Chapter 4
4
HARPER
I return to the table, cracking my neck to release the tension knotted there. I can’t afford to let Micah charm his way back into my head, not after what Brody revealed. I would’ve gone with him, but I knew there was no way I could, not with how Micah would make a scene.
Brody has never been a liar. In fact, his blunt honesty is something I’ve relied on since I was eighteen. He promised me then that he’d never skirt around the truth, even if it was harsh. The rare times Brody has spoken to me, I’ve learned to brace myself, knowing he’s about to deliver a reality check. And it’s probably one I’d rather avoid. His words aren’t always nice, but at least they’re honest. I prefer it.
My pulse pounds so hard that it feels like my heart might rip from my chest. Regret crashes into me, so overpowering that it nearly steals my breath. I steady myself, drawing a shaky inhale as I sit across from Micah. My mask slips into place—the familiar shield I’ve worn since I was eight years old, after losing my mom.
I lift my coffee cup, letting the warmth seep through the ceramic and into my trembling fingers. As I take a careful sip, my gaze lifts to meet Micah’s green eyes—eyes that, only days ago, filled me with excitement and hope. Now, a shadow of darkness lingers there, something that makes my stomach twist with dread.
Am I only noticing it now because Brody forced me to see it, or has this always been visible to everyone?
Billie must have sensed the evil, but couldn’t find the words to explain it. She tried to warn me away from him, and I ignored her. I ignored everyone. I’m so fucking stupid!
My throat tightens painfully as the entire evening replays vividly in my mind like a movie, forcing me to face the truth.
I walk into the kitchen and find Asher on top of Micah, punching him over and over again. I freak out, not knowing what’s going on.
“What are you doing?” I shriek, seeing blood, watching Micah nearly lifeless as Asher does his worst. I push Asher off of him.
“She came onto me!” Micah points up at Billie.
My brows furrow as I glance between them.
“No! I did not!” Billie says, grabbing me and trying to pull me closer to her.
“Let me go, Billie!” I say, moving away from her.
The room is in chaos. Micah’s bleeding, and I bend down, brushing my fingers across his already-bruised face.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “Let’s leave, baby.”
He looks up at me, and I can tell he is in pain.
“Harp, don’t go with him. Please!” Billie’s voice rises as she reaches for me again.
“Don’t touch me, Billie,” I say as Micah grabs my hand, pulling me away.
I meet his eyes, knowing this is one of his concerns. He didn’t believe Billie or Asher would be happy for us.
He squeezes my hand hard, pulling me into him, then whispers, only loud enough for me to hear, “I told you so.”
I turn back to look at Billie. He did warn me, and we had a two-hour discussion on it.
“He predicted you’d ruin this for us. You can never be happy for me, can you?”
“Harper, please.” Tears stream down her face. “You can’t be serious!”
Micah pulls me away with him.
Asher losing his temper makes more sense. He’d risk everything to protect Billie; he already did when he stepped in to help us save our fashion company. And how did I repay him? By bringing a predator into his home and into their safe space. I put my best friend in danger. Shit, I’ve done the same to myself.
I recall Billie’s frantic expression as she tried to pull me away from Micah. Her voice was raw with panic. She pleaded with me, practically begging. Micah must’ve known exactly what he was doing—he’d probably planned to push Billie into a corner that night, counting on me to blindly defend him. And like a fool, I walked straight into his trap.
He must think I’m a goddamn idiot.
I stare at Micah’s handsome face now—those magnetic eyes and smile once felt like a gift meant just for me. I wonder how I let myself be manipulated so easily. I know better, but I turned a blind eye for him, for what I thought was love.
Disgust burns inside me, but it’s aimed more at myself.
I’ve always craved affection. I’ve wanted to be enough for someone— anyone . I’m the poster child for daddy issues, and look where it’s landed me. Right back in the same place—used, betrayed, and humiliated.
Micah chuckles, interrupting my spiraling thoughts. “Are you okay? You look like you saw a ghost in the bathroom.”
What I saw was much worse than a ghost. It was my damn reality. He’s already haunting me.
“I don’t feel well,” I whisper, my voice unsteady.
This situation hits me with a sickening force: I’ve been sleeping with Billie’s stalker, the man who terrorized her— both of us —for over a decade. Nausea surges violently, burning the back of my throat, and I struggle to swallow it down.
Micah single-handedly destroyed Billie’s twenty-first birthday, the party I had meticulously planned. It was supposed to be perfect—memorable. Instead, that night shattered Billie’s sense of safety forever. Since then, she’s lived life glancing over her shoulder, wary of every shadow and dark hallway. He stole something priceless from her, and she’s never gotten it back.
“I might throw up,” I mutter as the horror of Micah’s deception washes over me.
He targeted me—I was nothing but a stepping stone to get to Billie. She’s the real prize; the ice queen; untouchable, elite royalty, and I’m the pawn who led him straight to her.
Micah’s expression shifts to fake concern, but his voice is tender. “We can leave. I’m so sorry,” he says, reaching across the table to touch my hand.
I force myself not to flinch or pull away. I want to break each finger at the knuckle, but I swallow that rage, masking my emotions with practiced ease.
“Can we get some to-go containers?” Micah snaps impatiently at the server, and irritation flickers across his face. His tone is rude and dismissive.
How he treats others, those he believes he’s better than, isn’t okay. It only adds to my growing disgust with him.
“Sure. And would you also like the check?” she asks politely, clearly sensing the tension at our table.
“What do you think?” Micah says sarcastically with an eye roll as he slides beside me on my side of the booth.
