Chapter 4

Charles's POV

Back at the downtown penthouse.

I sat on the sofa in the master bedroom, looking around the pristine room. Harper truly hadn't taken a single item belonging to the Vance family. In the walk-in closet, the season's designer collections my assistant had picked up still hung in neat rows, untouched, with the tags still on. The vanity was spotless—not a drop of perfume, not a single tube of lipstick left behind.

Every trace of her presence had been completely scrubbed from the house, as though she had never lived here for three whole years.

My frown deepened. I loosened my tie, walked to the window, and lit a cigarette.

Through the drifting smoke, my gaze turned cold.

I didn't believe for a second that Harper had actually given up. How could a woman who sold her soul for money let go of the title of "Mrs. Vance" so easily?

She was waiting. Waiting for me to reach out to her in the Bronx, waiting for me to compromise.

I would never give her that satisfaction. Proud as I was, how could I bow my head to a woman I despised? I was certain that within three days, Harper would come running back, dropping to her knees and begging me to let her stay.

Yet three days passed. Then five. Then two full weeks.

Harper seemed to have vanished into thin air. Not a single phone call, not a single message.

On my phone, the chat window with Harper remained frozen on the text she had sent two weeks ago: [Are you coming home for dinner tonight?]

Staring at that message, a strange, suffocating restlessness stirred in my chest. I hadn't gone to the Bronx to check on her even once, actively suppressing the urge to have someone look into her. I refused to let myself care about that woman.

Until the day of Natalie's discharge drew near.

Two weeks later, Natalie was officially discharged from the hospital.

I hosted a lavish banquet for her at the Vance family estate. Officially, it was to celebrate her recovery, but everyone in New York's elite circles knew the real reason.

The true mistress of the Vance family was back.

As my legal wife, Harper was required to attend. It was a direct order from my mother.

"Natalie just woke up, and the media is watching closely. Even if you have to fake it, you will put on a show of harmony!" My mother's voice over the phone was as commanding and sharp as ever.

Dressed in an understated black velvet gown, Harper arrived at the estate right on time. She wore no jewelry whatsoever, appearing simple and aloof, entirely out of place among the glittering crowd.

She knew that the moment she walked into the ballroom, she would see Natalie and me surrounded by people at the center of the room.

I was dressed in a tailored black suit, standing tall. I was leaning down slightly, listening to Natalie speak from her wheelchair, a hint of indulgence playing on my lips—a gentleness I had never once shown Harper.

Natalie wore an ivory designer gown. Though still somewhat pale, her fragile, delicate demeanor instantly brought out the protective instincts in everyone around her.

"Harper's here," someone called out.

The room fell silent in an instant. Every gaze turned on her like a sharpened blade, filled with ridicule and barely concealed scorn. I looked up, my eyes cutting through the crowd to land on Harper.

She had gotten thinner. That was my first thought. The black dress that had once fit her perfectly now hung loosely on her frame, making her look paper-pale.

Yet her spine remained straight as a rod.