Chapter 4

Harper's POV

At seven the following evening, dressed in a tailored black shirt and dark trousers, my injured right arm supported against my chest in a black medical sling, I quietly accompanied Ethan.

Ethan seemed to be in high spirits tonight. Holding a champagne flute in his left hand, his right arm rested casually over my left shoulder.

Producers and directors approached one after another, glasses in hand, their eyes darting between us as they praised me as "the most talented stunt coordinator by Ethan's side."

Ethan didn't deny it. Occasionally, he leaned down to murmur, "Watch your arm," his posture projecting an unusual hint of protectiveness.

In the past, even this tiny crumb of public affection would have kept me privately thrilled for days.

Yet now, feeling the warmth of his palm on my shoulder, all I felt was a wave of sickening revulsion churning in my gut.

Halfway through the party, the grand doors swung open.

"So sorry, everyone! I just flew in from Zurich and got caught in traffic."

A soft, melodious voice drifted in.

The bustling ballroom fell instantly quiet. Under the foyer lights stood Chloe, making her first public appearance in months. She wore a pristine white designer gown, her softly curled hair cascading over her shoulders as she lightly held the hem of her skirt.

Her makeup was flawless, yet her face carried a delicate, perfectly measured touch of fragile paleness. Her doe eyes swept over the crowd, landing straight on Ethan.

The room held its breath for a second before Ethan's circle of friends—Zachary, Liam, and the rest at the adjacent table—erupted into loud whistles and cheers.

"Chloe's back!"

"The real girlfriend has returned! Ethan's soul has practically been in Switzerland for the past six months. We're drinking until we drop tonight!"

The moment the teasing erupted, I felt Ethan's hand snap away from my shoulder by sheer reflex.

Without offering a single word of explanation, he shoved his half-empty glass into my hand and took long strides toward the entrance.

"Why did you come straight here from the airport? Your hands are freezing." Ethan reached Chloe, shrugging off his suit jacket and draping it over her shoulders in front of over a hundred cast and crew members, seamlessly taking her evening clutch from her hand.

Several producers who had just been chatting with me shifted awkwardly, quickly reading the room and swarming toward Chloe with their drinks.

Chloe was instantly surrounded like royalty, with Ethan staying right by her side.

And there I stood by the champagne tower, holding Ethan's leftover drink, completely alone.

Zachary and Liam exchanged a smirk. Wearing malicious grins, they strode over with a bottle of liquor, flanking me from both sides.

"What are you standing here for?" Zachary poured a massive glass of hard liquor, sliding it right in front of me. "Chloe spent months recovering overseas before finally coming back. If you hadn't been reckless enough to report her for using a double and claimed she stole your choreography, would she have suffered so much? Today, out of basic decency, shouldn't you go over and apologize?"

Liam let out a cold laugh. "Zach, why be polite to a stunt double? Harper, down this glass and apologize to Chloe. If she's feeling generous, she might just let you keep your job on set."

The pungent stench of alcohol hit my face.

Setting Ethan's glass on the table, I picked up my glass of sparkling water, my cold gaze sweeping over Zachary. "You and I both know who drew the original action storyboards three years ago. My arm is injured; I'm not drinking. Move."

"Who do you think you're talking to?!" Zachary's face darkened instantly.

Refusing to give them another second of my time, I turned, glass in hand, intending to head down the spiral steps beside the three-tiered champagne tower.

Just as my left foot hit the first step, a violent shove slammed into my back.

My balance vanished completely, and I pitched forward off the elevated platform!

By instinct, I reached out to grab the railing, but my right arm was pinned inside the sling. The glass in my left hand shattered as I tumbled, crashing heavily from the six-foot-high decorative riser!

*CRASH—!*

The sickening impact echoed through the ballroom as I slammed into a sea of shattered glass and spilled alcohol.

Looking down, my right ankle visibly swelled, ballooning into a purple mass within seconds.

The entire room went dead silent. Every single pair of eyes snapped toward me.

Ethan whipped his head around. Seeing me crumpled among the broken shards, his face tightened, and he instinctively set down his glass to rush over.

"Ethan," Chloe suddenly whimpered, tugging gently on his sleeve, her voice soft and fragile. "Why is Harper being so clumsy? I saw Zachary and the guys offering her a drink just now... Did she drink too much and decide to throw a tantrum in front of everyone?"

Ethan's forward stride froze dead in its tracks.

He looked at Zachary, then down at me as I struggled on the floor.

In front of the entire elite gathering and Chloe, Ethan simply called out across the crowd with cold detachment, "Harper, know your place. There are too many people here. Get up yourself."

Snickers rippled through the room.

I knelt in the freezing champagne puddle, broken glass biting deep into my left palm, drawing thin lines of red that made my fingers tremble with pain.

Two waiters stepped forward to help, but I coldly waved them away with my bleeding hand.

I didn't let a single soul touch me. Digging my left fingers into a ridge along the cold marble wall, balancing entirely on my left leg, I gritted my teeth and hauled myself up against the wall.

The moment I stood upright, looking across the glittering chandeliers, I caught Ethan's gaze beside Chloe, his brow furrowed.

I suddenly remembered the first year we were together. I was peeling an apple for him in the apartment and nicked my index finger with the pairing knife. Back then, Ethan tossed his paperwork aside, yanked me into his lap, and sucked the blood from my fingertip with a worried scowl. He turned the apartment upside down looking for a bandage, gently blowing on the cut as he wrapped it, nagging me repeatedly not to get it wet.

That memory had sustained me for three whole years.

Only today did I finally understand.

It wasn't that he was born cold and incapable of feeling tenderness. It was just that the person he cared about had never been me.