Chapter 5
5
HARPER
I nside the brightly lit store, Micah wastes no time, guiding me directly to the aisle with the pregnancy tests. Without hesitation, he picks one off the shelf with a practiced ease, as if he’s done this countless times before. Maybe he has. I grow uneasy at the thought. How many other women has he manipulated and forced to take a pregnancy test?
He hands it to me, and I hesitate briefly before taking it. I’m not pregnant. The cardboard feels cold and heavy in my trembling fingers, mocking me. Micah guides me to the register, his grip tight and unyielding.
As we wait at the back of the line, he leans in close, his breath brushing my ear as he whispers, “I can’t wait to see you carrying my baby.”
Rage washes over me, but I mask it by nodding slightly. My anger flares white hot. The only thing that keeps me calm is the image of him paying for hurting Billie and me.
“I can almost imagine it,” I say, thinking about my revenge with a smile.
He seems pleased with my answer, but he has no idea what Brody Calloway is capable of. I do.
A few eyes shift toward us, and anxiety claws at me. Before I can shield my hands, a teenage girl nearby snaps a photo of me holding the pregnancy test. I quickly hide the box behind my back, knowing exactly how damaging a pregnancy rumor could be.
“Not good,” I whisper urgently to Micah, turning toward him.
But he’s absorbed in his cell, ignoring me, fueling my frustration further. I impulsively grab the phone from his hand, wanting his full attention, and he roughly yanks it back. People stare at us.
“You said this trip was a detox for both of us,” I whisper, narrowing my eyes. “If that is no longer the case, return my phone.”
“ This is important,” he replies dismissively.
He finally registers how upset I am. To keep up appearances, he leans forward, pressing his lips against my forehead. The gesture is performative, and it makes my skin crawl. I want to rub his saliva off my skin.
When he pulls away, he meets my eyes. “Don’t embarrass me.”
Although it comes out like a whisper, it’s a warning I hear loud and clear.
“Please offer that girl a thousand dollars to delete that photo,” I nearly beg.
“You’re making a scene,” he hisses, shaking his head. “I cannot deal with this paranoia again.”
I grit my teeth, heat flooding my cheeks. I’ve never felt so helpless.
“Micah, please,” I insist, frustration bleeding into desperation.
I’ve lived under scrutiny my entire life, thanks to my family owning high-end ski resorts and hotels. My brother and I had to use aliases, growing up, just to maintain some semblance of normalcy. One careless snapshot can spiral into a media frenzy within minutes. It’s one that I can’t afford right now, and his gaslighting won’t change that fact.
“I want our private moments to stay private,” I stress again, but my words fall on deaf ears. When he doesn’t move an inch, I decide to take things into my own hands. “Fine. I’ll ask her myself.”
I step away, but he lunges quickly, grabbing the back of my dress roughly, jerking me backward. I stumble slightly, my heart racing at the unexpected aggression. Quickly, I smooth my features, conscious of eyes and cameras potentially fixed on us.
“Stay here,” he commands harshly, slapping the test on the conveyor belt at the checkout.
The cashier scans the barcode, her eyes flickering to mine, as if sensing something isn’t right.
My cheeks flush with shame, and I instinctively whisper, “I’m not pregnant,” hoping to reassure her somehow.
Her gaze darts toward Micah, clearly uneasy, before she discreetly slides a folded piece of paper toward me. Without hesitation, I snatch it and shove it into my dress pocket, my fingers closing around it.
Micah returns seconds later, swiping his card with a smug smile.
“We don’t need a bag,” he says, ripping the receipt from the cashier’s hand before pushing the box firmly into mine.
He leads me toward the exit, his grip like iron around my wrist.
I manage to keep my voice calm, though my anxiety is spiraling. “Did she delete the photo?”
“Yes,” he answers bluntly, not meeting my eyes.
My pulse spikes again. “Are you sure? Did you see her delete it?” I press, needing confirmation. I’ve been burned too many times, and trusting his word feels impossible.
“Fucking yes! Jesus, Billie.” He raises his voice as a younger couple strolls by, giving us curious looks.
I freeze in place, my blood running cold.
Micah pauses, blinking rapidly, his expression carefully neutral. “Harper,” he corrects.
I shake my head slowly, suspicion hardening inside me. I clench the pregnancy test in my hand, trying to keep it hidden. Being out in the public view makes me feel vulnerable and exposed. This is my version of walking a tightrope, fully naked, for the whole world to see.
“It was an honest mistake, Harper. I’m really sorry,” he says calmly, his tone reassuring but his eyes guarded. “I just keep thinking about the other night and how she came onto me.”
