The moment she heard footsteps, Harper ended the call.

The mattress dipped beside her. Ryan slipped his arms around her from behind and pulled her into his embrace. He pressed a soft kiss to the side of her ear.

Harper clenched her fists and pretended to be asleep.

She had to hand it to him. His acting really was seamless.

By the time she woke up again, daylight was streaming into the room.

A delicate slice of strawberry cake sat on the nightstand, pinning down a handwritten note.

[Baby, I've got a work dinner tonight. Left you your favorite dessert. Eat something first, then let the housekeeper make you a proper meal.]

Harper sat in silence, staring at Ryan's bold, flowing script.

Then her phone buzzed.

[Want to know what Ryan is doing right now? Come to Suite 8 at Drunken Night.]

She sat still for a while, then rose, dressed, and asked the driver to take her to the address.

The moment she stepped out of the car, she saw across Drunken Night's giant LED screen flashed bright, celebratory letters: Welcome Home, Princess Olivia Sinclair!

She paused mid-step, then walked straight in.

The door to the suite was slightly ajar. Laughter and cheers rang out in bursts.

Seated next to Ryan was a beautiful woman in a white dress, long hair cascading down her back, looking pure and elegant.

Anyone who approached her with a drink was intercepted by Ryan—he drank every glass himself.

Olivia was her college classmate. They studied the same major.

For all four years, every test, every project—if Harper was there, Olivia could only ever come second.

The claim that Harper had "stolen" her spot as valedictorian? Ridiculous.

"Ryan, I heard you've been dating Harper for three years?"

Before he could answer, one of his friends cut in.

"Olivia, don't misunderstand Ryan. He's only doing this to get revenge on Harper—for you, of course."

"I can back that up. Remember last year, her birthday? Ryan said he'd handmade a gift, but 'accidentally' dropped it into the lotus pond? I've still got the pictures on my phone—look at her diving into that mud, digging like crazy for it. Doesn't she look like some kind of gorilla?"

Harper's whole body tensed. Her knuckles turned white against the doorknob.

She remembered it clearly. At the time, Ryan had spent nights carving the gift—his hands layered with fresh cuts over old scars.

She'd been so touched, so worried for him, she hadn't waited for professional divers. She jumped into that stinking, mosquito-infested mud herself.

The leeches had left her legs riddled with bloody holes. She never found it.

Now, Olivia let out a surprised gasp and pulled a necklace from beneath her collar.

"Ryan, this pendant you gave me last year—you carved it yourself?"

Ryan's gaze locked onto the pale curve of her collarbone, eyes flickering with surprise and delight.

"You've been wearing it all this time?"

Olivia smiled, lips gently pressed together. "When have I ever not taken care of something you gave me?"

After a whole year, Harper finally saw what that gift looked like.

It was beautiful.

Unfortunately, it was on someone else's neck.

Everyone gathered around the photos, laughing until their stomachs hurt, pointing and jeering.

Then someone noticed the figure at the door.

"H-Harper?"

Ryan's eyes narrowed. He shot to his feet. "Harper! When did you get here?"

She forced down the nausea rising in her chest and said calmly, "Just happened to be passing by."

He studied her expression closely. Not finding anything unusual, he visibly relaxed.

He reached out to pull her inside, but she stepped back, avoiding him.

"Don't want to interrupt your party."

His eyes darkened. "You heard something just now, didn't you?"

Harper bit down her sarcasm and gave a little smile. "Let's not forget—we never made our relationship public. If I walk in now, what am I supposed to be? Doesn't seem appropriate, does it?"

Without waiting to see his reaction, she turned and ran from Drunken Night.

The tears wouldn't stop coming.

The humiliation, the betrayal, the ridicule—it all hurt. But none of it compared to the pain delivered by the man who had once held her closest.

Everything was a blur. Then came the screech of tires.

A black car had lost control, and it was speeding straight toward her.

She froze. The danger was so sudden, so real, her body wouldn't move.

"Watch out!"

Ryan barreled into her, shielding her with his body as they rolled across the pavement.

The sharp scent of blood filled the air.

Harper trembled as she cradled Ryan's head in her arms, her voice shaking with panic.

Why?

Why, if he wanted to hurt her, did he throw himself in harm's way?

Had three years really melted some corner of his heart?

Ryan's lips were pale, his right arm twisted unnaturally. But all he cared about was her.

"Baby… are you okay?"

Harper, still in shock, shook her head. Just some scrapes.

Relieved, Ryan passed out on the spot.

The hospital report showed he had a few fractured bones and a mild concussion.

But when he couldn't eat without vomiting, Harper rushed home to make soup.

Halfway there, she realized she'd forgotten her phone and turned back.

She opened the hospital room door—and froze.

A group of playboy friends were huddled around his bed.

