Chapter 123

Chapter 123

"You're too kind, Mr. Rodriguez." Harper inclined her head gracefully, poised and confident.

From across the room, Brandon's knuckles turned white as he gripped his wine glass.

He was about to approach when Chase turned and came face-to-face with him.

After exchanging pleasantries, their conversation somehow drifted to chess.

Chase, with his military background, had a particular fondness for strategic games and rarely met his match.

"I hear you're quite skilled, Mr. Martinez. Care for a game?" Chase proposed.

Brandon was about to accept when his gaze involuntarily found Harper.

A memory surfaced—once, in the study at the old Martinez Manor, he'd caught her alone with that antique chess set, her movements practiced and assured.

"If you're looking for a game, Mr. Rodriguez, perhaps my—" Brandon caught himself mid-sentence, the word dying in his throat.

He'd forgotten. She no longer acknowledged that connection.

He swallowed the bitterness and amended, "Ms. Anderson's chess skills are likely superior to mine."

Chase's eyebrows lifted with interest.

He turned to Harper with an inviting gesture. "Ms. Anderson, would you do me the honor?"

Harper wanted to refuse, but considering Abigail's hospitality and the Vista Apparel partnership, she offered a gracious smile and took her seat.

Soon, a server arranged an exquisite crystal chess set on a round table in the lounge area.

They sat across from each other, and the game began.

Harper took white, opening aggressively with the Queen's Gambit. Her movements were fluid and decisive, without hesitation.

Chase initially approached with caution, but as the game progressed, his expression grew increasingly focused and serious.

Harper's playing style contradicted her cool exterior entirely—sharp, ruthless, methodical, with an almost reckless determination.

"Brilliant!" Chase studied his cornered king, genuine admiration blazing in his eyes. "That feint was masterful, Ms. Anderson. You've bested me."

The surrounding guests erupted in surprised applause.

"Who knew Ms. Anderson wasn't just a design genius—she's a chess master too!"

"Not many can beat Mr. Rodriguez. Ms. Anderson is full of surprises."

At the crowd's edge, Luna clutched her champagne flute so tightly her knuckles went white, her face twisted with jealousy.

She watched Harper basking in the spotlight, surrounded by admirers, then glanced at Chase's appreciative expression. Bile rose in her throat.

A castoff from the Martinez family—what right does she have to network with someone like Chase? Luna's thoughts turned venomous. She's only here because Robert pulled strings. Without a man's help, she's nothing.

Standing nearby, Brandon had witnessed the entire exchange between Harper and Chase.

He watched her command the board with ruthless precision, saw her confident, radiant smile as she accepted Chase's praise. A tsunami of emotions crashed through him.

Three years of marriage, and he'd never known she played chess this well.

He didn't know her preferred openings, didn't know she could shine this brilliantly over a chessboard.

He'd always thought of her as a fragile vine needing the Martinez family's support to survive. But she'd been an eagle all along—one whose wings he'd personally clipped.

The crushing weight of loss and regret threatened to drown Brandon as he stared at her, his eyes filled with unspeakable bitterness.

As the game concluded, Harper rose. Her eyes swept casually upward and locked, for just a moment, with Brandon's bloodshot, tormented gaze.

A few steps behind him stood Luna, still hovering like a persistent shadow.

Harper's expression didn't flicker. She looked at them as though they were complete strangers.

She turned away naturally, walking toward Robert without sparing them even a peripheral glance.

That bone-deep indifference was a rusty knife twisting in Brandon's chest.

 

Late that night, after the gala ended, Harper drove to her new penthouse.

The elevator chimed open. As she stepped into the hallway, she encountered an unexpected figure.

Brandon leaned against the wall outside her apartment door, his tall frame half-hidden in the dim corridor lighting.

Cigarette butts littered the floor at his feet. The air reeked of stale tobacco.

Seeing Harper approach, he immediately crushed out his current cigarette and straightened.

"How did you find this place?" Harper's brow furrowed, her eyes instantly cooling.

Brandon's Adam's apple bobbed. His voice was hoarse and raw. "Harper, why didn't you tell me you'd moved? If I hadn't had someone track—"

"Mr. Martinez, we're about to be divorced. Where I live is hardly your concern." Harper produced her keys, her tone devoid of warmth. "You're not welcome here. Please leave."

"Harper, don't do this..." Brandon stepped forward, reaching for her hand, but she evaded him effortlessly.

"Brandon, preserve what dignity you have left." Harper opened the door and stood in the threshold, looking at him coldly. "Contact me when the papers are ready. Until then, stop disrupting my life."

The door closed in his face.

Brandon stood frozen in the hallway, staring at the shut door as the last light in his eyes died.

 

At 3 a.m., a shrill phone ring shattered the bedroom silence.

Harper jolted awake. The nursing home attendant's panicked voice came through: "Ms. Anderson, Luke suffered acute heart failure tonight. He's been rushed to the hospital for emergency treatment!"

Harper's mind went blank.

She didn't even change clothes—just threw on a jacket and flew downstairs, driving frantically to the hospital.

Outside the emergency room, the red light glared accusingly.

Harper stood against the wall, ashen-faced, her whole body trembling uncontrollably.

Urgent footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Brandon had received the news too. He'd rushed over in the middle of the night, not even wearing his suit jacket, his shirt collar slightly open, eyes filled with anxiety.

"Harper, how is he?" He strode toward her, instinctively reaching out to pull her into a comforting embrace.

Harper recoiled as though electrocuted, jerking backward.

"Don't touch me." Her eyes were red-rimmed, voice hoarse but laced with extreme wariness.

Brandon's hand hung suspended in mid-air. Pain lanced through his chest.

Just then, the emergency room light went dark. A doctor wheeled out Luke's gurney.

"Doctor, how is my grandfather?" Harper rushed forward immediately.

"We got to him in time. He's out of immediate danger, but given his age, he can't handle stress. The family needs to monitor him closely." The doctor's instructions were grave.

In the hospital room, Luke wore an oxygen mask, his eyes opening weakly.

Seeing Harper, a faint smile touched his clouded eyes. He lifted his withered hand slightly.

Harper immediately grasped her grandfather's frail hand, tears finally spilling over. "Grandpa, you scared me to death..."

Brandon stood on the other side of the bed, looking at Luke's pallid face. "Grandpa, I'm sorry. We didn't take proper care of you."

He reached naturally to adjust Luke's blanket.

But Harper's hand shot out, blocking his movement without hesitation.

She sat at the bedside, cradling her grandfather's hand protectively, not sparing Brandon a single glance.

"Mr. Martinez has pressing business matters. We wouldn't want to impose on your valuable time." Harper's voice was ice-cold in the quiet room. "I'm perfectly capable of caring for Grandpa myself. Please leave."

In her grandfather's presence, Harper deliberately avoided any contact with Brandon.