Chapter 3

3.

Lyla certainly thought I just didn't know how to refute her.

As I left, I saw her reflection in the glass. She was walking on her high heels, nursing her red, swollen face, heading straight for the VIP lounge where Declan was.

She knew exactly how to exploit a man's protective instincts.

At least, she was much smarter than the silly version of me who only knew how to give.

When I was twenty-two, I met Declan behind my father.

Back then, he was one of the many interns my father sponsored. Wearing an ill-fitting cheap suit, he politely lowered his head and called me "Miss Sterling."

Later, during that accident at the Hamptons villa, he threw himself in front of a gun for me.

That shot nearly killed him on the spot, and it made me fall completely for him.

During the days he was in a coma, my dreams were filled with the blood of that moment and the comforting scent of laundry detergent on him.

We got married.

On the first day after the wedding, when we returned to our mansion on Long Island, I heard Martha's loud voice coming from the living room.

"Last time I asked Harper to pour me a glass of water, she actually asked a servant to do it! If this happened back in our neighborhood, the neighbors would laugh at me!"

"I really regret it. If she didn't rely on her family's money, why would Declan marry a woman like her? All she knows is how to spend money. She has no concept of family."

An awkward silence from the butler filled the living room.

I pushed the door open.

The atmosphere inside instantly went quiet.

Martha, sitting on the genuine leather sofa with trash thrown all over the floor, froze for a second, then rolled her eyes.

"Why are you looking at me like that? I came because I was worried you two couldn't take care of yourselves."

I held back my anger. "Didn't I tell you not to come to my house without letting me know?"

Seeing my cold attitude, Martha got angry.

"Harper, if I hadn't come personally, I wouldn't have known. Why weren't you home all morning, and why didn't you tell me?"

"Do you do absolutely no housework in this home?"

For five years of marriage, she had constantly nitpicked the servants.

To please Declan, I had always endured it.

But I didn't expect that she wouldn't appreciate it at all.

I sneered.

"Two live-in nannies, two chefs, a gardener, and a private doctor."

"You tell me, what housework is waiting for me to do personally?"

Probably shocked that the usually submissive me was fighting back, she was speechless for a moment, her face turning red.

"What if the servants steal things? Shouldn't you, as the mistress of the house, be watching them?"

That was an ugly thing to say. Maria, who was busy in the kitchen, darkened her expression.

I looked at her calmly.

"Isn't there you in this house? I paid for these people. Since Declan is busy, it's not too much to ask for you to put in some effort and watch them, is it?"

Realizing she couldn't win the argument, Martha got even angrier.

"Why should I serve you! back in my day, I only had the right to skip housework when I was pregnant!"

I looked at Martha's twisted face with cold eyes.

Originally, she proposed moving to New York so she could occasionally take care of us. I was considerate for five years, and in exchange, I got cold violence from my husband and endless criticism from Martha.

Gradually, I deeply understood the helplessness in my father's eyes back then.

"Pregnant?"

I glanced at my still flat abdomen.

Ignoring her shouting behind me, I went straight upstairs to the master bedroom.

I must have been too tired, because I fell asleep quickly.

When I woke up again, it was already evening.

From the living room downstairs came Martha's unusually high-pitched laughter, along with Declan’s distinctive voice.

Declan was back?

As I listened, I sensed something was wrong.

I opened the bedroom door and looked down.

Declan was sitting on the sofa, unusually relaxed. Lyla was handing a cup of hot tea to Martha, her face full of concern.

Martha took the tea and sighed with satisfaction.

"If you like Harper's bags and jewelry, just take them. She buys so many anyway, she won't miss a few. No need to return them."

"Lyla, you are so much more gentle and considerate than Harper. If Declan had married you back then, I don't know how happy I would be right now."

The man frowned, looking somewhat helpless, but he didn't refute her.

"Mom, what are you saying?"

"What am I saying? She respects me less and less! What's the use of money? For so many years, she hasn't worked, just stayed at home!"

"Apart from shopping and going to parties, I bet she's keeping a lover outside, isn't she?"

Crash―

I threw an antique vase from the second-floor landing. It smashed violently onto the floor right next to their feet.

A woman's scream instantly pierced the silence of the mansion.

Declan looked up at me in disbelief, furious.

"Harper! Are you crazy?"

I stood at the top of the stairs, arms crossed, looking down at him, and laughed softly.

"Crazy?"

"No."

"I am more awake than I have ever been."