Chapter 4 Verbal Warfare
Harper
The moon cast long shadows across the secluded terrace as Rowan pulled me through the side exit. My heels clicked against the stone flooring, the sound echoing in the quiet space away from the buzz of the ballroom. The cool night air hit my bare shoulders, but it wasn't the cause of my sudden chill.
Rowan finally released my arm once we were alone, turning to face me with an intensity that would have intimidated most people. I wasn't most people—not anymore.
"Let me go," I said coldly, yanking my arm from his grip. "Mr. Whitaker, please mind your behavior. We're hardly acquainted."
His eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and something else—hurt, perhaps? The moonlight highlighted the sharp angles of his face, the new lines around his eyes that hadn't been there five years ago.
"So, you're the legendary H.S.?" His voice was low, controlled, but with an undercurrent of tension. "Intellect's quantum chip genius?"
I straightened my posture, smoothing the wrinkled sleeve where he had gripped me. "Yes, I am H.S.—Harper Sinclair." I offered a smile that didn't reach my eyes. "Surprised?"
"Five years, Harper," Rowan said, his composure slipping as his fist clenched at his side. "Five years without a word. You just disappeared."
I examined his rigid jawline, the white knuckles of his clenched fist. How many times had I imagined this confrontation? Yet now that it was happening, I felt oddly detached, as if watching someone else go through the motions.
"I wasn't aware I had any obligation to report my whereabouts to you," I replied with practiced coolness. "I submitted divorce papers before I left. That was sufficient notification."
"I never agreed to a divorce!" Rowan's voice rose slightly, echoing in the empty space.
"No?" I let out a cold laugh. "Did Mr. Whitaker not want a divorce? Perhaps you preferred to have me live alongside you, your other woman, and her child?"
His expression froze, guilt and panic flashing across his features. The confident CEO suddenly looked cornered, vulnerable.
"It wasn't like that. If you'd let me explain—"
"Explain what?" I cut him off. "That what I saw wasn't reality? That the woman wasn't pregnant with your child?" The bitterness I'd suppressed for years edged into my voice. "Save your explanations, Mr. Whitaker. I heard enough that night to understand exactly where I stood with you."
Rowan stood speechless, his usual eloquence deserting him.
I took a step back. "We have nothing more to discuss."
"We have everything to discuss," he countered, struggling to regain control of the conversation. "Not here, not now. But we will talk, Harper."
"I don't see the necessity."
His eyes narrowed, and in an instant, the vulnerable man disappeared, replaced by the calculating CEO. "As the head of Whitaker Holdings, I'd like to invite you to my office tomorrow to discuss potential collaboration between our companies."
"Strictly business?" I raised an eyebrow. "I'll consider it."
"Nine o'clock tomorrow morning. I'll send a car."
"That won't be necessary," I replied immediately. "I have my own arrangements." I turned to leave, not waiting for his response.
I could feel his eyes on me as I walked away, our shadows stretching long and separate in the moonlight.
I was making my way back to the main ballroom when I spotted her. Serena Vaughn, in her elegant cream gown, stepped directly into my path. Up close, she was even more beautiful than I remembered—flawless skin, perfect features arranged in an expression of calculated warmth.
"Harper Sinclair?" She extended her hand. "I'm Serena Vaughn, Technology Research Director at Whitaker Holdings."
I acknowledged her with a slight nod, deliberately ignoring her outstretched hand. "Ms. Vaughn. A pleasure." I moved to step around her.
She smoothly repositioned herself, blocking my exit. "I've heard so much about H.S. What a surprise to discover it's Rowan's wife." Her smile was predatory. "Or should I say, ex-wife?"
I felt my fist clench involuntarily, nails digging into my palm. I forced my expression to remain neutral, even as rage simmered beneath the surface.
"Ms. Vaughn," I said, my voice steady and sharp, "please correct your form of address. I am no longer married to Rowan Whitaker."
"Oh, I do apologize," she said with feigned surprise. "Rowan has never mentioned you after all this time. I completely forgot."
I studied her, noting the small tells of her insecurity—the slightly too-tight grip on her champagne flute, the forced quality of her smile. I allowed myself a cold, calculated smile in return.
"How unfortunate," I replied. "Though I find it rather curious. It has been quite a long time, Ms. Vaughn. I understand Whitaker Holdings' CEO remains unmarried. Quite the achievement for his... companion."
Her expression flickered, anger replacing her practiced smile.
"Rowan has been through a lot, especially after you abandoned him," she hissed, stepping closer. "Fortunately, I've always been by his side."
I surveyed her with clinical detachment. "Perhaps he treats his lovers the way he treats his chips—useful until something better comes along, but never worth the full acquisition price."
Color flooded her cheeks, her composure cracking. "Who do you think you are? You can't just come back and disrupt everything."
"I'm merely a passerby, Ms. Vaughn," I replied, turning to leave. "As for disruption—that depends entirely on how stable things were to begin with."
She trembled with rage as I walked away, victory a cool balm on my nerves.
After saying my goodbyes to Beckett, I left the summit early. In the privacy of my car, I finally allowed my carefully constructed facade to crumble. My smile faded, exhaustion washing over me in a heavy wave.
In the reflection of the window, I saw my pale face, the strain around my eyes that no amount of makeup could truly conceal. I closed my eyes, fingers unconsciously tracing the spot on my left hand where a wedding ring had once been.
Why does my heart still react when my mind knows better?
I straightened my back, forcing steel into my spine. "Tomorrow at Whitaker Holdings will be another battle," I whispered to myself.
The driver asked if I wanted to return to the hotel, and I nodded in confirmation.
I slipped my keycard into the hotel suite door, pushing it open quietly. To my complete surprise, two small figures looked up from the couch, their identical faces breaking into huge smiles.
"Mommy!" they cried in unison, launching themselves at me with the force of two miniature rockets.
I dropped to my knees, gathering Samuel and Grace into my arms, breathing in their familiar scent of children's shampoo and chocolate.
"What are you two doing here?" I asked, blinking back unexpected tears as I held them tight.
