15. Elliot #2
Julian said my name, but I felt cornered, my protective instinct taking over…
hurt her before she hurts you. I saw her twenty thousand dollar bag, her shoes, her couture jacket, the townhouse.
I heard the board member telling me women like Harper don’t need men like me.
That she must have already moved on. How Theo had joked that Harper would be done with me if she knew how high maintenance I was…
I grabbed at the one point of vulnerability from our first night in my apartment when this all started.
I didn’t feel in control when I said, “You really have moved on already, haven’t you?
Did you already have someone lined up? Is that why you were in New York?
Finding a new sugar daddy? Is that why you were so determined not to be seen as a whore for hire, Harper? ”
Caleb was suddenly beside her. I saw the pain flash in her beautiful eyes, just before she masked it and walked past me. My hands came up without permission, grabbing at my hair. I spun, trailing after her. I needed to stop her. She couldn’t go… she can't leave me… “No… fuck Harper… this isn’t…”
Harper stopped, but she didn’t turn. She looked over her shoulder, just enough so I could see her profile. Her voice was soft for the first time today. "You asked me to come over and talk about us."
The room froze, every muscle in my body locked. I heard Theo's voice in my head. Hell of a way to show it. I ignored it, tried to push it down, but Harper continued. "You knew I was coming." Her voice remained calm. "You knew exactly when I would arrive."
"Harper…"
But she wasn’t done. "You asked for my flight information."
I closed my eyes briefly. Fuck.
"Harper." This time it sounded almost like a plea.
She ignored that, too. "I showed up, just like you wanted."
I felt like everything was falling away, the realization of what I did… because she had. She had come to my place straight from the airport, walked into my building ready to talk to me… She believed there was an us worth discussing.
I felt sick. But instead of admitting that… Instead of doing the smart thing… I doubled down. "I didn't do anything wrong."
The second the words left my mouth, I knew they were a mistake.
Caleb physically recoiled as Julian swore under his breath. Harper closed her eyes and made to walk out of the conference room, away from me…
"The arrangement was over." The words sounded hollow even to me. "It wasn't cheating."
Her laugh was soft, but sad. And somehow that hurt more than if she'd screamed.
"Sure, Elliot." My stomach dropped. Because she sounded done, truly done.
"Maybe it wasn't cheating." Relief rose, but then she finished.
"But what you did is worse, because you set out to hurt me.
" I felt my whole body shake; her words felt like nails in a coffin.
"You knew I cared about you. You told me you wanted us to be something more… so I showed up."
I couldn't answer. Because she was right. I felt like I wanted to claw my way out of my skin when she said, "In my life, I have learned that cheating or the illusion of it isn’t the worst betrayal. It isn’t what causes the greatest harm."
The room disappeared; there was only Harper. Only those blue eyes. Only the truth.
I wanted her to turn so I could see all of her. I wanted…
She moved towards the door. I followed, reaching for her; the desperation was vivid and raw. I wanted to explain, but how do you explain what you don’t even understand?
"Harper."
She stopped, and for one terrible second hope flared. Then she looked back, and there was nothing there. No affection or warmth. No second chances.
"I hope you find what you're looking for, Elliot. Goodbye.”
And then she was walking away, her team following behind her. I stood frozen, everything spinning through my mind. The fear, my feelings for her, my parents, my choice…
No… No!
I started to go after her, but a hand clamped around my arm and then Rowan was standing in front of me with a look I didn’t understand. Julian followed them out of the office, no doubt trying to smooth things over.
I don’t know how much time had passed, but eventually Rowan stepped away, and Caleb’s hand left my arm. No one said anything as I left the conference room. I moved on autopilot as I left the office. The drive home was a blur of traffic lights and anger. Harper's voice kept replaying in my head.
“You asked me to come there because you wanted me to see it.”
“You wanted us to be something more… so I showed up”
I gripped the steering wheel tighter. Because she was wrong. Wasn't she? I did nothing wrong; I hadn't cheated. I hadn't broken the agreement. I hadn't…
The thought died before it could finish. The same way it had all weekend. Because every time I tried to justify it, another voice cut through the bullshit.
“You set out to hurt me.”
By the time I pulled into the underground parking garage, I had a headache forming behind my eyes.
The elevator ride to the penthouse felt endless.
The doors opened; I moved through my space quickly, reaching for the bar cart.
I needed to silence my spiralling thoughts; I needed to get her eyes, her voice out of my head…
I shot back half a glass of scotch before refilling it and turning.
Immediately, something felt off. I frowned.
There were boxes off to the side of the elevator doors.
A lot of boxes. At first, I assumed they were holiday deliveries or corporate gifts.
Something my team had arranged. Then I noticed the wrapping, and my stomach dropped.
No.
I crossed the room slowly, like if I moved too quickly it would all become too real. Because somehow I already knew. I just didn't want to admit it.
The first box was from Cartier. The second from Tiffany.
The third from a boutique I'd shut down for an entire afternoon because Harper had casually mentioned liking a scarf she'd seen in a display window, and that led me to buying her everything that went with it.
The fourth was from a bookstore. The fifth from a boutique that had a dress I needed to see on Harper. The sixth…
"No." the word came out rough.
I opened the nearest box; inside sat the scarf. Still folded, still wrapped, still untouched. She told me she didn't want my money, didn’t need my gifts… she just wanted…
My chest tightened, so I grabbed another. The earrings. Another. The bracelet. Every gift. Every stupid, overpriced gesture. Every piece of evidence that she'd mattered.
Returned.
My pulse started pounding.
"No."
I opened another box. And another. And another. Each one felt worse. Because Harper hadn't smashed anything, hadn't damaged anything. She hadn't even left a note. She'd simply packed it all up and sent it back. Like she wanted no part of me. My hands started shaking.
I hated it.
Hated how much it bothered me. Hated what it meant.
Then I saw a black box sitting on top of the final pile.
It was simple, unremarkable really compared to the bright whites, reds and soft blues.
My stomach sank. Because I didn’t recognize this box.
I picked it up anyway, opened it. And my hands shook even more.
Inside was a first edition book I had mentioned once, half asleep, feeling safe for once in my vulnerability.
A book one of my nannies used to read to me, a time I actually remembered feeling safe and happy as a child…
Bile rose fast in my throat; I swallowed continuously, pushing it down.
No… a sound escaped me. Something between a gasp and a growl. I moved without thinking, dropping onto the couch. Still holding it, staring at it. I had barely mentioned it; I thought she was half asleep. How did she remember?
Then moments started crashing into me…
My birthday.
The nights she stayed.
Harper wearing my shirts.
When she finally kissed me.
The way she'd curl against my side…
The way she whispered on my lips, “Happy birthday.”
The memory hit so hard that I physically flinched. The apartment was silent, cold, and empty. No blue eyes looked at me as if I were better than I actually was.
Just me.
For the first time, the truth settled in. Not the version I'd been telling myself. Not the version I'd repeated all weekend. The actual truth.
It was my fault that I was sitting here all alone, and for the first time in my life, I realized there was an actual possibility that I had lost something I couldn't buy back.
My gaze landed on the book, delicately wrapped and left for me.
What did I do?
My hands started to shake. I put the box and my glass down, trying to control everything that was trying to burst out of me. But for the first time in years...
The panic won.