his chest, feeling the texture of his shirt, the faint medicinal smell, and his cold body. Everything clicked! So, the guy who held her at the club earlier was him!
Harper looked up to find Francis staring at her with an unusually calm gaze, showing no emotion. Harper's heart raced, and her eyes welled up with excitement as she confirmed her suspicions.
"Francis," Harper whispered, still half-hugging him, "It was you, wasn't it?"
Victor had already made himself scarce, retreating to a corner where he wouldn't be in the way.
Francis's handsome face stayed indifferent and expressionless, but Harper's tears couldn't be held back any longer. She didn't want to hear his hurtful words. Her tear-blurred vision couldn't see Francis's cold face, but the physical contact was real.
All the little clues pieced together; how could she believe he didn't want her anymore?
Harper clutched his shirt tightly, sobbing, "Agnes said you didn't push her that day; you were trying to stop her from hitting the table corner. I'm sorry, I misunderstood you. But can you tell me you had your reasons? Just give me a hint. I'm really losing faith."
Harper's eyes were swollen from crying, but it didn't take away from her beauty. The streetlight's soft glow added a touch of fragility.
"A hint?" Francis let out a slight, unmoving smile, "What do you want to hear?"
Harper was momentarily stunned, realizing that Francis looked at her like she was nuts.
He didn't push her away or resist her hug, a slight smirk on his lips, "You look even more charming under the streetlight. Ms. Murphy, if you want to hear something, just tell me, and I can say it."
Harper's lips moved, wanting to speak, but she couldn't get the words out.
Francis said calmly, "My mom's still recovering, and I don't want any drama. I just pushed Agnes away. I never thought you'd spin such a wild story out of it. It's a pity you aren't a writer."
Francis's gaze was like a knife, cutting through her. Her fingers trembled as they clutched his shirt.
He continued, "As for the hug, that's even more ridiculous. Yeah, I hugged a woman, but anyone could see who I was hugging."
Francis's deep eyes scrutinized her, "Ms. Murphy, you don't look well. Haven't been sleeping? Maybe you're overthinking things?"
His words sounded caring, but they were really just calling Harper crazy.
Francis pried Harper's hands off his waist, rough and painful. Then, word by word, he said, "Ms. Murphy, feelings can be fresh or expired. Breaking up gracefully without causing trouble, is that so hard?"
Harper's hands hurt from being pried away, and her mind was torn between two thoughts. One side told her to be strong, to follow her heart, to see him differently. Maybe Francis was dealing with more than she could imagine. The other side wavered, saying that if he didn't love her, she shouldn't misunderstand and make a fool of herself or become a burden to him.
Ultimately, Harper decided to be brave one more time, like a drowning person grasping at the last hope. She didn't want to give up easily.
Harper grabbed Francis's arm as he turned to get into the car, resolutely saying, "Francis, I want you to swear."
A flicker of impatience crossed Francis's eyes, as if he couldn't stand her childishness.
Harper knew it was childish, but it was the quickest way to judge.
"Swear that you really don't love me anymore. If you're lying..." She looked at Francis's cold, heartless face and said, "May I rot in hell!"
The curse was harsh, using herself as proof. Few would do that. But Harper knew Francis well. Only this way could she force out his true feelings.
She stared at his face, not missing a single detail, "Just swear, and I won't bother you anymore."
Francis's thin lips were tightly pressed, silent for a long time.
He had just hurt her with words but now couldn't speak. Harper felt the positive thoughts in her body slowly gaining the upper hand. She held on tightly, her eyes never leaving Francis's face, repeating, "Just swear!"
Francis didn't answer, his face calm and emotionless, like a still pond.
Compared to Francis's calm, Harper seemed extreme. She clung to his arm, pressing him, "Francis, swear!"
She didn't want to become a relentless madwoman, but she couldn't take it anymore. She was on the verge of breaking down. Harper needed an answer, even if it was a reason to give up. Anything, as long as it could free her from this emotional turmoil.
Harper's eyes were swollen, but she smiled, "Francis, you don't dare, do you?"
It felt like victory was near, like she was about to win.
Harper let go of his arm and asked in a light tone, "If you still love me, will you hold my hand?"
"Just once," she pleaded softly.
That one touch would give her the courage to endure.
Francis said nothing. After a moment of silence, he raised his hand.
Harper was stunned for a second, then turned her palm up to meet his, her eyes tear-filled. She had waited for this moment, enduring physical and mental torment. If it were true, she wanted to tell him now that they were expecting twins.
Francis's large hand was so close, just a little more, and he would hold her.
Harper's palm trembled, tears streaming down her face, "I..."
The next second, his hand brushed past hers and landed on her shoulder, violently pinning her against the car window, rough and unkind.
Francis asked, "Ms. Murphy, are you done dreaming?"
Harper stared at him blankly.
Francis's deep eyes were icy, and the smirk on his lips was too obvious. "Got any more ridiculous thoughts? Spit 'em all out."
The handsome face in front of her was as cold as ice. When the mockery faded, only a chilling oppression remained.
