Chapter 127
Chapter 127
"Easy there." Chase's voice was low, his grip firm and steady.
"Thanks." Harper regained her footing and immediately took half a step back, putting distance between them with practiced ease.
She murmured her thanks and turned toward the lobby entrance.
What she didn't know was that across the street, inside a black sedan, a camera flash had briefly pierced the darkness.
The next morning, a headline shot straight to the top of Rosewood City's trending topics.
[Starlight Building Founder Spotted Late Night with Mysterious Military-Connected Mogul—New Romance Exposed?]
The accompanying photo captured the exact moment Chase had steadied Harper's arm the night before.
The angle was calculated—due to the positioning, their silhouettes in the snowy night appeared intimately close, as if Chase were half-embracing her.
Harper had just arrived at her office and hadn't yet seen the news when her phone began vibrating.
Brandon's name flashed across the screen.
She frowned slightly and pressed accept.
"What the hell is this?" Brandon's voice was tight with barely restrained fury. Even through the phone, she could feel the cold rage and jealousy radiating off him. "Harper, we've been divorced less than a month and you're already throwing yourself at Chase Rodriguez?"
Harper leaned back in her chair and casually opened the trending topic on her tablet.
After seeing the photo, she let out a cold laugh.
"And in what capacity are you interrogating me, Mr. Martinez? As my ex-husband?" Her voice was flat, unapologetically cutting.
The breathing on the other end hitched.
"When you and Luna were making your grand entrances together, watching fireworks at midnight, I never interfered." Harper's tone dripped with mockery, each word a blade. "Now I'm single. Whose car I get into, who I spend time with—none of that concerns you anymore. Mind your own business."
"Harper, that's not what I meant. I'm worried The Rodriguez family might—"
Harper didn't let him finish. She hung up and, without hesitation, blocked his number.
She tossed her phone aside and pressed the intercom button. "Get PR on the line. Kill that trending topic and prepare the teaser for our quarterly collection launch."
Starlight Building's quarterly launch was days away, and Harper had been practically living at the studio for three consecutive days.
She'd barely slept. Coffee after coffee. Her stomach empty.
At three in the afternoon, the pattern maker brought in the final sample garment. Harper stood, intending to make last-minute adjustments at the dress form.
She took one step forward, and suddenly everything went dark.
The sounds around her faded. The room spun violently.
She collapsed.
When she came to, the sharp smell of disinfectant filled her nostrils.
Harper slowly opened her eyes, her vision gradually sharpening from a blur.
The hospital room was quiet. Brandon sat in a chair beside the bed, looking down at her.
His suit was wrinkled, his tie loosened, exhaustion and worry etched into the shadows under his eyes.
The moment he saw her eyes open, Brandon sat bolt upright.
"You're awake." His voice was hoarse. Instinctively, he reached out to touch her forehead.
Harper turned her head, avoiding his hand.
Brandon's hand froze mid-air. Slowly, he withdrew it, fingers curling inward.
"Low blood sugar combined with severe exhaustion." He spoke quietly, explaining. "Robert's overseas on business. Your studio staff didn't know who to contact. They found me listed as your emergency contact."
Harper said nothing.
After the divorce, she'd changed her phone number but hadn't updated her emergency contact information in the hospital system. She pressed her palms against the mattress, trying to sit up.
"Don't move. The IV isn't finished yet." Brandon pressed her shoulder gently but firmly, keeping her in place.
Just then, Brandon's phone—resting on the bedside table—buzzed loudly.
The screen lit up. "Luna" flashed across it, glaringly conspicuous in the quiet room.
Harper glanced at the screen. A cold smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
She leaned back against the pillow and closed her eyes, as if none of it concerned her.
Brandon saw the caller ID. Without a second's hesitation, he picked up the phone and rejected the call.
Then he powered it off completely and placed it face-down on the table.
"I won't answer." He looked at Harper's pale face, his voice low and resolute. "I'm staying here with you."
Harper didn't respond.
The IV bag finally emptied.
Without hesitation, Harper began peeling off the medical tape on the back of her hand, preparing to remove the needle herself.
A hand—strong, with prominent knuckles—caught her wrist with precision.
"What are you doing?" Brandon's brow furrowed sharply, his voice cold.
"Checking out. Going back to the studio." Harper's tone was calm as she tried to pull her hand free.
"The doctor said your blood sugar's dangerously low and you're severely overworked. You need to stay for observation." Brandon tightened his grip, his tone brooking no argument as he pressed her back against the bed. "Two days. You rest properly, then you leave. Starlight Building won't collapse without you for forty-eight hours."
"Brandon, you have no right to order me around."
Brandon met her eyes head-on, his authority absolute. "Harper, don't gamble with your health out of spite."
Harper stared at him coldly. Finally, she stopped struggling. She was dizzy, truly dizzy. The exhaustion in her body was crashing over her like a tidal wave.
Seeing her yield, the tension in Brandon's jaw eased slightly.
He didn't leave. Instead, he called his assistant and had several urgent files and his laptop delivered to the hospital room.
He removed his suit jacket, rolled up his shirtsleeves, and settled into the single-seat sofa beside the bed.
The cold glow of the screen illuminated his sharp features as he worked through emails, his peripheral vision locked on the woman in the bed—afraid she'd slip away the moment he looked away.
The only sound in the room was the rhythmic tapping of keys. The atmosphere was stifling, yet oddly balanced.
At three o'clock in the afternoon, there was a knock at the door.
Chase walked in. He wore his usual sharp black tactical jacket and carried an elegant fruit basket in one hand and a bouquet of understated white bellflowers in the other.
"Ms. Anderson, I heard you were unwell." Chase approached the bed, setting down the flowers and basket. His gaze settled on Harper's pale face. "Feeling better?"
"Much better. Thank you for coming all this way, Mr. Rodriguez." Harper sat up slightly, a genuine smile breaking through her pallor.
Chase pulled up a chair and sat. The two fell into easy conversation about the Vista Apparel partnership.
Chase was direct and sharp. Harper's mind was quick, no wasted words. The atmosphere was light, comfortable.
Just then, the door swung open.
Brandon entered, carrying takeout he'd just picked up.
His gaze shot past Chase's shoulder and locked onto Harper's face—specifically, the faint smile still lingering at the corner of her lips.
That smile pierced straight through him.
Brandon's eyes went ice-cold.
He strode to the bedside table and set the food containers down hard, the dull thud echoing through the room.
"Mr. Rodriguez is such a busy man," Brandon said, turning to face Chase with thinly veiled hostility. "And yet you still find time for hospital visits?"