HARPER
I startled awake, panting.
In an instant, memories of all that occurred in the last few hours flooded into my head, and I moaned, pressing my fingers to my temple to lessen the impact. Owen's betrayal. Kissing his uncle. The blame from my parents and their hatred. Then, Camilla tried to kill me by throwing me into the pool.
Oh god. The water…it had swallowed me up…the weight pulling me deeper into its depths. The darkness—No, I saw a light. My body quaked, my stomach tightened, and vomit rose in my throat, but I shoved it down, gulping thickly.
I didn't know how I had gotten out of that water, but whoever had pulled me out had my thanks. At least, they weren't like my family, who would rather set up a funeral for me. I wondered where they were. Maybe they were disappointed I didn't die, since no one had come into my room to yap.
Drawing my knees up, I hugged them close to my chest.
"Camilla Wilson, will you marry me?"
Those had to be the most horrible six words I've ever heard in my life and probably would never forget.
My eyes burned with tears, and I allowed them to fall. There was no point in holding it in. I sniffled, and an unrestrained, bitter laughter gurgled out of my mouth.
How long had Camilla and Owen been messing behind my back? A year? Two or the whole of the time we were together?
I met Owen at a university party for first-year students. Friends introduced us, and strangely, I discovered we were in the same course. Biomedical Engineering. Plus, we even shared the same interests!
It felt like fate. We instantly clicked and began to see each other. I loved Owen. We had so many dreams set before us, and we even went on to believe he'd be the one who'd pull me out of my misery. My family was my source of misery.
It wasn't because of Owen's parents' affluence. I didn't care about that. I was happy with him. My peace was with him. God, I loved him dearly.
But…he didn't. Clearly, he'd not have done what he did if he cared about me. I wiped at the tears still streaming down my cheeks angrily. He had lied to me. He had looked me in the eyes and fucking lied!
That cheating son of a prick!
I fell back on the bed, staring at the delicate design done on the ceiling. Now, I understood why the event had looked even more extravagant. It wasn't thrown because of me. It was for Camilla.
Naturally, an heir and a heiress getting together needed to make a hell of a statement. What on earth was I thinking? I was a bloody nobody, and I was sure as hell that my father pitied me to take on his last name. Else, I'd be no less than the maids whose names were barely mentioned.
He wanted the best for his daughter. Camilla. Not me.
I heaved a sigh, turning my head slowly to the television as I heard the soft chime. I read the words on the screen: Welcome to the Wilson Grand.
For a few seconds, my brain slowed, then my eyes widened once more, but for a different realization entirely.
I jetted out of bed, taking in my surroundings for the first time. The dark brown curtains, dimmed light, and faint scent of manly cologne—Please don't ask me how I knew it was masculine. And a half-smoked cigar was placed inside an ashtray.
"Where am I?" I whispered, walking to the window, and I dragged the curtains open; sunlight poured into the room. Everything was different. Was I abducted? Was…my saviour a kidnapper?
Surely, the scandal last night made the world know who I was. They might have pulled me out of the water, believing they'd get something worthy from my father.
I lowered my eyes to my clothes, my heart thumping fast. I was wearing a white bathrobe, whereas my dress was neatly folded on the sofa.
"Please, no," I bit my lower lip. Then, I gradually opened the robe with trembling hands. I expelled a long breath when I saw no sign of being touched.
Sure enough, I know where I was. In Wilson Grand Hotel, one of the hotels my father owned, and the damned venue where my ex had dumped my ass for my sister. But this wasn't my room. It was too dark, lacking the pictures I had placed on the wall, the white tabletop fridge on the nightstand, and my favourite forget-me-not picture that was on the wall. It was all absent!
"Okay, don't freak out, Harper," I said, pacing the room. Who brought you here?
There was no fucking way to know!
I scanned the room again, searching for a clue about who had dragged me here before they landed on the wall clock just as it struck seven.
"Shit!" I grunted. I was late for work!
I bolted for the bathroom, splashed water on my face, then rushed back into the room. I yanked on my dress and grabbed the jacket lying carelessly nearby. It nearly swallowed me, at least three times my size, the sleeves hanging past my fingertips.
The dress was a disaster for work. A side slit up to my thigh, too revealing, totally unprofessional. But at this point? It was better than nothing.
—
When I arrived, I ran into Owen at the entrance. His hair was slicked back, his suit perfectly pressed, and he looked like he'd had a full eight hours of sleep, unlike me.
Of course, he looked handsome. He always did. Too bad the good look was wasted on him.
"Nice of you to join us, Miss Wilson." He said, his eyes narrowed.
Miss Wilson. Not Harper. Or Baby.
He must really hate me this much. Seeing him again, I wanted to demand the truth—ask why he did what he did. Not that he'd have anything reasonable to say. I only wanted to hear him say something, and then punch him for hurting me until my hands went numb.
But this wasn't the place.
I moved to walk past him. He stepped in, blocking me. I swallowed, seething in silence. When I finally lifted my eyes, Owen only raised a brow.
"Last I remember, this isn't a strip club. You can't casually wear that to the office." He said. His gaze slid up and down my body, and that made my skin crawl.
"I had some emergency," I said, my voice steady, and I pulled the jacket closer, feeling a weird sense of comfort in it.
Looking around, I noticed how the place had gotten busier. This was a Monday, so it was expected.
"Good morning, Mr Fletcher." A petite brunette greeted him, Clara, one of the true friends I had here.
Her eyes moved from Owen to mine, a frown etched on her face. And I shook my head.
Owen made a small path for her to pass through.
"Morning, Miss Stone." He enthused, and once again, blocked the way.
"Mr Fletcher, nice weather today, isn't it?" Someone else said. Also, Owen let him through.
I huffed. It was apparent that he had a problem with just me.
"What is this, Owen?" I asked him, slightly irritated. "I have some work to do and—"
"And I have every right to hold you up. You work for me, Miss Wilson," he retorted, squinting.
My hands clenched, scowling at him. Why today? Why me?
Pocketing his hands, he walked towards me, "Last night…"
"I don't want to talk about last night," I interrupted, my voice sharp.
If it were possible, I'd like to forget everything that happened. But I couldn't. It felt imprinted in my memory. And to be honest, I didn't know how I'd be able to survive being in the same place with Owen, considering I was his personal assistant.
I hated this.
"Oh, but I want to talk about it, Harper." Owen's gaze hardened.
He neared me, his familiar scent trickling into my nose, and I gagged, pinching my nose. For the first time, his presence made me want to retch.
He learned closer. Too close. I could literally taste his disgusting cologne. He sneered,
"Kissing my uncle wasn't enough? You had to crawl into his room, fuck him, and parade back here in his jacket. Tell me, Harper Wilson, is there no end to your shamelessness?"