His arm wraps around me, and my body stiffens, though I force myself to remain outwardly calm. One thing I learned while growing up under constant scrutiny: never ever let your enemy predict your next move and keep your cards close to your chest.
Micah has no idea Brody is here. And he will come for me. Brody never breaks his promises.
My gaze drifts down to the engagement ring glittering mockingly on my finger. The diamond feels like it’s burning straight through my skin.
“I need some fresh air before I embarrass myself,” I whisper, wanting to put distance between us before completely losing my composure.
The humiliation feels like it’ll cling to me forever. I just hope Billie will forgive me for what I’ve done.
“Okay, I’ll meet you at the car,” Micah says, standing to let me out.
As I walk away, I glance back to find him watching me, like he’s trying to decipher my thoughts. I plaster a smile, hiding the shiver crawling up my spine. I’ll never be able to look at Micah the same way again.
When I step outside, the sunshine hits my skin, and I close my eyes, drawing in a deep, steadying breath. The warmth does little to ease the chill settling within me. My eyes sweep up and down the sidewalk, searching for Brody—my unwanted shadow—because I know he’s nearby. I can feel him.
I scan the street and storefronts, playing my own private game of Where’s Waldo, the Brody Calloway edition. His presence is as familiar as it is irritating. I don’t always appreciate his blunt honesty, but today, his words were a bitter pill I needed to swallow.
“Have some fucking self-respect.”
A wave of hot, angry tears threatens to spill over, but I clench my jaw, refusing to let them fall.
“Hey,” Micah says from behind me, startling me, and I jump. “Are you good?”
“Mmhmm. Thank you.” I smile casually as I turn to face him, hoping the rage inside me isn’t written on my face. “My stomach’s uneasy. I think the smell of the food got to me.” It’s the best excuse I have.
His fingertip traces a path down my cheek, but it’s invasive. “Do you think you’re pregnant?”
I laugh lightly, shaking my head. “No. I’m on birth control.”
We’ve talked about this several times.
Before we got serious, we discussed having children and agreed we wanted to wait at least a few years. We were on the same page—at least, I thought we were. The man standing before me isn’t the man I thought I knew. The mask has slipped and revealed someone I don’t know.
He looks at me, his eyes serious. “I’d prefer if you took a test. Today ,” he stresses in a tone that leaves no room for argument.
“You’re serious.” A laugh escapes me, but it’s strained.
“I am.” His voice holds no warmth, and he reaches past me and opens the car door.
I slide inside as my chest tightens.
Micah leans in, reaching across me, and buckles the seat belt, pulling it tighter than necessary. Before, I found this protective, even sweet, but now it feels like he’s making sure I don’t bolt the second he closes the door.
Micah walks around the car, climbing into the driver’s seat. Without hesitation, he leans over, brushing his lips against mine. I force myself to react normally, returning the kiss mechanically.
“I love you,” he says, pulling away to meet my eyes.
“Love you,” I whisper back, words that now taste bitter on my tongue.
A wide grin spreads across his face. “How about we get married tomorrow?”
“ Tomorrow ?” I repeat. Panic bubbles inside me again.
“Baby girl, aren’t you ready to make me the happiest man on the planet?”
“Of course,” I lie with a smile, trying to understand why he’s pushing this so hard and so fast.
It’s clear Micah’s after something, but we’ve not signed a prenup. My inheritance won’t be available until I’ve been married for at least one year, and my father won’t sign off on releasing it early. On paper, nothing is accessible; my penthouses, apartments, vacation homes—they’re all protected. Micah’s assets aren’t. If he forces this marriage, I’ll take everything he has.
He reverses out of the parking space abruptly, and I check the side-view mirror, scanning for vehicles following us. Nothing seems out of place, but I know Brody is out there somewhere—close, waiting, ready to intervene if Micah crosses a line. At least, I hope.
We drive a few short blocks, stopping at a grocery store on the corner. After parking, Micah’s hand finds my thigh, as if he’s staking a claim, reminding me who I belong to.
“Dreams are coming true,” he says, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. But it’s not kind. It’s not gentle. It’s cold.
This isn’t a dream at all. It’s a living fucking nightmare, and I’m wide awake.
As Micah unbuckles, my mind frantically replays the conversations we’ve had over the past few weeks—at dinners, during pillow talk—and I see every question he asked about Billie in a new, horrifying light. He wasn’t interested in our friendship dynamic or casual details. He was systematically gathering private, personal information about her.
Nausea rises again. How did I miss so many glaring red flags?
I remain frozen in my seat.
“You’re joining me,” he says firmly, leaving no room for debate.
“I’d prefer not,” I reply. My voice is steady, but my pulse quickens.
I want to open this door and scream for someone to help me. But every instinct begs me to wait for Brody to intervene. This isn’t fun anymore.
“Harper,” he snaps, my name coming out like a warning shot. His eyes narrow dangerously as he gives me a sideways glance. His tone and body language have shifted into something I can’t ignore.
I’m not the naive girl he thinks I am, not anymore. But I can’t let him see I’ve finally woken up, that I’m onto him.
“Okay, sure.” I give him a compliant smile, and my gaze doesn’t falter. “I’d love to join you.”
“My baby girl.” His words make me cringe as he gets out of the car.
I watch Micah as he circles the front quickly, opening my door. Without hesitation or gentleness, he grabs my hand, pulling me toward the store entrance.
My pulse spikes, and I glance around, hoping and praying Brody is nearby. I know he is.