Jilted At City Hall, Married A Zillionaire

Eden sighed, a soft, tragic sound, and reached out as if to brush a stray hair from Harper's shoulder.

Harper recoiled violently. Her body reacted before her brain could process the movement, jerking sideways. Eden's hand was left hovering in the air.

Eden pulled her hand back, clutching it to her chest. She looked up at Bradford, her lower lip trembling. "I just feel so bad for her, Brad. Losing the trust fund must be devastating. I only wanted to comfort her."

Bradford frowned, his brows knitting together in that familiar expression of disappointment. "Don't be difficult, Harper. Eden is trying to help you."

Harper stared at him. For three years, she had thought his face was the most handsome thing she had ever seen. Now, looking at the weak set of his chin and the vacuous look in his eyes, he looked blurry. Distorted. Ugly.

Victoria checked her Patek Philippe watch. "Brad, the signing ceremony is in twenty minutes. Stop wasting time on liabilities."

Bradford nodded. He turned his back on Harper, dismissing her as easily as closing a browser tab.

Something inside Harper snapped. It wasn't a thought; it was a physical rupture in her chest. The grief evaporated, replaced by a white-hot, blinding rage.

She lunged forward. She grabbed the lapel of Bradford's expensive custom suit.

"You-" Bradford started, turning back in shock. "Are you cra-"

Harper didn't let him finish. She swung her arm, putting every ounce of her betrayal, her humiliation, and her wasted three years into the motion.

Crack.

The sound was like a gunshot in the open plaza.

Bradford's head snapped to the side. A bright red handprint bloomed instantly on his pale cheek.

"Security!" Victoria shrieked, clutching her pearls. "She assaulted my son!"

Eden covered her mouth with both hands, but Harper saw it-the glint of pure, malicious delight in her eyes.

Harper shook her hand. It stung, vibrating with pain, but it felt good. It felt real. "Consider that the severance package," she said, her voice shaking but loud. "Keep the change."

She turned and ran.

She didn't look back. She couldn't. If she looked back, she would collapse. The tears came now, hot and blinding, blurring the world into streaks of gray and yellow. She stumbled down the stone steps, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

She fumbled for her phone, her fingers slippery with sweat and tears. She opened the ride-share app. She didn't check the destination. She didn't check the price. She just hit Confirm.

A black SUV glided to the curb right in front of her. The windows were tinted so dark they looked like onyx.

Harper assumed it was her ride. She didn't check the license plate. She yanked the back door open and threw herself inside.

The air in the car was different. It didn't smell like stale air freshener and old gum. It smelled of cedarwood, expensive leather, and sharp antiseptic.

She slammed the door shut, sealing herself in. The silence was instant and heavy.

Harper collapsed against the seat, burying her face in her hands. "Just drive," she sobbed, her voice muffled by her palms. "Please, just drive. Get me out of here."

In the driver's seat, a man in a suit looked into the rearview mirror, his eyes widening in alarm. He opened his mouth to speak.

From the shadows of the backseat, on the other side of the partition, a hand rose.

It was a pale, long-fingered hand. It made a sharp, cutting motion. Silence.

The driver closed his mouth. He nodded once, put the car in gear, and pulled away from the curb.

Harper didn't notice. She was drowning in her own misery, curled into a ball on the seat.

She didn't notice the man sitting less than two feet away from her. He was tucked into the deep corner of the cabin, blending into the shadows. He didn't move. He didn't speak. He just watched her, his eyes dark and unreadable, observing the woman who had just hijacked his car with the detached curiosity of a scientist watching a specimen under a microscope.