Chapter 59 Dream On if You Think I'll Let You Off
The airbag deployed with a loud bang.
The rear of the gray Mercedes was smashed and pushed forward more than two hundred meters before hitting the guardrail and coming to a halt.
Had it not been for the timely activation of the car's safety system, it would have likely flipped over.
In contrast, the black Bentley had only half of its bumper fall off, handling the incident with minimal damage.
All this happened in the blink of an eye.
Harper froze, her limbs icy, and her legs felt like jelly.
The mangled door of the Mercedes-Benz swung open.
Keith emerged slowly, his steps uneven as if he might stumble. He held his forehead with one hand, blood oozing down from somewhere unseen beneath his palm.
After a brief pause, Harper rushed over to support Keith's arm, her voice failing her as she tried to speak. Trembling hands matched her quivering lips. She couldn't muster a single syllable.
Ironically, it was Keith who comforted her, his hand reversing its course to cover hers. "It's okay, Harper. I'm all right," he reassured her.
His arm bore the brunt of the crash. There were a series of cuts from shattered glass. Whether other injuries were present remained uncertain.
Meanwhile, the door of the Bentley opened.
Francis approached with a chilling stride, witnessing their clasped hands. "You, come here!" he barked at Harper.
Harper's face lost all its color, her disbelief erupting in a shout, "Francis, have you lost your mind?"
At that, Francis's fury hit its peak. He yanked Harper toward him, enfolding her in his arms.
His gaze slid toward Keith, as chilling as the winter's touch, "You're really courting death."
Each word was dripping with lethal intent.
Despite the shock, Keith's pallor didn't convey fear. Instead, he asked coolly, "Do you actually care about Harper?"
"Is that any of your business? Just because your family has connections with my grandma doesn't mean I won't end you. She is my girl. If there's a next time, I won't be as lenient as today."
Francis's eyes were cold as steel, threatening to sever the connection between the two.
Harper realized Keith and Francis were distantly related, a fact which bewildered her. However, madness seemed to have gripped Francis, rendering him utterly unreasonable.
"Francis!" she protested, pushing him hard. Caught off guard, he stumbled back half a step.
She went to Keith, concern filling her eyes, "Senior, are you okay? I'll take you to the hospital."
"I'm fine," Keith reassured her, "It's just my arm. Nothing else is hurt."
Their mutual concern wounded Francis's pride, pushing him to the brink of rage. "Harper, come here." His voice was bone-chilling.
Harper didn't want to deal with this maniac, but considering Keith's situation, she passed along a measured explanation. "Francis, Senior was just giving me a ride home. Is that really necessary—"
He abruptly pulled her into his arms, silencing her words with a punishing graze of his lips against hers.
"Mmph..."
Her breath hitched, pupils dilating abruptly as Harper realized the gravity of her situation.
'This lunatic!’
'With Senior still nearby... what in God's name is he doing?'
She struggled frantically, but his arms clamped around her wrists and waist, each squirm only intensifying his fervent plunder.
The man kissed her as if possessed, his tongue forcing its way deeper with each breath.
Behind them, Victor felt the scene sizzle with an intensity unsuitable for even adult eyes.
He stepped forward, gesturing courteously to Keith, "Excuse me, Mr. Perot, we'll take full responsibility for this mishap. Allow me to escort you to the hospital."
Keith's frown deepened. He was reluctant to leave, worried about Harper's safety.
But Victor assured him with a smile, "Mr. Perot, Mr. Getty, and Harper have a history of fiery arguments followed by reconciliations. As an outsider, it's best not to interfere. If you rouse Mr. Getty's ire, even you couldn't bear his wrath, right?"
Keith's glasses fogged over, a chill lurking beneath them. Moments later, he stalked away.
After the car departed, Francis finally released Harper, allowing her a moment to breathe. She trembled with tears in her eyes, her hand instinctively rising for a slap. Yet, Francis intercepted her wrist in a swift motion, his gaze piercing and icy, capable of chilling the soul.
He had warned her never to raise a hand for another man. Yet, time and again, she dared to reach for his face.
Biting back his rage, he spat out viciously, "Harper, are you that desperate? Can't go a few hours without fooling around with a man? How cheap can you be?"
Each word was a cold dagger thrust relentlessly at Harper.
Her pallor was pale, and she was trembling all over as if she felt an internal pain.
Francis instantly regretted his harsh words, yet the earlier scene replayed in his mind like a knife twisting in his gut.
Harper was his and his alone. The thought of anyone else touching her was unbearable.
No one would have her. No one.
Harper felt like she was about to explode with anger and pain. Her eyes reddened as she retorted, "You're right. I am cheap!"
If she weren't, how could she hang onto someone who only loved his first love? How could she hesitate to sever ties with him?
If she weren't cheap, she wouldn't get flustered and swayed by the little sweetness he showed.
'Yes, Harper, you truly are cheap,' she thought.
She held back her tears, staring at the incensed man before her, "Francis, I won't be cheap anymore. There will be nothing left between us."
At her declaration, Francis laughed, a chilling sound devoid of any warmth.
"What now? Going to run off to your Senior?"
He suddenly closed the gap between them with a single step, his hand shooting out to grasp her chin, his voice fierce and commanding, "I'd advise you to abandon that foolish hope. Even if I've cast aside what's mine, I won't allow anyone else to touch it."
Harper was livid, lashing out at him. "Francis, what gives you the right? How can you treat me like this? I'm a person, not an object."
"It's precisely because you're my wife," he said, his possessive words more like a chain than cherishment.
Harper almost wanted to laugh at such a claim. 'What does being his wife really amount to? It could never eclipse the weight of his first love. Every confrontation with Chloe left me as the most devastated loser.'
Drained of energy, Harper had no desire to continue the argument. Her expression flat, she said, "Francis, I made myself perfectly clear this afternoon. I won't wait for you. Let's just let each other go."
After saying that, without sparing him another look or gesture, she turned and walked away. The atmosphere behind her was icy.
She hadn't taken two steps before she was held up around the waist, his tone verging on brutal. "You think I'll let you go? Dream on!"
With swift steps, he carried her to the car, tossed her into the passenger seat, and fastened her seatbelt.
The car roared to life, speeding off so fast that Harper's heart raced. She clutched the seatbelt and asked anxiously, "Where are you taking me?"
Francis remained silent, his piercing gaze fixed on the darkness ahead, his expression darker than the night itself.
The road grew darker, with no people or lights to be seen on either side. A shiver ran through Harper, and she asked in a trembling voice, "Francis, where are you really taking me?"
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