“I forgive you,” I reply smoothly. I play along, acting like we’re on the same page, but hearing him lie so effortlessly about Billie pushes me to the edge of what I can handle. One more word about her, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold my tongue. My patience is ready to snap.
I glance nervously around the parking lot, searching for something familiar, anything comforting. Relief floods my chest when I spot the unmistakable gleam of Easton’s blacked-out Dodge Charger. It’s parked discreetly toward the back—the car he jokingly calls his “fuck around and find out” ride. And Brody chose that one—how convenient. At least, in some messed-up way, there is humor in it.
I let out a breath of relief. I’m still safe. The tension in my shoulders loosens just a fraction because I know Brody is here.
Micah catches my eye and grins, unaware he’s being watched by a man who can destroy him in less than five seconds. I return the gesture, hiding my true emotions. It’s the first time I’ve relaxed since we left the restaurant.
“There’s my baby girl,” he says affectionately as he opens the car door for me.
He noticed my slight change in demeanor. How long has he been watching me closely?
I slide in, allowing him to buckle me in, as usual, though this time, his touch makes my skin crawl. These past two months, I was blinded by loneliness, and I settled for this . I chose this. I can’t trust myself or my own judgment anymore.
On the short drive back to his beach mansion, Micah makes light conversation. He’s carefree and animated, as if nothing’s wrong. I react appropriately, silently questioning everything.
Was anything we experienced together real?
Or had it all been meticulously planned to make me fall for him?
Over the years, I learned to recognize people who wanted to use me to get closer to Billie, to exploit our friendship or success. I was always cautious and guarded—until now. I was too easy for him. He played on my weaknesses, on my need to be loved.
How fucking pathetic am I?
“I thought we could go sailing after we visit the courthouse tomorrow,” Micah says casually, breaking into my thoughts. “I contacted the county judge—a friend of my father’s—and can get our marriage license in the morning. We can be hitched by lunch.”
Surprise flickers across my face, and I don’t know what to say.
“You have a boat?” I question.
This is more proof that I barely know him. I convinced myself we were perfectly aligned, ignoring the gaps in my knowledge about who he was.
“I have several sailboats and a few yachts,” he says smoothly, pride evident in his voice. “Next year, I’d love to sail around the world with you.”
“Hmm. Only one problem with that—I don’t like large bodies of water,” I admit, hoping to mask the rising anxiety in my voice. The thought of being trapped at sea with him or anyone sends panic racing through me. “I thought you knew that about me.”
“You enjoyed sailing in the past, didn’t you?” he presses, glancing over at me with his eyebrows knitted in confusion.
I shake my head firmly, unease prickling at the back of my neck. “No. Billie enjoys sailing. Not me.”
A momentary flash of irritation crosses his face before he smooths it away, giving me a neutral expression. “I’ll make an appointment with my doctor to get you some motion sickness medicine.”
I nod enthusiastically, forcing my voice into a cheerful pitch. “That would be incredible. I’d love that. Maybe I’ll finally be able to enjoy the ocean.”
But internally, my guard shoots up higher. There’s no way in hell I’ll allow any doctor he knows near me, much less allow them to prescribe me anything. I don’t like large bodies of water because of my anxiety, not because of the motion. He’s too fucking narrow-minded to realize that or even ask.
“Almost time to see if we’re expecting a little one,” he announces, pulling the car toward the towering gates of his oceanside mansion.
My heart pounds as we slow to a stop, waiting for the heavy gates to open. Walls at least ten feet high surround us, obscuring everything outside. Last night, this property felt secluded, peaceful even, but today, in the sunlight, it’s more like a prison, just as Brody said.
As Micah drives down the long driveway, I glance toward the backyard and notice a small group of people leisurely strolling along a pathway.
“What’s back there?” I ask curiously, wanting any information to help me escape him.
Micah follows my gaze. “A very famous trail that follows the oceanside. It’s just over three miles long. It passes lots of historic homes.”
I commit this detail to memory, just in case I have to run.
We exit the car, and Micah snatches the pregnancy test from my hand, studying the instructions intently as we enter the house. I’m 99.9% certain I’m not pregnant, considering the implant in my arm, but I’ll do this to appease him.
He leads me toward the bathroom, pulling the test from its box and holding it out like a silent command.
“Take it,” he finally says, so I do.
His gaze never leaves me as I pee on the stick. My face burns hot with discomfort, and I don’t like how he’s staring at me. However, I need to maintain this fragile peace we have even if the tension is thick and suffocating me.
“How long until we know?” I ask. My voice is much quieter than I intended as he rips it from my hand.
“Three minutes,” he says flatly, eyes glued to the test.
He leaves the bathroom, and I hear his footsteps echoing down the hallway. When I know I’m alone, my trembling fingers reach into my pocket, unfolding the crumpled note the cashier handed me at the store.
