Chapter 134
Chapter 134
At eight o'clock in the evening, Harper emerged from Starlight Building, rubbing her sore neck.
The early winter wind hit her face. She pulled her cashmere coat tighter around herself.
She had barely descended the front steps when she froze mid-stride.
Under the streetlamp sat that familiar black Maybach.
Brandon leaned against the car door in a long black overcoat, his posture ramrod straight.
In his hands, he clutched an ostentatious bouquet of red roses, their petals still glistening with droplets of water.
The moment he spotted her, Brandon stubbed out his cigarette and strode forward.
He thrust the roses toward her. His deep-set eyes reflected the glow of the streetlights—focused, stubborn.
"Congratulations, Ms. Designer." His voice was low and rough, laced with a carefully restrained tenderness. "Your designs are brilliant."
Harper didn't accept the flowers. She stared at him coldly.
Brandon's hand hung frozen in midair, but he didn't withdraw it.
He forced a smile, his gaze burning into hers as he tossed out an invitation. "Care to join me for a celebratory dinner? Just think of it as congratulations from an old friend."
"Keep the flowers." Her tone was flat. "Dinner's fine. Consider it my thank-you for your help at the hospital. After tonight, we're even."
Brandon's grip on the bouquet tightened imperceptibly.
He didn't push. Without a word, he tossed the flowers into a nearby trash bin and opened the passenger door.
Dinner was at a quiet, exclusive restaurant.
Throughout the entire meal, Harper kept the conversation strictly professional. Every personal topic Brandon attempted to introduce was met with clinical deflection.
The dinner felt less like a celebration and more like a business negotiation—sterile and joyless.
Afterward, the Maybach glided smoothly into the underground garage of the penthouse.
The car came to a stop. Brandon pulled the key from the ignition but didn't immediately unlock the doors.
He leaned back against the seat, turning to face Harper. His tone carried a deliberate note of helplessness. "Car's out of gas."
Harper paused mid-motion as she reached for her seatbelt.
She glanced at the dashboard, then turned to him with icy skepticism. "Mr. Martinez, that's a pathetic excuse. A Maybach doesn't have a fuel warning system?"
"It really is out of gas." Brandon's expression didn't waver. His voice was low and steady. "It's too late to call a rideshare or a tow truck. Harper, I have nowhere to go tonight."
He was gambling—betting that somewhere deep inside, she still had a sliver of softness left.
The garage was silent except for the hum of the ventilation system.
Harper stared at the man before her—dressed in a tailored suit yet playing the role of a shameless beggar. She had no intention of wasting her time arguing with him in the middle of the night.
"Guest room's on the left." Harper shoved open the car door and headed toward the elevator without looking back. "Don't cross any lines."
A flicker of triumph flashed through Brandon's eyes. He immediately got out of the car and followed her.
Inside the apartment, the heating was turned up high.
Harper kicked off her shoes and walked straight into the master bedroom.
Half an hour later, she had finished washing up and was about to settle in for the night when two soft knocks sounded at the door.
She pulled it open. Brandon stood in the hallway, wearing his slightly wrinkled white dress shirt with the collar undone. His hair was still damp. In his hands, he held a glass of warm milk. His gaze was deep and unreadable as he looked at her.
"You barely ate anything at dinner. Drink this before bed." He extended the glass toward her, taking a small step forward in an attempt to close the distance between them.
Harper stood firmly in the doorway. She didn't retreat an inch.
She didn't take the milk. Her eyes were guarded and cold.
"Brandon, drop the lovesick act." Her voice cut through the quiet hallway with brutal clarity. "I let you stay because I didn't want to waste time in the garage. That doesn't mean I've forgiven you. Don't make me sick."
Without another word, she shut the door in his face.
Brandon stood frozen in place. The hallway sconce cast murky shadows across his features.
He stared at the closed wooden door, his knuckles bone-white around the glass of milk.
That door was just like her heart now—locked, sealed, and utterly impenetrable.
The next morning, when Harper emerged from her room, Brandon had already prepared breakfast.
He acted as though nothing had happened, setting his car keys on the table. "I had my assistant bring over some gas. After breakfast, I'll drive you to the studio."
Harper didn't refuse the free ride.
Morning rush hour traffic clogged the streets.
The Maybach crawled through the congestion.
Brandon gripped the steering wheel, breaking the suffocating silence inside the car. "I'm flying overseas this afternoon to handle a merger for the branch office. I'll be gone about a week."
He volunteered his itinerary unprompted, his tone carrying a faint trace of expectation—hoping for even the simplest word of concern from her.
Harper stared out the window at the passing scenery, her voice utterly devoid of emotion. "Mr. Martinez's schedule is none of my business."
Brandon's jawline tightened. The veins on the back of his hand bulged as he gripped the wheel harder.
They didn't speak for the rest of the drive.
For the first three days of his trip, Brandon sent her Facebook messages every day without fail.
London weather updates. Meeting progress reports. Even photos of a cup of coffee.
He acted like a dutiful husband, desperately trying to remind her of his existence.
Harper didn't reply to a single one.
By the fourth day, the messages stopped completely.
Brandon went silent, as though he had vanished off the face of the earth.
Harper didn't care.
Starlight Building's orders were flooding in. She was swamped from dawn to dusk, with no time to wonder why Brandon had gone radio silent.
Until Friday afternoon.
Harper was waiting for a design render to load when she absentmindedly scrolled through her Facebook feed.
As she scrolled down, Luna's post suddenly jumped into view.
It was a photo of afternoon tea.
The shot was carefully composed, artfully staged.
At the edge of the table, a man's hand was partially visible.
The hand had long, elegant fingers. Around the wrist was a limited-edition Patek Philippe watch. At the cuff, a black onyx cufflink gleamed.
Harper recognized that watch and those cufflinks immediately.
She had spent an entire month tracking them down at auction houses. They were the birthday gift she'd given Brandon three years ago.
The caption was dripping with suggestive intimacy: "Companionship across half the globe—even today's rain feels gentle."
Harper stared at the post, her finger hovering over the screen for two full seconds.
Just days ago, he'd been standing in front of her, playing the role of a heartbroken man who couldn't live without her. And now, here he was, sipping afternoon tea with Luna halfway across the world.
Brandon would never learn how to say no to Luna.
A cold, mocking smile tugged at the corner of Harper's lips.
She casually liked the post, then exited the app without a second thought. She tossed her phone aside and dove back into her work.
The gesture left her feeling strangely liberated.
She was grateful—more than ever—that she'd followed through with the divorce.
Over the weekend, Harper received word that Jay had been admitted to the VIP ward due to high blood pressure triggering heart complications.
Despite her falling-out with Brandon, Jay had treated her well over the past three years.
Harper bought some supplements and drove to the hospital alone to visit him.