Chapter 6

Charles's POV

By the time the reception ended, the night wind carried the bitter chill of late autumn.

The driveway outside the Vance estate was lined with luxury cars as guests exchanged polite farewells. Harper hadn't brought a coat; her thin black velvet dress looked frail against the gusts of cold air. Wrapping her arms tightly around herself, she walked past the prying eyes of the crowd toward the curb, seemingly waiting to hail a ride back to the Bronx.

*Honk!*

My black Maybach rolled up smoothly beside her, and the rear window slid down to reveal my stony face.

"Get in," I ordered through the biting wind, my tone as commanding as always.

Harper glanced at the driver's seat. There was no chauffeur; I was behind the wheel myself. Her eyes lingered on the empty passenger seat for half a second before she calmly refused. "No need. It's easy enough for me to grab a cab. Shouldn't you be with Natalie?"

At the mention of Natalie, my brows knitted tightly. Just minutes ago, Natalie had gently insisted that I go home early to rest rather than escort her back, projecting the image of a gracious and considerate partner. In contrast, Harper's cold detachment and defiance felt like nothing more than petty, jealous petulance.

"I said get in. Don't make me lose my temper in front of the estate and turn the Vance family into a public spectacle." My voice dropped dangerously, my hands gripping the steering wheel.

Harper didn't argue further.

She opened the rear door and slid inside, her movements brisk and efficient, never glancing toward the front passenger seat.

The moment the door shut, the cabin fell into a suffocating quiet. The Maybach merged onto the highway, heading north toward the Bronx.

The heater was blasting, making the car stiflingly warm. A faint trace of gardenia still hung in the air—Natalie's scent. Harper rolled her window down an inch, letting the freezing wind cut through the heat, and turned her head to watch the city lights blur past outside.

I watched her in the rearview mirror.

She leaned back against the leather seat, her profile pale and her jawline set tight. She didn't demand to know why I had spent so much time with Natalie. She didn't complain about how dilapidated the Bronx townhouse was. Nothing. She was like a doll stripped of every emotion, so quiet it was unnerving.

That silence stirred a rising wave of frustration within me. Over the past three years, whenever we shared a space, Harper had always searched desperately for things to say to me. She would ask if work was exhausting, if my stomach was still acting up, looking at me with that cautious, hopeful gaze, trying to coax out the slightest warm reaction from my cold face.

Now, she wouldn't even spare me a glance.

"Why haven't you been texting me lately?"

The words slipped out before I could stop them. The moment they left my mouth, I caught myself off guard. I had intended to warn her not to cause trouble for Natalie, yet what came out was something that sounded absurd even to my own ears.

Harper turned her head slowly, meeting my gaze in the rearview mirror.

Her eyes were as still as a dead pond, devoid of any ripple.

"I didn't want to bother you," she answered flatly, her voice carrying no hint of spite or grievance, as if she were simply stating an objective truth.