Cliff's POV
I scanned the messy room in front of me. Clothes were scattered all over the wooden floor. Food takeout containers and empty coffee mugs were piling up on the coffee table. Was it even a livable space? How could someone live in such a mess?
I walked toward the door on the right. It led to a small bedroom with a bed beside a small window. A desk was cluttered with paperwork. For someone who was the heiress of one of the biggest malt-producing companies, this house seemed unfitting. There was no difference between it and the home of an average salaried worker.
From the rumors, the Harrisons seemed to spoil their daughter and granddaughter. There were instances where she was photographed wearing some of the most expensive clothing in the world. Even earlier, she seemed far too well-kept. Her nails were manicured, her hair blown out, and her makeup perfectly suited to her face. Someone like her living here was absurd. Alex must have mistaken the place, there was no way she would live in such a place.
My thoughts were interrupted when I heard the main door creak open, and to my surprise, Stephanie stood there in the same dress from earlier. But something was different. The red stain on her dress was something I was far too familiar with. A faint scent of disinfectant mixed with metallic hints lingered around her. Was she hurt? She was fine when I left her earlier. I scanned her from top to bottom, and there it was; her right arm hidden behind her back.
"Are you going to continue ignoring my question?"
I finally glanced up at her. One of her cheeks was slightly redder and swollen. It was subtle; if I hadn't known about wounds or hadn't seen her up close earlier, I could barely tell the difference.
"Is it normal for playboys to break into a woman's house?" Stephanie scoffed, walking inside, her right hand still carefully hidden behind her back.
More than answering her question, I was more interested in where she got those injuries.
Was it from her lover? The man who didn't hesitate to keep her as his mistress for his own satisfaction? A woman like her who could satisfy any man's desires? No matter what kind of jerk he was, raising a hand against a woman was the lowest he could go. It must not have been the first time, judging by how she was reacting. This level of calmness as if she had accepted it.
"I will ignore the fact that you broke into my house, so please leave." Her voice sounded calm and cold. That was not how someone behaved when seeing an intruder in their house.
The more I learned about this woman, the stranger it seemed. Nothing about her made sense. She was the only granddaughter of the Harrisons. The only thing left of their precious daughter. So why was she living in a place like this when, every time she was seen in public, she looked like any spoiled rich kid? Why did everything about her life seem like a giant puzzle that never solved itself?
Who could abuse someone like her?
Stephanie was the only child of Hera, the spoiled heiress of the Harrisons. She was the only child of Peter Harrison, which meant she had been spoiled since birth. When Hera threw a tantrum over wanting to marry a man who worked as an accountant at her father's company, her father agreed without hesitation.
Until the day of the wedding, when that man's wife disrupted the ceremony and told everyone how Hera had forced herself on him and used money to pressure him into leaving his family and marrying her. It became a huge scandal and resulted in the old man disowning his beloved daughter.
Hera disappeared after the public incident. Alex could find nothing about Stephanie's birth or early life. It was as if she had never existed and only came into existence after she returned to the Harrison estate. But the man her mother had tried to marry denied that she was his daughter, though he did accept her into his family. Even though rumors about her father's origins remained, she was still known for her lavish lifestyle. She was pampered and spent money like water. All those rich rumors, just for her to live in a place like this.
Even after her affairs with her brother-in-law came to light, causing her stepsister to be hospitalized, Peter Harrison never disowned her like he did his daughter. In fact, he denied such a thing ever took place. He even used all his connections to set her up with me. It must mean he genuinely cares for and loves her; otherwise, why would he pull all his favors to marry off a granddaughter who made the same mistake as his daughter? Then who would hurt her other than that man?
I glanced at her, her back facing me as she pulled out a wine bottle from the cupboard and poured herself a glass. Everything about her behavior was eerie. Who behaves like that with an intruder? Why are you not even surprised? Scared? Or calling the cops? What is this calmness?
I strode right up to her, turning her around. The opened wine bottle spilled some of its contents. Her face flinched. For the first time, there was some emotion other than calmness. Those damn green eyes, vivid like nature itself, seemed dead.
I had seen that expression far too many times; the way her body stiffened and flinched at my sudden touch, as if she was waiting for the pain to hit her.
"What the hell do you think you are doing?" she yelled, breaking free from my grasp.
There it was. Her right palm, bandaged in white wraps.
"Momma is fine, honey. I just fell down the stairs."
The same expression. The same dead eyes. Why was I thinking about that? No. I shouldn't. I should hate her, even despise her. I should not care, not feel this anger that made my throat burn, that made me want to punch whoever did that face into the wall.
You are a homewrecker. You take pride in it enough to deny the perfect marriage in front of you. Yet you act like anything but normal. Who are you, Stephanie Harrison?
I grabbed her arm again, checking her wounds. Her face contorted into a strange expression.
"Who did this to you?"