Chapter 9
Francis ignored the incessant flickering of his phone on the table, choosing instead to cradle her face and deepen the kiss.
With reddened eyes, Harper’s sense of detachment crystallized when she saw 'Chloe' flashing on the screen.
She pushed strenuously, but the man was unyielding.
The next moment, Francis sensed her cooling body. He stopped but didn’t let go.
The phone kept vibrating as Harper turned her face away, unwilling to look.
After a silent pause, Francis stood up and walked to the balcony to answer the call.
The balcony door was left slightly open, allowing the gentle sound of a girl’s sobbing to mix with the man’s slow, magnetic voice seeping through.
The specifics were unclear, but it wasn’t hard to guess. He was soothing someone.
Harper withdrew her gaze to the recently medicated cut on her hand, now seeping anew with blood. It was just a cut on the hand, yet at that moment, her heart felt an unbearable pang of pain as well.
She knew her heart wasn't going to heal.
When Francis re-entered, he bent to pick up the keys from the table, his once-loosened collar now properly fastened, his expression cool and distinguished.
He glanced down at her, his eyes hesitant.
Eventually, he managed to say, "Dinner's on the table. Get some rest after you eat."
The trace of their intertwined kiss glimmered on his lips, enticing despite his detached demeanor.
"Francis, don’t go..."
As he turned to leave, Harper suddenly clung to him from behind, calling his name with a trembling voice.
She didn’t dare to look at him, fearing she might lack the courage to speak.
What she desperately wanted to say was, don't leave her, don't go to Chloe. It took every ounce of her strength to utter those three words.
She knew it was demeaning, but she wanted to try for the baby she was carrying. It was like a drowning person's last desperate struggle before death.
She told herself, just once... to hold on this one time...
The room was eerily silent, suffocating. One second, two seconds, three seconds... Her phone began to vibrate urgently again over and over, like a relentless call from the beyond.
"Harper, enough." Francis finally spoke up, peeling Harper's fingers off him one by one, shattering her hopes into pieces. "Chloe's not doing well. I have to see her," he said without a moment's delay and turned to leave.
It wasn't until she heard the door close that Harper realized her cheeks were streaked with tears, unstoppable, like being caught in a downpour.
She laughed through her tears.
As an orphan, she often faced ridicule at school—with her raincoat thrown away in storms, leaving her soaked on the way home, or her shoes lost in the snow, forced to walk barefoot...
She dreamed that if one day she had a home of her own, she would cherish it with all her heart. Now, she had grown up. With a home and someone she wanted to cherish.
But the closed door made her realize nothing had really changed. She was still that helpless, lonely little girl in the rain and snow, longing for a beacon of light that never shone her way.
...
In the hospital corridor.
"Your girl is like this, and you can't even stay by her side?" teased Wesley, his black shirt casually unbuttoned at the top, exuding an air of carefree defiance. Francis, with a deep look in his eyes, said nothing.
Leaning against the window with one hand in his pocket, Wesley smirked, "Francis, are you serious? I remember you saying it was to cheer up your unwell grandpa. Now your old man is stable, and Chloe is not in good health. Aren’t you going to end the marriage?"
Seeing Francis silent and pensive, Wesley provoked him, "Just a reminder not to be foolish. Harper’s background is no match for yours. It should've been just a fling."
"Wesley," Francis replied, his voice icy, his eyes frosty, "Don't forget, Harper is my wife!"
Wesley laughed, "Touched a nerve? But you still owe Chloe big time. How do you want to settle that?"
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