The scratchy handwriting screams at me.
That man almost murdered my daughter. Leave him now!
My heart rate increases, and panic nearly chokes me. Instinctively, I throw the paper into the toilet, flushing away the evidence. I watch it swirl around the porcelain bowl, vanishing from sight, though the words are seared into my memory. This is more evidence.
“He almost murdered her daughter?” My whispered voice almost echoes in the small space, filling me with a new wave of dread.
I rush to the sink and scrub my hands under hot water until they’re nearly raw, trying to calm my racing pulse. I suck in deep, shaky breaths, then join Micah in the kitchen.
He calmly places the to-go boxes into the refrigerator as he whistles. The pregnancy test rests innocently on the counter. The casualness of this feels sinister, and I try not to get in my head about hypotheticals. As I pass him, I slide my hand lightly across his lower back. While it’s a familiar gesture, I do it so he thinks I’m still caught in his web of deceit.
I quickly reach into a cabinet, pull out a glass, and fill it with water. My throat is suddenly dry. As the cool liquid hits my tongue and slides down my throat, my mind races. That woman’s frantic handwriting flashes in my mind.
Micah moves beside me, washing his hands in the sink. “Are you feeling any better?”
I nod quickly, downing another gulp of water. “Yes, thank you.”
The alarm on his phone sounds. It’s a cheerful tune that only aggravates me. He picks up the pregnancy test, his eyes lighting up with anticipation. His smile widens dramatically, but mine vanishes when he turns it around, revealing the result.
Pregnant.
“No. That can’t be correct,” I whisper, my voice quivering. “I refuse to believe this.”
Micah holds the test firmly. “Refuse it all you want. It says pregnant.”
“I don’t care. It’s wrong,” I say firmly, panic tightening my throat. I frantically try to remember the timing of my last period—it was last month.
This isn’t possible. This can’t be happening.
He has me questioning everything.
His brows pinch together, confusion clouding his face. “You’re supposed to be happy. Ecstatic.”
“Micah,” I say, softening my voice despite the storm raging inside me. “We’ve talked about this ad nauseam. Do you have another test? It could be a false positive,” I suggest, rushing back into the bathroom and grabbing the empty box. There was only one test inside.
His jaw clenches as he steps into the doorway, blocking me inside. “This isn’t the reaction I expected from my soon-to-be wife.”
I inhale, my eyes squeezed shut as I seek control. Could I be pregnant with his baby? No.
“I need a few minutes to process this, please. This is a very big step, and I’m in shock.”
“It’s a miracle,” he offers, roughly slamming the test on the counter. The harsh noise echoes between us. Without looking at me again, he leaves me to myself.
I pick up the stick, praying it’ll somehow read differently, but the word Pregnant glares back at me, mocking me.
“This is wrong,” I mutter. “Right? Right ?!”
The next few minutes stretch out painfully, and I’m trapped inside my own head. I’m completely isolated, and I need Billie or my big brother, Zane—someone who knows me and someone I trust. I force myself to leave the bathroom and find Micah waiting in the hallway, his head lowered—a perfect picture of vulnerability. Wet tracks of tears glisten on his cheeks, and I feel a chill ripple through me, knowing it’s an act, a manipulation tactic.
“I will always be by your side,” he says, sincerity coating his words, yet my instincts scream danger.
“I know,” I say, appearing calm even though the hairs on my neck stand straight up. “May I please have my phone now?”
“No,” he replies, voice gentle but firm.
“I’d like to ask Billie if she can attend our wedding tomorrow. She might change her mind and take a helicopter here now that I’m pregnant. Easton can?—”
“She already said no. Look, I can tell you’re getting upset. Maybe you need some rest after the morning you’ve had. Maybe some tea to help calm your nerves. Earl Grey with a splash of milk?”
“Okay,” I say, feeling nauseated by this revelation.
He’s manipulating me, right? I’m growing more confused by my reality with each passing second.
“Let’s go upstairs,” he offers, stepping toward me, pressing his mouth roughly against mine.
I want to resist as he fists the back of my dress, but I play along. His fingertips brush my hair behind my ear when he finally pulls away.
“I’ll never let you go, Harper,” he whispers intensely.
“I know. That’s why I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you get exactly what you’ve always deserved,” I reply carefully, smiling sweetly at him, knowing my words hold a darker meaning. “That’s a promise, my love.”
“Thank you. I love you,” he says, his eyes sparkling triumphantly.
“I love you,” I mutter.
“Forever.” He wraps his arm firmly around my shoulders, guiding me upstairs.
Each step feels heavier, like chains tightening around me, sealing me further into this nightmare I need to escape.
Brody, please come for me. Please.