At a heavily guarded warehouse, dimly lit by flickering bulbs and filled with the stench of gasoline and fear, the gardener lay face-down on the cold, dusty ground. His body trembled uncontrollably, his clothes soaked in sweat and dust as he kowtowed repeatedly.
"Sir, please, forgive me!" he cried, his voice cracking. "I swear I didn't know you were riding a horse that day! I didn't mean to!"
Harry sat in a high-backed chair like a god of judgment, his expression impassive, eyes cold and sharp as blades.
"You didn't know?" he repeated, his voice low and calm, a calm that was far more terrifying than rage. "Fine. Then explain to me how a poor gardener like yourself got five hundred thousand dollars in your account... three days before the accident."
The color drained from the gardener's face. "I...it was... it was a gift from my cousin, sir!" he stammered. "He... he won the lottery and wanted to share with me!"
"Lies." Harry cut him off, voice still dangerously calm. "You insult my intelligence."
The gardener collapsed, sobbing. "Please, sir! Have mercy"
Harry stood slowly and gestured to his men. "Break every bone in his body. Cut the tendons in his hands. Cut off his tongue... and then let him go."
"NOOOO!" the gardener screamed, panic flooding his voice. "Please! I'll talk! I'll tell you everything!"
Harry paused and turned slightly, watching him.
"It... it was Madame Sasha!" the gardener cried, slamming his forehead into the ground in desperation. "She ordered me to fire the gun. She gave me the money to keep quiet... Please, sir, don't kill me!"
Harry's jaw clenched. His eyes darkened even more. So it's still her, he thought grimly. It's always her.
Without a word, he turned and walked away, not bothering to retract the order. The sounds of screaming followed him, but he never looked back.
It was past midnight when Sasha returned to the mansion. She looked exhausted, but when a maid approached and said, "Madam, Mr. Harry is waiting in your room," her face instantly lit up.
"He is?" she gasped, brushing her hair quickly with her fingers and practically skipping toward her chambers. "He's finally come to see me?"
She pushed open the door eagerly. Her heart fluttered when she saw him standing there, tall and brooding, just as handsome as ever.
"Hubby!" she called, voice laced with affection. "You're really here! You finally..."
She didn't get to finish.
Before she could throw herself into his arms, Harry grabbed her by the throat and slammed her against the wall. Sasha choked in shock, gasping for air as her feet lifted off the ground.
"Harry!" she wheezed. "Wh-what are you?!"
Harry's eyes glowed with fury. "You dare act surprised?" he hissed. "You tried to kill her, Sasha."
"I...what? I don't know what you're talking about!" she cried, clawing at his hand.
"You shot at us, had her thrown off a horse, paid off a servant to shut up... Do you think I'm blind?" His grip tightened, and Sasha's face began to change color.
"I loved you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "And you want to kill me... because of her?"
"You don't deserve to live after what you did," Harry said coldly. "But... I'm not killing you today. Only because of your grandfather."
With that, he let her go. Sasha collapsed to the floor, gasping and coughing, clutching her neck.
She watched him as he coldly wiped his fingers clean with a handkerchief.
Tears streamed down her face. "You're disgusted me by me?," she whispered. "You wiped your hands like I'm filth…"
Harry looked at her with complete disdain. "You are."
Her heart cracked open, raw and bleeding. "So that woman...Ana Lyle... she means more to you than me?" she asked, laughing bitterly through the pain.
"She means everything," he said without hesitation. "And you? You're nothing."
As he walked out, his figure vanishing through the doorway like a ghost, Sasha's body trembled not from pain but hatred. Bone-chilling hatred.
"Ana Lyle..." she muttered, her voice like venom. "You've taken everything from me. I'll make sure you die... and not just any death. A horrible, slow, painful death. I swear it."
Her nails dug into the floor until her knuckles turned white. The war had officially begun.
Harry entered his bedroom, tired yet yearning for the warmth only one woman could give him. But instead of rest, he found himself chuckling softly at the sight before him. Ana stood in front of the mirror, struggling with the zipper at the back of her dress, her left arm straining awkwardly while her right was still recovering. She bit her lip in frustration, clearly unaware of his presence.
With his arms folded and a teasing smile tugging at his lips, Harry finally spoke.
"You do know that you won't be able to unzip your dress with your left hand, right?"
Startled, Ana jumped, her eyes shooting to the mirror to meet his reflection.
"When did you get back?" she asked, a mix of surprise and joy in her voice.
Harry walked over and wrapped his arms gently around her waist, placing a soft kiss on her bare shoulder.
"Just now. Why didn't you call a maid to help you? Where's that girl Nina?"
Ana sighed, lowering her gaze.
"I didn't want to bother her. She already does too much because of me."
Harry nodded, his hands sliding up to the zipper.
"Well then, I'll happily take the job." He began unzipping her dress slowly, his fingers brushing against her skin more than necessary.
Ana blushed, swatting his hand playfully.
"Your hands are very disobedient, Mr. Fairchild."
"Can't help it. You tempt me," he said with a grin. Then, with mock seriousness, he added,
"Tonight, I'm at your full service. So, my queen, how would you like your humble servant to serve you?"
Rolling her eyes, Ana smirked.
"This queen demands a warm bath. Now run along, servant, and prepare it!"
"As you wish, Your Majesty," Harry said with a dramatic bow before sweeping her into his arms.
He carried her to the bathroom and filled the tub with warm, scented water. Throughout the bath, he was unusually gentle, washing her hair, running warm water down her back, cleaning every inch of her with the utmost care.
"I'm trying very hard to behave," he muttered with a mischievous glint, rinsing her hair.
"You better. You'll pay if you cause even a scratch," Ana warned, but her voice was light, teasing.
After drying her off and wrapping her in a thick towel, he carried her back into the bedroom. She curled up in his arms, shy despite their many intimate moments. He laid her down carefully and helped her into fresh nightwear.
Later, as she sat at the vanity table, Harry stood behind her, blow-drying her hair. He parted her locks and braided them gently into two loose braids.
"You look adorable," he whispered, resting his chin on her head.
The image of them in the mirror made something stir in his chest. A buried memory. His parents, loving and affectionate, his father brushing his mother's hair just like this. That used to be his dream. A peaceful, loving home.
After tucking her into bed, he leaned in close, his breath tickling her ear.
"How does My Lady intend to pay me for tonight's service?"
Ana gulped, heat rushing to her cheeks.
"What do you want in exchange?" she asked nervously, biting her lip.
Harry's voice dropped low and husky as he nuzzled her neck.
"You."
"Me?!" Ana gasped.
"You," he confirmed, kissing her neck softly.
"But since you're still recovering, I'll just collect a little interest today."
He kissed her deeply, holding her gently, and they drifted into sleep in each other's arms.