Chapter 4
1301 Words
Raina’s POV
For a split second, the world stopped having edges.
That voice.
Low. Controlled. Familiar in a way my body reacted to before my mind could even decide how to feel about it.
Harrison.
My eyes lifted.
And there he was.
Standing too close.
Looking exactly like the man who had walked out of my life emotionally last night and returned this morning as if nothing had shifted at all.
No apology. No explanation. No guilt.
Just Harrison Grant in full CEO form, as if emotions were spreadsheets he could delay and file later.
My heart did something stupid before I could stop it.
Then reality snapped back into place.
“I’m fine,” I said quickly, pushing against his chest. “Let go of me.”
The second I shifted my weight, pain detonated through my ankle. Sharp enough to steal my breath.
A reflexive sound escaped me.
His eyes dropped instantly.
Too fast.
“What happened?”
The question came too cleanly.
As if he had only just registered my existence as something capable of injury.
That alone stung more than the pain.
He crouched before I could step away, hand reaching toward my ankle.
Instinct took over.
I pulled back.
Hard.
Cold.
Final.
“Don’t touch me,” I said flatly. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”
For a moment, something flickered across his face.
Then it was gone.
He stood.
Quiet.
Unreadable.
And before I could take even a step away…
The world tilted.
A sudden lift. Strong arms around my waist. My breath broke mid-exhale as I was pulled completely off the ground.
“Harrison… put me down.”
I struggled immediately.
He didn’t even shift.
“Stop moving,” he said, voice lower now. “Unless you want Grandma to see you like this.”
That was enough.
I froze.
Of course he knew.
Exactly where to press.
Exactly what to threaten.
I hated how predictable my reactions were around him.
He exhaled once, like I had finally behaved correctly, and carried me forward.
Calm. Controlled. Effortless.
Like I weighed nothing.
Like I was still something that belonged to him.
Inside the dining room, warmth hit me first.
Then Grandma Noelle’s voice.
“Raina!”
Worry instantly filled her face as she stood.
“Harrison, what happened to her?”
“It’s just a sprain,” I said quickly, forcing a small smile. “I’m fine, Grandma.”
He set me down beside him at the table.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like I was fragile glass.
The irony was almost funny.
He pushed a bowl of congee toward me.
Steam curled upward, carrying a familiar scent.
Comfort food.
Grandma’s recipe.
My childhood in a bowl.
“Eat,” he said simply.
I didn’t move.
Not because I didn’t want to.
Because I couldn’t tell which version of him this was meant to be.
The one who married me?
Or the one who forgot I existed unless I broke in front of him?
Grandma noticed my silence immediately.
Before she could ask anything…
Helen Grant entered.
Her presence changed the atmosphere instantly.
Polished. Cold. Sharp enough to slice through warmth.
“So,” she said lightly, taking a seat without waiting, “you arrived separately last night. Interesting.”
My fingers tightened slightly in my lap.
Harrison answered before I could.
“I had work.”
Simple.
Clean.
Too rehearsed.
Helen smiled faintly.
“Work that keeps a man from his wife overnight?” she tilted her head toward me. “Or… something else?”
My throat tightened.
I didn’t look up.
She never needed permission to aim at me.
She just did it anyway.
“Three years,” she continued, voice sharpening. “No child. No progress. No stability. Tell me, Raina… what exactly are you contributing to this marriage?”
The word contribution hit harder than it should have.
I felt Grandma stiffen beside me.
“Helen,” she warned.
But Helen wasn’t done.
“Maybe the problem isn’t medical,” she added softly. “Maybe it’s simply… incompetence.”
Silence fell.
Heavy.
Smothering.
I could feel Harrison beside me.
Still.
Watching.
Not intervening.
Not yet.
Something in my chest went quiet.
Not broken.
Just… still.
Then Harrison spoke.
Calmly.
“I’m the one who doesn’t want children.”
The entire table shifted.
Even Helen froze.
I finally looked at him.
He didn’t look at me.
Not really.
But his hand moved anyway.
Sliding over mine on the table.
Warm.
Anchoring.
Performative?
Or protective?
It was impossible to tell anymore.
“I’m focusing on the company,” he continued evenly. “We agreed to wait.”
We.
That word again.
A shared illusion.
Helen scoffed.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“This conversation is over,” he said.
Not louder.
Just final.
Grandma intervened quickly after that, cutting the tension before it could burn further.
But I had already stopped listening.
Because his hand was still on mine.
And I hated that my body remembered it before my mind could reject it.
When the room finally emptied…
I pulled my hand away.
Quietly.
Carefully.
Like I was removing something that didn’t belong to me anymore.
“Thanks,” I said.
Neutral.
Empty.
He didn’t respond immediately.
Just watched me.
That steady CEO gaze.
The one that made shareholders nervous and competitors lose sleep.
Except now… it was aimed at me.
Before I could stand…
He lifted me again.
“Harrison,” I snapped. “I said I don’t need…”
“We’re going to the hospital.”
“I’m not…”
Already I was in his arms.
Again.
Too familiar.
Too practiced.
Too effortless.
And worse…
My body didn’t resist the way my pride did.
For a brief, traitorous second, I was sixteen again.
Rain-soaked. Feverish. Collapsing outside the old West residence.
And Harrison, barely older himself back then, lifting me like I wasn’t a burden at all.
That was the first time I thought:
He cares.
That thought had ruined everything that came after.
Now, it just felt like history repeating itself with better lighting.
By evening, I assumed we would return home.
I was wrong.
The car didn’t turn toward the city.
It turned outward.
Toward silence.
Toward distance.
Toward something unfamiliar.
I frowned slightly.
“Where are we going?”
His eyes stayed on the road.
“You’ll see.”
That tone.
CEO tone.
Decision already made.
No negotiation invited.
Minutes later, the gates appeared.
A private airstrip.
My breath slowed without permission.
His jet sat waiting.
Not just waiting…
prepared.
Decorated.
Roses lined the steps.
Soft lighting inside the cabin spilled out like staged romance.
Everything carefully arranged.
Like a business deal dressed as affection.
He stepped out first.
Opened my door.
Then lifted me again without asking.
Always lifting.
Always deciding.
“We’re going to Starlight Island,” he said.
Starlight Island.
My chest tightened.
I knew that name.
A place I once circled in travel magazines.
A place I once wrote in a journal margin:
If I ever get there, I’ll know I’m loved properly.
A honeymoon dream.
One he postponed for a “major acquisition deal.”
One he never rescheduled.
Now the plane was ready.
Tonight.
With roses.
With silence.
With him.
I looked around the cabin.
Everything soft.
Everything intentional.
Everything… too late.
My heart didn’t race.
Didn’t soften.
Didn’t reach.
It just stayed still.
Watching him the way one watches a closing door.
I turned slightly toward him.
Voice calm.
Almost polite.
“Harrison,” I said, “is this your way of fixing what you broke?”
And for the first time that day…
I wasn’t asking.
I was waiting to see if he finally understood that some things don’t get repaired just because he decides they should.
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