He carried her into the guest room, disappearing for the entire night. He didn't come out once to check on me. When I finally stormed in, grabbing a heavy vase to smash against them, Carter acted fast. He pulled the woman into his arms, shielding her, his eyes cold and detached. "Harper, that’s enough. Stop making a scene. You’re embarrassing yourself." 1. "What did you just say?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Did you drug her?" I froze. "I drugged her? Is that what she said?" Carter’s mouth twisted into a cynical smirk. "You don't need to frame her; she didn't say anything. But it’s not hard to guess, is it? Who else but you would do something this low?" I hadn’t attended the gala last night. A brutal migraine had kept me home. Before he left, Carter had kissed my forehead, telling me to get some rest. Now, he stood there, self-righteous and accusing. It was just like he used to tell me: If a person has no shame, they can accuse you of anything, and you’ll never clear your name. After a long silence, I suddenly laughed. Carter frowned, staring at me. I turned on my heel and walked out. Riley rushed over, catching me just as I stumbled on the stairs. "Harper? What happened? Are you okay?" I gripped her arm. My head was splitting open. "Call 911." "What?" "Call the police!" My voice was raspy, my body shaking uncontrollably. I fumbled for my migraine meds and dry-swallowed a pill. Riley realized I wasn’t joking. She pulled out her phone immediately. "Hello? I need to report a crime..." I took the phone from her. "Someone has illegally used a controlled substance and is framing me for it..." "Harper Vance! What are you doing?" Carter stormed out, wearing only a bathrobe, his face like thunder. "Who told you to call the cops?" I looked him dead in the eye. Into the phone, I said, "Yes, this is the address. I’ll be waiting outside." "Harper!!" Carter lunged, trying to snatch the phone. Riley stepped in front of me. She saw the bathrobe, saw the rage, and understood everything. She shoved Carter back hard. "Back off, Carter!" Carter pushed Riley aside effortlessly. She hit the wall with a painful thud. My heart clenched. I grabbed the vase from the hallway console and hurled it at him. "Stay the hell away from me!" "Harper!" I pulled a taser from my purse, helping Riley up. "I said, stay away." 2. Layla Moore chose that moment to stumble out of the room. Her steps were weak and floaty. She collapsed right into Carter’s arms. Carter looked panicked, holding her tight. My nerves were already fried. Seeing them like that, I couldn't stop a choked sob from escaping. I bit my lip so hard I tasted iron, trying to keep quiet. Riley heard it, though. She rubbed my back, tears streaming down her own face. She was crying for me. I wanted to tell her I was fine, but I couldn't make a sound. Layla grabbed Carter’s robe, looking terrified. "I heard sirens? Why call the police? Carter... I don't want people to know what happened last night. I’ll leave. Let’s just pretend nothing happened. I won’t ruin your marriage. I’m sorry, this is all my fault!" Her tears fell on cue—beautiful, fragile, pitiful. Carter gritted his teeth, his glare fixing on me. "Harper, cancel the call. I’m not asking." I bit down on the inside of my cheek until the pain grounded me. I took a deep breath and stood up straight. "You're sorry? You're apologizing? So, you drugged yourself?" Layla paused for two seconds, then shook her head frantically. "No, no! Why would I... why would I do that to myself?" She looked at me with mournful eyes. "Harper, I know you hate me. I accept that. But... but you shouldn't assume I’d do something like this..." I nodded. "So, did I do it?" She went silent, biting her lip, tears flowing—the picture of a martyr swallowing her pain. I looked at Carter. His eyes were strangers to me. "So, Carter. Did I do it?" "You know the answer." "I know? You mean, you've decided I did it." "Who else is there?" I nodded again and let out a light laugh. "Great. Remember you said that. I recorded it. Make sure you tell the police the exact same story. Otherwise, I might sue you for defamation." 