Chapter 221

"What is it?"

Rupert sat down on the sofa and cleared his throat. "I came in today to discuss a collaboration with you."

Harper's pen paused, then continued writing. "A collaboration? Between you and me?"

Rupert nodded. "Yes. I know you're the rising star in the design world now, with plenty of resources. But can you, alone, fight against Alaric?"

Harper looked up at him. Her gaze was so calm it was frightening.

Rupert felt somewhat guilty under that stare but steeled himself to continue. "That man Alaric—do you really understand him? Sure, he's helping you, but do you know what he wants? Someone like him wouldn't be good to someone for no reason. He definitely has an agenda."

Harper said nothing.

Thinking she was listening, Rupert continued, "If we join forces, I understand his business tactics, you can have design resources. Together, we could definitely fight him. Then the entire domestic design market would be ours..."

"Rupert." Harper interrupted him.

Rupert froze.

Harper stood up, walked in front of him, and looked down at him. "Do you know how much trouble I've been through lately?"

Rupert's expression changed.

"The audit, the destroyed exhibition, and my mother's grave..." Harper's voice was very calm, but each word stabbed into Rupert's heart like a knife. "These things—who do you think did them?"

Rupert's lips began to tremble. "How... how would I know..."

Harper smiled. "You don't know?"

She took out a file from her drawer and threw it on the desk. "This is what a private detective found. You've met with Elowen several times recently. Where you met, what you said—even though there's no recording, there are photos."

Rupert's face went completely pale. "Let me explain..."

"Explain what?" Harper interrupted him. "Explain how you hired someone to desecrate my mother's grave? Explain how you hired someone to sabotage my exhibition? Or explain how you worked with Elowen to spread rumors?"

Rupert opened his mouth but couldn't say a word.

Harper looked at him, no anger in her eyes, only pity. "Rupert, I used to think you were just stupid. Now I see you're not just stupid—you're evil."

She pressed the intercom. "Security, come up. Take this gentleman to the police station."

Rupert panicked. "Harper! Listen to me! I really wanted to work with you! Elowen forced me to do those things! It wasn't my intention!"

Harper didn't look at him.

"Your intention?" she said. "When you destroyed my mother's grave, why didn't you say it wasn't your intention?"

Rupert was dragged out by security.

He was thrown outside the studio entrance, falling clumsily to the ground.

Rupert felt like a dead dog.

The gazes of people around him, their whispers, were like knives stabbing into him.

He scrambled up, keeping his head down as he hurried away, but those voices still drilled into his ears.

"Isn't that Rupert? How did he end up like this?"

"He deserves it! After how he treated Harper back then, karma's finally come around, hasn't it?"

Rupert's teeth ground together audibly, but he didn't dare look back or retort. He could only quicken his pace, disappearing wretchedly around the street corner.

His fists were clenched tight, nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood, but he felt no pain.

The hatred in his heart hurt more than anything.

He didn't know how long he'd been walking. When he finally stopped, it was already dark.

He sat in a small alley, back against the cold wall, gasping for breath.

The alley stank. Right beside him was a dumpster, sour water pooling on the ground, flies swarming around.

But he didn't mind. He'd even slept under the bridge—did this matter?

His phone rang.

It was Elowen.

"How did it go on your end? Did you see Harper?"

Rupert was silent for a few seconds, then said, "I saw her."

Elowen's voice carried anticipation. "What did she say? Did she agree to collaborate?"

Rupert didn't answer.

Elowen grew anxious. "Say something! How did it go?"

Rupert suddenly laughed. That laugh was hoarse and grating, echoing in the empty alley, scaring several foraging stray cats into frantic flight. "Collaborate? She already knows it was us."

Elowen's end fell silent for a moment, then her voice changed pitch. "What? She knows? How did she find out?"

"Private detective," Rupert said. "She found photos of us meeting. Every single meeting—she has records. The money—she has evidence of it too."

Elowen gasped audibly, the sound sharp and clear even through the phone. "Then... did she report us to the police?"

Rupert closed his eyes. "No. But she has the evidence. She can report us whenever she wants."

Something shattered on the other end of the call, followed by Elowen's shrill cursing. "All these terrible ideas were yours! Destroying the grave was your idea, sabotaging the exhibition—you hired those people. Now look—she knows! We're finished! I'm finished!"

Rupert said nothing.

Elowen kept cursing, calling him incompetent, stupid, saying he'd dragged her down with him.

The words grew increasingly harsh—"homeless cur," "wishful thinking," "deserves to be trampled under Harper's feet."

Rupert listened to the abuse and suddenly felt very tired.

He didn't even have the energy to curse back at Elowen. He covered his face with both hands.

How had he come to this?

Once, he'd been president of the Getty Group, commanding wind and rain, having whatever he wanted.

Harper had been his wife, obedient and compliant, never daring to say half a word against him.

He could scold her when he wanted, neglect her when he wanted. She didn't even dare cry in front of him.

But now?

The Getty Group was gone. The money was gone. His reputation was gone. He didn't even have a place to live.

He was hiding like a rat in the gutter, living off money given by a woman.

And that woman was cursing him over the phone now, worse than she'd curse a dog.

Meanwhile, Harper—that woman he'd never respected, that housewife he'd thought worthless—stood on stage shining brilliantly, becoming the country's top designer.

Everyone praised her, everyone celebrated her, and everyone trampled him to applaud her.

Why?

Rupert's fist slammed hard into the ground, tearing the skin and drawing blood.

The next day, Rupert went to the bar where he'd first met Elowen. Sure enough, she was there.

Elowen looked terrible. Dark circles under her eyes—clearly she hadn't slept all night.

Her makeup wasn't even done properly. Foundation sat in patches on her face, and her lipstick was crooked.

Seeing Rupert, she immediately launched into abuse. "You still have the nerve to show up? This is all your fault! If not for your ideas, how would I have fallen to this state? I'm telling you, Rupert, if Harper reports us to the police, I'm giving you up first!"

Rupert looked at her and suddenly smiled.

That smile sent a chill down Elowen's spine.

"What are you smiling about?"