Chapter 27 Better than me.
Chapter 27: Why?
~Haven.
Harrington’s hands slid beneath my ear, cupping my face—guiding it as he kissed me.
He took my lips, sucking them in.
I felt—nothing.
My heart didn’t race, my body didn’t tingle.
What I felt was discomfort. I wanted it to end.
But at the same time, I didn’t… not because I wanted it, but because I needed it to last long enough for Walter to understand that I wasn’t his.
“Haven,” Walter called.
His voice… my lips froze.
Harrington must have noticed. He kissed me deeper.
“Haven,” Walter called again, louder this time.
The next thing I heard was the door slamming hard.
I flinched—broke the kiss and stepped back.
A part of me wanted to run after Walter, explain that I didn’t actually want Harrington, but it made no sense.
I don’t want Walter.
I don’t want Walter.
I don’t want Walter.
I don’t want Walter.
I don’t want Walter.
I don’t want Walter.
I don’t want Walter.
I don’t want Walter.
I don’t want Walter.
Maybe I do.
“Why’d you stop?” Harrington asked, finally noticing how uneasy I was.
“Nothing,” I answered, even though it was obvious.
“Walter, isn’t it?” he asked, and I shook my head.
“It’s nothing. I was just startled because I didn’t see it coming.”
Harrington smiled briefly, pretending to believe me—but I knew he didn’t.
I pushed the chair back, then lowered my head.
“I’ll head to my station now. I’ll call you if there’s anything I need to know.”
I grabbed my purse and headed out before he could say anything else.
……..
Harrington and I barely spoke even after he dropped me off at Walter’s place.
The entire time, I couldn’t get Walter’s gaze out of my head.
The disappointment in his eyes… like I’d broken his heart. Like he thought I loved him and I’d just proven him wrong.
I walked in, praying I wouldn’t see him—but I did.
He was sitting in the living room, a cup of liquor in his hand.
He lounged carelessly on the couch.
His hair was as rough as it could be, his shirt unbuttoned, his eyes drowsy.
I halted, wondering what had made him drink that much.
If it was me, I had a feeling I was going to hate myself.
Walter got up, staggering as he walked toward me.
One hand cupped my face, his gaze fixed on my lips.
“Why did you kiss him, Haven?” he asked, tears streaming down his face. “I never thought you could do that to me.”
“I’m not yours,” I whispered, my eyes laced with tears.
“I’ll leave you alone then,” he laughed, walking back to the chair. “Go ahead. Be happy. Gallivant with Harrington and give him all the love in your heart.”
I waited, hoping he’d say something about that night.
About the pregnancy.
But he didn’t.
I knew it.
He was lying.
Like he always did.
A drunk man doesn’t lie—neither does he hide things.
He would’ve said something if it truly bothered him. But it didn’t.
“Where’s Hannah?” I asked.
“Sick. In the hospital,” he answered, tipsy.
“And what about… about the pregnancy you thought I was carrying?” I asked.
“Oh, that?” He burst into loud laughter—one that grated on my nerves.
He wouldn’t stop laughing, like he was mocking me.
I knew it.
“I hate myself for thinking you would ever not lie.”
I walked into the room and shut the door behind me.
I wasn’t in the mood to think about anything. I just needed to sleep.
I was stupid for letting him bother me.
…….
A few minutes past midnight, my eyes were still wide open.
I headed into the living room, where Walter lay sprawled, reeking of alcohol.
His face was reddened in a stupidly beautiful way—I immediately looked away and headed into the kitchen.
I halted when I heard Mason’s voice.
He seemed to be on a call, and whoever he was speaking to, he didn’t sound pleased.
I stood at the entrance, trying to figure out who it was—and I guess he’d left the phone on speaker, thinking I was asleep.
“Your stupid husband is lying on the living room couch, drunk,” he started.
That was when I knew he was talking to Hannah.
“You barely let me touch you because you’re scared he’s going to find out—when he doesn’t even give a damn about you!”
What?
Touch her?
“I’m sorry,” Hannah whispered weakly.
“It’s not about being sorry. I’m just wondering why you’re stupid enough to still be married to him,” Mason added.
“I’m sorry, Mason. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
Hannah kept begging…
Mason… she was having an affair with him.
One where Mason clearly had the upper hand and she had to… obey.
It didn’t feel like the Hannah I knew.
“I—” Mason started, then paused.
His eyes darted toward the entrance.
My heart thumped.
I slowly stepped away from the door, my steps hastening as I moved toward the living room—but—
“Hey!” Mason called.
I halted, shivering.
“I didn’t… I didn’t hear anything,” I stuttered.
He laughed. “You did,” he said. “I didn’t ask you, did I?”
“I just—”
“Listen, Haven,” he said, walking toward me.
He took a deep breath, then stopped—standing directly behind me.
“Remember that time I didn’t say anything about your fling with Walter? It’s because I was also fucking his wife. And come on—I’m not ready to stop.
Hannah loves me. With her damned life. She’s such a sweetheart… tell me, who wouldn’t love her too?” he asked.
I didn’t utter a word.
It made no sense.
Why would Hannah love Mason? She loved Walter… I was sure. Until I wasn’t.
“Keep your mouth shut and I’ll keep mine sealed, darling. You can choose not to.
I mean—you. The rich one with family issues, the one everyone hates, the one people claim has a sister sleeping with the cook.
And me? The poor, less privileged young man who counters that with your affair with Walter.
Tell me—who do you think your dumb father would believe?”
I heard Mason’s footsteps as he walked away.
I knew Hannah. Better than anyone else did.
Mason has absolutely nothing to offer.
She was married to Wlater, adored by his family and Walter wouldn't even dare to maltreat her.
So why?
Why?
It wasn't “true love.”
I was sure.
It couldn't be.
Hannah got married to Walter because she loved him and she didn't want me anywhere near him.
She got married to him because…. Because she loved him.
Or maybe she didn't.
Maybe she just didn't want me to be happy.
Maybe she only took him because she knew she did. Maybe– maybe she just proved that would always be better than me.