3. As soon as the words left my mouth, Layla’s face went pale. She broke free from Carter and dropped to her knees in front of me. Thud. Thud. She slammed her head against the floor. "Harper, I’m sorry! It’s all my fault. It has nothing to do with Carter. I know you hate me. You’ve hated me for years. I was wrong back then. I shouldn't have said you smelled like..." "Shut up!" "Layla!" Riley screamed and lunged at her, but I held her back. Carter pulled Layla up, his voice warning. "Enough." I was the calmest person in the hallway. "Smelled like what? Dead fish? You're still the same Layla. But do you think I'm still the same Harper?" Carter’s breath hitched. He stepped forward. I stepped back, raising the taser. "Last warning. Back off." "What is going on here?" A sharp, authoritative voice rang out. It was Vivian Caldwell, the owner of the estate and the host of last night's gala. Seeing her, Carter stiffened, plastering on a fake smile. "Mrs. Caldwell, it’s nothing. Just a misunderstanding. We’ll handle it. Sorry to disturb you." "Is that so?" Her red lips curved, her gaze sweeping over the trembling Layla before landing on me. "You sent me the message?" "Harper, you..." Carter looked furious but didn't dare explode in front of the matriarch. I nodded. "Yes, Mrs. Caldwell. Sorry to intrude." She nodded. "It is intrusive." "Mrs. Caldwell, I apologize. Harper isn’t thinking clearly..." Carter tried to grab my arm to pull me away. I yanked my hand back and kicked him hard in the shin. "Are you deaf?" Carter froze. He finally realized I wasn't saving him any face today. Vivian laughed, amused. "Now I’m curious. The text mentioned drugs and framing. Explain." She dropped the smile. The air pressure in the room seemed to drop with it. I met her gaze without flinching. "Last night, someone was drugged at your party. Likely hallucinogens or aphrodisiacs. Controlled substances. First, someone committed a felony in your home. Second, I don't know if anyone else accidentally ingested it." Vivian looked at me, understanding perfectly. She knew I was using her. She didn't care. Carter took a deep breath. "Mrs. Caldwell, I’m sorry we disrupted your event. I’ll handle it. I won't let anyone..." Vivian didn't even look at him. She turned around. "Investigate it. Thoroughly." I exhaled, leaning my weight against Riley. I’d won the gamble. A businesswoman like Vivian Caldwell wouldn’t tolerate dirty scandals under her roof. The police arrived quickly. Layla "fainted." Carter scooped her up to take her to the hospital. "We are victims here, not criminals. You can't restrict our freedom," he told the officers. He walked away with such determination. "Carter," I called out. He stopped. "Remember to sign the divorce papers." 4. Layla had re-entered my life last year. She applied for a job at my firm. I recognized her instantly. "You can leave. We won't be hiring you." She hadn't recognized me at first. Her eyes went wide. "Why? I passed the interview." "Because I have the final say." "You... you can't do this. You have to hire me." She was so entitled. My assistant whispered, "Carter Sterling referred her. He called personally." Layla had rear-ended Carter’s Tesla. The repairs were ten grand. She didn't have insurance or money, so she cried. Carter, not wanting the hassle, said, "Forget it." Layla insisted. "It’s my responsibility. I can't pay it all now, can I pay in installments?" Month one: $50. Month two: $25. Carter laughed about it. "Is she planning to pay me off until my funeral?" Layla claimed she lost her job. She needed to pay rent and eat, but she still squeezed out pennies for him. It made Carter’s heart soften. So he said, "I'll get you a job." "You need an assistant anyway. Put her under your nose so you don't misunderstand anything," he’d told me. He explained it so logically. He thought he was being transparent. He looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to praise his thoughtfulness. I shook my head. "No." "Why?" Because she was my middle school bully. In eighth grade, we sat next to each other. She was popular, loud. She constantly "accidentally" hit me. I endured it until she leaned her entire weight on me, driving a pen tip under my fingernail. I shoved her off. "You're hurting me." She smirked. "Oh, did I bump you? Do you want an apology?" She didn't apologize. She just turned back to her friends. I thought that was it. Three days later, she leaned in and sniffed me, then dramatically covered her nose. "Harper, why do you smell like fish? Were you rolling around in a dumpster?" "What are you talking about?" "Nothing, nothing. Don't be so aggressive. I'm just telling you. Guys, do you smell that? A really strong fishy smell." People started sniffing. Some looked confused, others played along.
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