Chapter 5

Charles's POV

When Natalie saw Harper, a flicker of something complex crossed her eyes before she instantly masked it with a gentle, grateful smile. She signaled her nurse to wheel her over.

"Harper, you're here." Natalie stopped in front of her, her eyes rimmed with red. She reached out a frail hand and grasped Harper's hand, which was hanging by her side.

"Harper, thank you so much," Natalie said, her voice soft yet loud enough for the onlookers nearby to hear clearly. "These past three years, I was lying in a hospital bed, helpless. You took care of Charles in my place and fulfilled the duties of a wife for me. These years... you must have suffered."

The speech was delivered flawlessly. It seemed sweet and considerate, but every single word staked a territorial claim.

She was reminding everyone that Harper was nothing more than a stand-in, a convenient placeholder performing her duties. Now that she was awake, the placeholder was expected to leave.

Murmurs and quiet chuckles rippled through the crowd.

"Miss Miller is far too kind, actually thanking her. If Miss Miller hadn't risked her life to save Mr. Vance back then, how could that woman ever have had the chance to marry him?"

"Exactly. Now that Miss Miller is back, let's see how much longer she can hang on."

I stood behind Natalie, my gaze locked onto Harper's face. Subconsciously, I was bracing for her to lash out. She had always been stubborn; in the past, whenever I gave her the slightest cold shoulder, hurt would flicker across her eyes.

Faced with such an overt claim of ownership from Natalie, she would surely feel humiliated. She would snap back, or at least show some sign of distress.

Yet there was nothing.

Harper's expression remained as still as stagnant water. She even curved her lips into a picture-perfect, completely emotionless smile.

She let Natalie hold her hand for a second, then, slowly and firmly, pulled her fingers free.

"It was no trouble," Harper said, meeting Natalie's eyes. Her voice was steady and crisp, ringing out clearly in the hushed hall. "I am Charles Vance's legal wife. Taking care of my husband was simply my duty."

The room plunged into dead silence.

Natalie's face paled slightly, her practiced smile nearly slipping. Harper hadn't thrown an insult or lost her temper; she had merely stated a cold, undeniable fact.

*Legal wife.* Those two words landed like a quiet slap across the glowing pedestal of Natalie's "first love" status.

My pupils constricted sharply.

Looking at Harper's flat, dead eyes, I felt a sharp sting in my chest, as if I had been pricked by a needle. That unexplainable surge of irritation washed over me once again like a tidal wave.

There was no jealousy in her eyes. No hurt. She didn't even look at me.

She was acting like a total bystander, coldly citing a legal contract that was about to expire.

"Alright, now that everyone's here, let's begin dinner," my mother interjected smoothly, shooting Harper a cold, warning glare.

Throughout the entire banquet, Harper sat in the corner like a ghost. Nobody went over to talk to her, and she simply ate her food in silence.

Toward the end of the evening, I walked over to her.

A faint scent of alcohol and Natalie's signature gardenia perfume clung to me.

"How much longer are you going to keep throwing this tantrum?" I demanded in a low, displeased murmur, my arrogance bleeding through. I was convinced that her retort earlier had just been an attempt to grab my attention.

Harper set down her fork and turned her head to look at me.

Her eyes were so clear, so detached, that it almost stung to look at them.

"Mr. Vance," she finally spoke, but the way she addressed me had changed completely. "I'm not throwing a tantrum. The dinner is over, and I should head home. I have an opening tomorrow for my diner, and I need to get up early to prep the broth."

I froze.

*Mr. Vance? A diner?*

Before I could process what she had just said, Harper had already stood up, brushed past my shoulder, and walked straight out through the grand double doors without looking back. She left me staring at her resolute, fragile silhouette.