Harper's desperate courage plummeted almost instantly, an abyss of despair opening wide in her heart. The wind seemed to howl through this gaping chasm, each gust filling her with a searing, inexorable agony.
Even this didn't work?
Harper's arm, which she had been holding up persistently, fell weakly against the cold car, her entire being filled with coldness inside and out.
Francis looked at Harper's pale lips and haggard face, momentarily losing the ability to speak. He impulsively wanted to step forward, but his legs wouldn't obey, frozen in place. It felt like someone was stabbing his brain with needles, causing a splitting headache.
Finally, Francis gave up struggling, clenched his fists, and said in an extremely cold voice, "Guess I must be really good, so unforgettable that you can't find anyone else to replace me."
Harper weakly said, "Francis, does humiliating me really make you happy?"
Another black car stopped not far away, and Francis silently took note of it. He laughed coldly, "You call this humiliation?"
Then, Francis's fingers traced down Harper's beautiful neck, stopping at her collarbone for half a second before suddenly tearing her thin sweater with a ripping sound.
A wave of cold hit, and Harper's eyes widened in shock, filled with both embarrassment and fear. Instinctively, she raised her hand to cover her torn neckline, but Francis grabbed her hand.
Francis's voice was magnetic and pleasant, but like sugar coated with poison, "Ms. Murphy, remember, this is humiliation."
With that, Francis lightly lifted her comfortable sports bra, mocking, "If you want to seduce someone, at least wear something sexy. Wear a convenient mini skirt like those women in the club. That would be more likely to arouse interest."
Francis's relentless humiliation, one sentence after another, felt like countless slaps on Harper's face. She clutched her collar tightly, tears streaming down, "What nonsense are you talking about!"
Francis forcefully grabbed her chin, coldly saying, "Isn't your persistence just about wanting to have sex with me?"
The pain in her chin made her hands clench. Francis lowered his head, his cold breath inching closer, as if he would kiss her the next second.
Harper's mind was in chaos, unable to react. The long-held suspicions completely shattered, causing her immense pain.
As his cold lips got closer, before Harper could react, Francis's lips brushed past hers, landing by her ear.
Francis chuckled, his piercing voice breaking Harper's limit inch by inch, "To be honest, having sex with you too many times, I'm really tired of it."
After saying that, Francis quickly let go, as if discarding a piece of trash, even stepping back a bit to avoid her.
Losing support, Harper slid down the car, almost hitting the ground, but she managed to grab the door handle and barely stood up.
Even though she almost fell, Francis remained expressionless.
"Sorry, I can't lower myself to make you happy, but..." Francis paused, his face mocking, "If you're really desperate, I can hook you up with some male escorts who have great stamina and variety."
Harper finally snapped and slapped Francis hard.
The surroundings fell silent. Francis's expression darkened, the impact leaving a trace of blood at the corner of his mouth. He looked down with a mocking smile, "I thought someone like you didn't know what shame was."
He was insulting her character.
Harper's face changed again, raising her hand again but was tightly grasped by Francis's long arm.
"After all, we were once married. Consider that slap a parting gift. I won't hold it against you, but..." Francis tightened his grip, the force enough to crush, warning, "If you don't want your studio in Northfield to go under, I suggest you control your hands in the future."
Harper's hand was ruthlessly released, and she had to hold onto the car door to avoid falling.
Humiliation, warnings, threats—this was all she gained tonight, a memory that would stay with her.
Harper's breathing went from rapid to steady, then to barely audible.
The night was as cold as ice, the moonlight desolate. Harper's face was still wet with cold tears, but her heart felt dead inside. She looked at Francis, her pale lips pulling into a forced smile, and said softly, "Francis, you did it."
In just half a month, she had exhausted all her courage. What Harper once firmly believed in was now slapping her in the face.
Francis looked at her lifeless appearance, his throat feeling locked, unable to say a word. Because the Harper in front of him was so fragile, it seemed like one more word would make her collapse.
"Francis..." Harper called him tenderly, as if they were still in love.
Francis silently watched her, not responding. But Harper didn't need his response. She smiled lightly, letting the once intimate name pass her lips one last time.
"Mr. Getty." Harper reverted to the name she used when they first met, adding a layer of unfamiliarity that surpassed before. "Mr. Getty, I give up."
She looked at Francis, who was standing so close yet felt like an untouchable illusion.
Harper brushed past him, her final words almost dissipating in the wind, yet crystal clear.
She said, "I won't bother you anymore."
Tears poured down, smudging her face. Harper didn't hide it, treating it as a farewell to their past.
She believed it now, Francis truly didn't love her anymore. She also believed that feelings didn't last forever. This time, without anyone's persuasion, she truly, completely let go. Fantasy and reluctance, attachment and unwillingness, all buried at this moment.
Francis stood still, like a statue, unmoving. He watched Harper's thin figure reflected on the car, a sudden pain gripping his heart, as if someone was tearing it apart.
It wasn't that he didn't want to turn around, but such a simple thing, he couldn't do it.
Victor saw Harper leave and immediately noticed something was wrong with Francis, rushing forward.
"Mr. Getty," he called out worriedly.
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