Chapter 217

Chapter 217

Elowen looked down—it was an unfamiliar number. She hesitated, then answered.

"Who is this?"

A man's voice came through, hoarse and weary, yet carrying a tone she found familiar. "It's Rupert."

Elowen froze.

Rupert? Memories surfaced in her mind. She recalled looking through Harper's background information.

Wasn't this Harper's ex-husband?

She suddenly smiled.

That smile, in the dim bar, appeared particularly eerie.

Half an hour later, Elowen and Rupert sat in a corner booth of the bar.

The spot was secluded, in the innermost booth with no one around.

Dim lights fell on their faces, stretching their shadows into twisted, distorted shapes.

Rupert was more wretched than Elowen had imagined.

Unshaven, sunken eyes, his suit wrinkled and worn, cuffs frayed—clearly worn for a long time without changing.

The once arrogant president of the Getty Group now looked like a homeless cur.

His fingers held a cigarette, ash falling onto the table unnoticed as he stared at Elowen.

Elowen sized him up, a trace of contempt flashing in her eyes.

But quickly, she hid that contempt.

She needed this man now. However wretched he was, he had his uses. "What does Mr. Getty want from me?"

Rupert gulped down some liquor and gave a bitter smile filled with self-mockery and hatred. "Ms. Forbes, let's not beat around the bush. You hate Harper, I hate Harper too. We're the same kind of people."

Elowen lifted her glass, gently swirling it. The liquid traced patterns on the glass like tears. "Is that so? How does Mr. Getty know I hate her?"

Rupert gave a cold laugh, harsh and grating like sandpaper scraping glass. "The whole design world knows. What you did might not have worked, but who doesn't know you were behind it? Those marketing accounts, those media outlets, those comparison images—anyone with eyes could see someone was going after her. Now you've been pushed out, rejected by the Stuart family—how could you not hate?"

Elowen's expression darkened. "You investigated me?"

"No need to investigate," Rupert said. "I understand that feeling too well. Being trampled under Harper's feet, watching her shine on stage while you hide like a rat in the gutter. That feeling—I've tasted it more than once."

He paused, hatred in his eyes nearly overflowing—so intense it even alarmed Elowen.

"She destroyed everything I had. The Getty Group went bankrupt, Irene got arrested, and I lost everything. Now those creditors chase me daily. I don't even dare go home. I've slept under bridges, dug through trash, and eaten people's leftovers. Do you know what that's like?"

Elowen looked at him and suddenly smiled. "So? You're looking for me to join forces?"

Rupert nodded, a glimmer appearing in his eyes—the light of someone in desperate straits seeing hope. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend. If we join forces, why should we fear one woman? However capable she is, she's just a woman. The two of us together—can't we destroy her?"

Elowen fell silent for a while.

She was thinking.

This Rupert had nothing now.

No money, no power, no connections—just a wretched stray with nowhere to go.

What good would joining forces with him do her?

But on second thought, she had no other options.

Alaric wouldn't help her, the Stuart family wouldn't intervene—alone, what did she have to fight Harper with?

Harper now had her studio, Alaric's people protecting her in the shadows. Trying to sabotage Harper's designs again would be harder than reaching the heavens.

Though Rupert was wretched, he understood Harper.

He'd been married to her for several years. He knew her weaknesses, her soft spots, what she cared about most.

These were things Elowen didn't have.

"What do you want to do?" Elowen asked.

Rupert leaned closer, lowering his voice. His eyes gleamed with madness. "What does Harper care about most? Her reputation. She worked so hard to turn things around, to become the country's top designer—what she fears most is being smeared again. Whatever she cares about most, that's what we destroy."

Elowen's eyes lit up. "You mean... do it again?"

Rupert nodded. "Again. More ruthless this time. What you did last time didn't work, but at least it proved she's not invincible. This time, we prepare more thoroughly, act more covertly, and catch her off guard. If once doesn't work, we try twice. If twice doesn't work, three times. Eventually, her luck will run out."

Elowen frowned. "But she's on guard now. The studio security has been upgraded, Bianca follows her everywhere, and Alaric's people are protecting her in secret. Going after her designs again won't be easy."

Rupert smiled.

That smile was cold and sinister, sending a chill down Elowen's spine.

"Who said anything about going after her designs?"

Elowen froze. "Then what do you want to target?"

Rupert lifted his glass, took a drink, his gaze falling on the pitch-black night outside the window.

Neon lights flickered across his face, making him look like an evil spirit crawling out of hell. "Doesn't she care most about her mother? Aren't all those works related to her mother? She cares so much about her mother—if something happened to her mother's things, how would she react?"

Elowen's pupils contracted slightly. "You want to..."

Rupert turned his head to look at her, hatred in his eyes almost tangible. "Her mother's grave is in the cemetery on the outskirts of the city. I've been there."

Elowen gasped. "You're insane? That's a cemetery!"

"I know," Rupert said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Precisely because it's a cemetery, no one would think of it. She cares so much about her mother—if something happened to her mother's grave, how would she react? Could she still calmly draw? Still calmly do design work? Still stand on stage putting on an act?"

"But that's just the first step. Let her taste what suffering feels like first. I have other plans."

Elowen was shocked.

She'd only wanted to destroy Harper's career, but Rupert wanted to destroy Harper's heart.

Yet in her own heart, an indescribable satisfaction surged.

'Harper, aren't you so proud? Didn't you win? Don't you stand on stage having everyone applaud you? Let's see if you can still smile when your mother's grave is desecrated. Let's see if you can still stand on stage telling those sentimental stories, still talk about "design being polished with life."'

"What do you need me to do?" Elowen asked, her voice soft but without any hesitation.

Rupert looked at her, a trace of satisfaction flashing in his eyes.

He knew Elowen had taken the bait. "Money. I need money. Hiring people costs money. Those people only recognize money, not people. Give them enough money, and they'll do anything."

Elowen nodded. "I can do that. I have money. How much do you need?"