Chapter 7 - Morning Light and Old Scars
The morning sun filtered softly through the sheer white curtains of the second-floor guest suite, casting warm, golden geometric patterns across the plush carpet. Harper woke up with a start, her body instantly tensing as her mind searched for the familiar morning sounds of Trent cursing in the kitchen or slamming cabinet doors.
Instead, there was only the gentle rustle of oak leaves outside the window and the distant, soothing murmur of the river flowing past the estate.
She sat up slowly, wincing as the residual soreness in her thigh and jaw flared up. She pushed the heavy white duvet aside and walked over to the adjoining bathroom. The glass vanity was stocked with clean towels, high-end toiletries, and a brand-new medical kit.
Harper stared at her reflection in the illuminated mirror. For the first time in three years, she did not reach for the peach color corrector or the heavy liquid foundation. She looked closely at the fading purple bruise on her left cheekbone—it was still swollen and tender, but the harsh, artificial mask of deception was gone. She was simply looking at herself.
A soft knock sounded at the bedroom door, followed by Martha’s warm voice. “Harper? Are you awake, dear? I’ve brought some breakfast and fresh coffee whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you, Martha. I’ll be right out,” Harper replied, her voice sounding clearer and stronger than it had in years.
Ten minutes later, she walked out into the sunlit sitting area wearing a comfortable oversized cashmere sweater and soft linen trousers provided by Martha. The older woman was setting a tray of warm pastries, fruit, and hot coffee on a low mahogany table near the window.
“Eat up,” Martha insisted kindly, pouring a steaming cup of coffee and handing it to her. “You’ve got a long road ahead of you, but the first step is always the hardest.”
“Where is Mr. Costa?” Harper asked, wrapping her cold hands around the warm ceramic mug.
“Mr. Costa had to attend some urgent business downtown,” Martha replied, her expression turning slightly guarded. “There are complications with some shipping operations that require his immediate attention. But he left strict instructions that you are not to leave the estate under any circumstances for your own safety.”
Harper’s chest tightened slightly at the mention of danger. “Is he in trouble because of me? Because he came to my apartment?”
“Mr. Costa is never in trouble, child,” Martha said with a reassuring smile. “He is the one who delivers it. But he cares about you more than he lets on. I’ve worked for him for ten years, and I’ve never seen him bring anyone into this house.”
Before Harper could process the weight of those words, the heavy front door downstairs slammed shut with a concussive thud, followed by the sound of hurried, heavy footsteps echoing up the grand staircase.
May you like
Marcus burst down the second-floor hallway, looking uncharacteristically tense as he bypassed Martha and stopped directly in front of Harper.
“We have a situation,” Marcus said without preamble. “Victor’s men didn’t just hit the docks this morning—they ambushed Gabriel’s personal transport on the way back from the harbor. The boss is pinned down across town.”