"How about that fake blood pack, huh? Worked like a charm! The doctor's one of us too."

"Hahaha, did you see Harper shaking? She was so panicked she got cold sores from the stress! Hilarious!"

The bandage on Ryan's head was gone. His forehead was smooth and unscathed.

His "fractured" arm? Perfectly fine, busy picking up food.

"Who told you idiots to call her over today? I nearly thought she figured it out. Guess not."

"Relax, that dumb girl's been played by you so many times. Even if she did suspect something, she's so hung up on you, the real problem would be getting her to leave!"

Harper stared at Ryan's perfectly unscathed body, the chill in her chest sinking to the marrow.

She had been blaming herself, thinking it was her fault for spacing out and not watching the road—believing that was why Ryan got hurt.

But no. This whole charade, this pitiful act, had been orchestrated by him all along.

Three years of love. What part of it had ever been real?

She didn't dare believe anything anymore.

Turning away, she didn't even bother to grab her phone.

Back at the villa, Harper didn't make any soup. Instead, she began packing.

The things that were hers, she boxed up to mail back home. The things he gave her—she threw them all away.

Even looking at them made her stomach turn.

Who knew what kind of tricks were behind those gifts? Photos secretly taken, shared with others for a laugh?

As she packed, she realized just how many memories they'd accumulated over the past three years.

Every single thing—kept by her with care, in perfect, untouched condition.

A loud noise echoed from downstairs—the door being thrown open.

Harper quickly hid the suitcase, and just as she was about to leave the bedroom, she ran straight into a chest.

It was Ryan. He was breathing hard, sweat glistening at his temple from running, his face dark and unreadable.

In his left hand, he held her phone. His voice was low and tense. "Why haven't you gone back to the hospital yet? It's already evening."

His expression grew colder.

"What's this friend request? The note said it's from your fiancé."

Harper froze. Then quickly looked down, masking her face.

"Fiancé? I don't have one. They must've added the wrong person."

Ryan studied her closely, clearly still suspicious.

"Then why did you change your phone's password? It used to be my birthday."

A silent sigh of relief passed through her.

Thank god she'd changed it yesterday after waking up. The last thing she wanted now was for him to find something and make a scene.

After a pause, she put on an innocent expression. "I thought about it… using your birthday wasn't a great idea. What if someone figured it out?"

His eyes clouded over. "So what if they do? At most, we go public."

Harper looked at him in disbelief.

She'd hinted at it before—carefully, cautiously—and each time, he shut her down without hesitation.

Three years of dating, all in secret. Most of their 'dates' had taken place in hotel rooms, in the same bed.

"Baby, just bear with it for now. One day, we'll be together for good… grow old together," he'd whispered.

It was that dream of growing old together that had kept her going. That one line had made all the secrecy feel worth it.

But now—now he says this?

Harper gave a small smile, sharp with irony.

"What's gotten into you lately? You've been so paranoid. Don't you know how much I love you? Have I ever lied to you? Ever messed around with someone else?"

She was beautiful, kind, from a prestigious family—never lacking admirers. In the three years she'd been with Ryan, more men had come chasing than she could count. But she never entertained any of them. She'd always been clear—always firm.

No one should know that better than Ryan.

Sure enough, his expression softened.

He pulled her into a one-armed hug, guiding her toward the bed.

"It's because so many people are after you. I get jealous."

As he spoke, his fingers had already undone the top three buttons of her blouse, brushing against her smooth skin.

Harper panicked, her face flushing as she grabbed his hand to stop him.

"You—! You're still injured!"

He seemed to take her words as concern and smiled, flipping over to lie back.

"It's fine. Baby, just climb on… move for me. Think of it as repaying me for saving your life."

Her face paled. Her shoulders trembled.

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. How could someone say something so shameless?

He hadn't been injured. The rescue had been staged. And now he was using it to coax her into bed?

There was no love here. Only desire, physical and consuming.

For the first time in three years, Harper said no.

"I can't… my stomach hurts."

Ryan's smile faltered. A flicker of tension crossed his face as he gently placed his hand on Harper's lower belly.

"Why does your stomach hurt? Don't tell me… you're actually pregnant?" His eyes held a trace of surprise—and something else, a fleeting joy that surfaced too quickly for even him to catch.

"You should lie down and rest. We'll go to the hospital tomorrow and check it out."

Harper shook her head, her emotions tangled in silence. "Maybe I'm just tired. I want to take a few days and really rest."

Ryan frowned slightly but nodded. "I'll go heat up some milk."

It was a small habit of hers since childhood, something that once made her feel cared for—proof that she was loved, in her own quiet way.

But ever since she discovered he'd slipped sleeping pills into her milk, even that faint warmth had evaporated.

As soon as he left, she picked up her phone, fingers trembling slightly. Sure enough, a friend request had come through.

