Chapter 3

Harper's POV

Looking at his sharp, defensive glare over Natalie, I suddenly felt hollowed out. It was all so utterly pointless.

"Fine. I'll move," I said, standing up and picking up a cardboard box by my feet. "I've already cleaned out the master bedroom. I didn't have much to begin with anyway. I put on fresh sheets. She can move in whenever she wants."

Charles froze.

"Harper, you'd better not play any games with me," he threw coldly at my retreating back.

The guest room door clicked shut, cutting off his voice. I leaned against the wood and closed my eyes.

*Charles, I'm just finally setting myself free.*

The old townhouse in North Bronx was a low-end development Vance Enterprises had built years ago. Due to its remote location and aging infrastructure, it had been neglected for ages.

Hauling two suitcases behind me, I stepped into the overgrown front yard against the biting autumn wind.

This was the sum total of everything I had accumulated over three years of marriage.

Two suitcases of old clothes, a few cookbooks, and a debit card meant for opening my diner.

The money in that account came from what I had pinched from grocery budgets and the meager monthly allowance I received as Charles's wife.

As for the luxury jewelry and haute couture gowns the Vance family had bestowed upon me, I hadn't taken a single piece. Those things didn't belong to me; they belonged to Charles Vance's wife, and I wouldn't be holding that title much longer.

Pushing the front door open, a choking wave of mildew hit my face. No one had lived here for years. The furniture was draped in heavy white sheets, and cobwebs clung to the corners of the ceiling.

I didn't complain, nor did I stop. I rolled up my sleeves, hauled a bucket of water from the bathroom, and began a deep clean.

Wiping tables, mopping floors, washing curtains. I turned myself into a spinning top that couldn't stop. Because the moment I slowed down, the violent images of that crash from three years ago would flood my mind against my will.

The ground soaked in blood. Charles's fading breaths. In my desperation to pull him out, I had smashed through the shattered car window with my bare hands, ripping them to shreds. And just as I finally dragged him free and collapsed from sheer exhaustion, Natalie, who happened to be passing by, rushed toward us.

When I woke up in the hospital, the narrative had flipped. Natalie was the heroic savior of the Vance family heir, while I was painted as a greedy opportunist—a woman who had leveraged her brother's medical expenses to claim Natalie's deed, blackmailed Mrs. Vance, and forced her way into the family.

Mrs. Vance had held my brother's surgical funds over my head: "Your brother's life is in my hands. Keep your mouth shut and play the stand-in. Charles needs a respectable wife, not a low-class nurse. With Natalie comatose, this title is your hush money."

I had accepted it. For my brother's sake, I swallowed all the humiliation. I foolishly believed that if I just did enough, if I laid my heart bare before him, Charles would understand the truth one day.

Reality, however, had delivered a resounding slap to my face.

"Cough... cough..." The dust caught in my throat, sending me into a harsh coughing fit that brought tears to my eyes. Leaning heavily on the mop, I gasped for air. Staring at the cold, empty house, I suddenly burst into self-deprecating laughter.

I was laughing at my own stupidity.