Chapter 9

Something felt wrong. She took a test and found out she was already pregnant.

At first, she had wanted to terminate the pregnancy quietly. But Felix found out. He threatened her and forced her to carry the baby to term because he needed an heir to silence public suspicion. He also needed one of Harlow’s secrets so he could blackmail her into keeping his.

“That worthless piece of trash,” Rowan snapped. “He can hit a woman just fine, but that thing can’t get up? His genes got hard in the wrong place. The part that should work doesn’t, and the fists that shouldn’t work apparently do overtime.”

After the rant, Rowan squeezed Harlow’s hand back.

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thank you, Rowan.”

“Don’t thank me. But if Felix’s abuse has no hard proof and there’s no woman to catch, what else can we use against him?”

Harlow thought for a moment. “If I want leverage over Felix, I don’t necessarily have to find it on Felix. If I can hit the king where it hurts, the little prince loses most of his bite.”

“You mean Felix’s mayor daddy?”

“Yes. Felix may not have a woman problem, but his father might. I’m going out tomorrow. Can you watch Calista for one more day?”

“Of course. Go. Calista is sweet, soft, and smells like a bakery marshmallow. Having her around is basically emotional support with pigtails.”

The next morning, Harlow took a car to Mount Cresswell.

Mount Cresswell was home to Cresswell Abbey, a thousand-year-old landmark whose weathered ruins and grounds still drew a steady stream of visitors. For Kian Lowell, it was part of his polished public image as a clean, moral mayor. Every month, he came to tour the grounds, write a generous check to the preservation trust, and pose for the cameras as the city’s devoted public servant. Photos of him at the abbey’s charity events had even appeared in the Crestport papers.

The higher a public official climbed, the more flawless the surface had to look.

At first, Harlow had assumed her father-in-law was just performing public virtue for the cameras.

Then, one day in the Lowells’ back garden, she overheard Kian Lowell’s driver on the phone.

“I can’t come back for Dad’s memorial tomorrow. Light a candle for me… Of course I want to be there, but you know how it is. He goes to Cresswell Abbey every month on this date to see that secret family of his…”

A secret family.

Harlow had sensed something wrong immediately. But Felix had not started hitting her then. She had only wanted to live quietly with Calista, so she pretended she had heard nothing.

Now things were different.

Felix had abused her, tried to ruin her reputation with a filthy trick, and meant to force her out of the marriage with nothing.

She would not sit still and wait for the knife to come down.

She did not expect to take a share of the Lowells’ murky assets in the divorce. But the money the Gideon family had poured into the marriage had to come back to her.

After Gideon Group collapsed, Harlow’s father took his own life, leaving a pile of debt on her mother and younger sister. Harlow had calculated it. If she could recover that money, she could fill the black hole of Gideon family debt and pull her mother and sister out of the fire.

All she wanted now was to settle every piece of the past as quickly as possible and start a new life with her mother, her sister, and her daughter.

According to Kian’s old habits, the nineteenth of every month was his Cresswell Abbey day. After Harlow arrived, she found an inconspicuous spot and watched the front gate from a distance.

Sure enough, around nine o’clock, Kian Lowell’s official black sedan stopped outside Cresswell Abbey. Kian got out and went in with the trust’s director at his side.

Harlow lowered the brim of her bucket hat and followed quietly.

After Kian finished his usual tour and the round of photographs, he dismissed his entourage and went alone toward the rear mountain path.

Behind the abbey, there was a quiet courtyard not open to the public. Kian reached the gate and knocked three times. A few seconds later, he knocked three more.

A young woman in a plain gray dress opened the door. Both of them moved with extreme caution. The gate opened and closed almost instantly.

Through the narrow gap, Harlow vaguely saw a child playing with a pinwheel in the courtyard.

Then the gate shut.

Harlow had come prepared. A tiny camera was clipped at the collar of her hiking jacket. Unfortunately, the courtyard gate had opened too briefly. The woman and child never stepped outside, so she did not capture much concrete evidence she could use to threaten Kian.

Still, at least she had confirmed that Kian Lowell had another “family” hidden at Cresswell Abbey.

That alone could become the card that pried him open.

Harlow was about to take off the miniature camera and upload the footage as backup when a shout came from the distance.

“Who’s there?”

It was Kian’s driver.

Harlow’s heart lurched. She sprang up and ran.

“Who are you? Stop! Stop right there!”

The driver came after her.

Harlow held down her hat and did not dare look back. She ran as fast as she could.

The wind through the mountain forest carried the scent of soil and crushed green stems. It whipped across her face. Her heart pounded so hard inside her ribs it felt ready to tear free.

The driver kept chasing, determined to catch her.

In panic, Harlow veered into a patch of brambles. Thorns slashed her calf open. Warm beads of blood welled instantly, and every step pulled a bright, vicious pain through her leg.

This was bad.

If Kian Lowell’s driver caught her and discovered she had been filming Kian’s movements, everything would be over.

After a few seconds of frantic calculation, Harlow made a decision. She quietly tossed the camera into the weeds at the side of the road, then ran in the opposite direction.

Without the recording device, she still had room to argue if she was caught.

The driver did not notice her small movement. He chased her the other way.

Harlow dragged her injured leg for several hundred more yards. Her strength was draining fast.

Just then, a black car appeared at the end of the road.

She recognized it.

Cillian Emerson’s Cullinan.

Harlow had no room left to be picky. She raised her hand and waved it down.

The Cullinan rolled up beside her, and the driver’s window lowered. Victor Lane was behind the wheel.

“Ms. Gideon. What a coincidence. You came to Cresswell Abbey too?”

“Victor, long story. Can I get a ride first?”