Her eyes locked onto the name: Fiancé.

Harper bit her lip.

So pushy, she thought. They weren't even close to being engaged.

She hovered over the "accept" button, still hesitating, when a call from Gabe lit up her screen.

"Harper, that George's son is flying in tomorrow. Come home and have dinner with us."

Tomorrow? Hadn't they said it would be another week?

She frowned. "I already have plans."

Her father, mistaking her excuse for a brush-off, sounded displeased. "He pushed aside a whole bunch of things just to come back early. He's taking this seriously—you should too!"

His words made her pause. Her heart stirred, just a little.

"Dad, I really do have other plans."

Her university class president was getting married. A bunch of old classmates were meeting up to hit the bar—one last wild night before he settled down.

Gabe didn't push. He figured it'd look bad for her to seem antisocial in front of her friends.

But once Harper arrived and got dragged into the VIP booth, she regretted it.

Ryan was there. And so was Olivia. Along with that same group of spoiled, arrogant heirs she'd seen too many times before.

Had she known they'd be here, she would've gone home to meet her so-called fiancé instead.

The bar was already buzzing, alcohol thick in the air.

"Come on, let's play a game!"

They pulled her over, hands on her shoulders and arms, pressing a can of dice into her hands.

"Loser either drinks three shots or kisses someone!"

The cheers and laughter grew louder, wild and unfiltered.

Olivia lost the first round. Her face twisted in mock frustration.

"Ugh. I caught a cold recently, took some meds… I really can't drink."

But the others howled like wolves.

"Kiss! Kiss! Olivia, pick me!"

"You? Dream on. If she's picking someone, it's gotta be Ryan."

Instantly, all eyes turned to Ryan.

"Hey, cut it out," someone laughed nervously. "He's a clean freak—hates being touched. We're lucky he even showed up tonight. Don't scare him off."

Olivia's cheeks flushed. She turned slightly toward him.

"Ryan… can I pick you?"

Harper's hands curled tightly in her lap, her eyes fixed on Ryan.

Across the chaotic blur of people, their gazes met.

She wanted to know too—what would he say, right here in front of her?

And then, she had her answer.

Ryan's lips curved into a lazy smile. He looked down at Olivia, his gaze soft.

"My pleasure."

The room exploded into whoops and whistles, drowning out the music.

Harper's ears rang with it. Her chest tightened.

Everything around her slowed—like watching a painful memory in slow motion, crystal clear and inescapable.

Olivia wrapped her arm around his, moving in with flushed cheeks and shy boldness.

Just as their lips were about to meet, Ryan suddenly looked up.

And what he saw made his heart skip.

Harper wasn't flustered. Wasn't angry.

Her eyes—usually soft and easily stirred by him—were still and deep, like water left undisturbed in a shadowed well.

Quiet. Cold.

At the very last second, Ryan turned his head.

Olivia's kiss landed awkwardly at the corner of his mouth.

The dim lighting helped. No one noticed the shift. They were all too caught up in the thrill, the laughter.

Only Olivia's smile wavered for a second. She dipped her head, feigning shyness, hiding the flicker of disappointment in her eyes.

Next round, the loser was Harper.

She frowned.

"I'm allergic to alcohol…"

The boys around Ryan booed loudly.

"Olivia said she couldn't drink either and now you've got a reason too? That's just copying her—how lame."

"Fine, then pick someone to kiss."

Harper glanced around, her face going pale.

There wasn't a single person here she'd even consider getting close to.

One guy's eyes lit up with mischief. He slid up beside her and slung an arm around her shoulders.

"Harper, how about me? I'm a damn good kisser, promise I'll blow your mind."

The stench of alcohol hit her skin like rot. Harper's scalp tingled in panic—she shoved at him, struggling to break free.

But he held fast, his grip like a vice.

Heart racing, Harper instinctively looked to Ryan.

He knew she was allergic to alcohol. He knew.

He had just accepted Olivia's kiss so easily. Was it really so hard for him to show a little decency and get her out of this?

Someone laughed crudely. "What's she looking at Ryan for? Want to kiss him too?"

"Please. Everyone knows the Delgado and Sullivan families are enemies. If she's still clinging to him, that's some next-level pathetic."

Ryan's gaze darkened. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

He took a sip of wine, calm and unbothered, watching the scene like it was nothing more than entertainment. He said nothing.

At that moment, Harper's hands stopped struggling. They simply… dropped.

They were right.

She really was pathetic.

Falling in love with the son of her family's greatest rival. Still harboring hope—even now.

The taunts, the humiliation—they stung. But it was Ryan's silence, his passive watching from the sidelines, that broke her.

That severed the last rope holding her above the drop.

Tears slipped silently down her cheeks.

She gave up.