Chapter 3

A piercing scream ripped through the quiet of the night, followed by the frantic scurrying of feet in the hallway. My carefully constructed calm shattered. It was Isabella. Again.

A maid burst into my room, her face pale with alarm. "Madam! It's Mrs. Isabella! She's collapsed! The doctor says it might be... the baby!"

Jensen, I knew, must have heard. He had probably been in her room anyway. He reappeared from her wing of the mansion, his face a mask of panic, his eyes wide and unfocused. He pushed past me in the hallway, not even seeing me, his arm brushing roughly against my shoulder. The force of his urgency sent me stumbling back against the wall, a sharp pain blooming in my elbow.

He didn't notice. He didn't care.

"Get the car!" he yelled, his voice hoarse with fear. "Call the private jet! Get the best specialists in the country now!"

He was already halfway down the grand staircase, ordering servants, barking commands into his phone. All for Isabella. All for the heir.

I watched him go, my elbow throbbing, a dull ache that mimicked the emptiness in my chest. A silent tear traced a path down my cheek. This was it. The absolute, undeniable proof that I was nothing to him.

A moment later, Mrs. Gable, my personal maid, a woman who had been with me since I was a child, rushed to my side. Her kind, wrinkled face crumpled with concern. "Madam Harper, are you alright? You're trembling." She gently touched my arm.

I shook my head, unable to speak. The pain in my elbow was secondary to the gaping wound in my heart.

"Jensen shouldn't have done that," she murmured, her voice filled with quiet indignation. "He didn't even look at you."

I swallowed hard. "It's fine, Mrs. Gable." My voice was a brittle whisper. "I need to see her."

Mrs. Gable looked shocked. "Madam? After..."

"I need to see her," I repeated, my resolve hardening. I needed to see the extent of my defeat, to witness the depth of his betrayal, so I could truly begin to sever the ties.

I walked into Isabella's opulent bedroom, now transformed into a makeshift ICU. Jensen hovered over her, his face etched with worry. Isabella lay pale against the silk pillows, her hand clutching her swollen belly. But her eyes, when she saw me, held a familiar, unsettling glint of victory.

"Oh, Jensen," Isabella whimpered, her voice weak but audible. "I was so worried. I... I thought I lost it." She glanced at me, then back at Jensen. "Harper, you shouldn't be here. You must be so tired." Her words were a veiled dismissal.

Jensen didn't even acknowledge my presence. He stroked Isabella's hair, his voice thick with concern. "Don't worry, my love. Everything will be fine. I'm here. For you and our baby."

"But your wife..." Isabella began, her voice trailing off, as if genuinely concerned.

"Harper isn't important right now," Jensen snapped, his eyes flashing with irritation as he finally looked at me. "Isabella is carrying our child. The future of the Logan family. Nothing else matters." He then addressed Isabella directly, his voice softening again. "You're strong, Isabella. Stronger than most. You'll get through this. You're giving me the one thing no one else could."

A fresh wave of nausea hit me. I wanted to scream, to lash out, but I held it all in.

"Stay with me, Jensen," Isabella murmured, her fingers tightening on his arm. "Just for tonight. I feel so... vulnerable."

He didn't hesitate. "I won't leave your side." He leaned down and kissed her forehead, a tender, intimate gesture that tore at the last vestiges of my hope. He then gently placed his hand on her belly, a soft, possessive touch as if communing with the life within.

I turned and walked away, unheard, unseen. The grand mansion had never felt so empty, so suffocating. My father' s warning echoed in my mind: "If he ever betrays you..." And Jensen's fervent promise: "I will never betray you. I will always choose you." Lies, all of it.

He hadn't just betrayed me with his body; he had betrayed our entire future, our shared dreams, our very understanding of what love meant. His desire for a legacy, for his mother' s approval, had proven stronger than any vow he had made to me. He had chosen them. He had chosen the Logan name over Harper.

As I reached my bedroom, Mrs. Gable was waiting, her face still concerned. "Madam Harper, we can always try again, you know. To have children. With Jensen."

I looked at her, my eyes dry, my face expressionless. "There won't be a 'with Jensen,' Mrs. Gable. Not anymore."

My mind was clear. My heart was broken, but my resolve was solid. It was time to leave. Not with a whimper, but with a calculated, devastating exit.

I pulled out my phone, typed a single, encrypted message to my father: "It's time."

Then, from the bottom drawer of my bedside table, I retrieved the heavy, legal document. The prenuptial agreement. The infidelity clause. My father's foresight. It was all there. I would begin the process tomorrow. This marriage, this life, was over. I would take back what was mine, and then I would disappear.

The next morning, Mrs. Gable knocked softly on my door. "Madam Harper, Mr. Jensen is in the dining room with Mrs. Isabella. He's feeding her breakfast."

I closed my eyes for a brief moment. A picture formed in my mind: Jensen, spoon-feeding Isabella, both of them basking in the glow of their shared secret, their shared child. I could almost hear Cecily' s approving hum.

I walked into the dining room, my head held high. Jensen looked up, a fleeting expression of guilt crossing his face before he quickly masked it with a practiced smile. "Harper, good morning. How are you feeling?" His voice was light, almost chirpy. The very picture of a concerned husband. A lie.

Cecily, however, didn't bother with pretenses. She took a sip of her tea, her eyes narrowed. "Finally decided to join us, Harper? Some of us have responsibilities, you know. Unlike others who can simply disappear."