Chapter 4

Harper Jensen POV:

The week of our engagement party was a blur of calculated normalcy. I went to work. I reviewed blueprints. I smiled at Carter' s texts and answered his calls with a placid, even tone that seemed to soothe his lingering anxieties.

Inside, I was a coiled spring of ice and rage. Every loving word from him, every casual touch, was a lie that scraped against my raw nerves. I was living in a meticulously constructed dollhouse, and I could suddenly see all the strings.

I also felt... off. A persistent fatigue clung to me like a damp coat. My thoughts were fuzzy around the edges, my body heavy and unresponsive.

"You' re just stressed about the party," Carter would say, setting a cup of herbal tea on my nightstand each morning and a smoothie by my plate at dinner. "I' ve been talking to a nutritionist. We need to manage your cortisol levels. Just let me handle your meals for a bit. I' ll take care of you."

His concern was a suffocating blanket. I drank the teas and the smoothies, too exhausted to argue, telling myself it was just the emotional toll of his betrayal manifesting physically.

The day before the party, he came home early, his eyes bright with manufactured excitement. "I have a surprise for you. Something to take your mind off everything."

He drove me to the waterfront, to the site of the 'Aria Tower,' the skyscraper that had won me the Pritzker Prize and cemented my name in the architectural world. It was my masterpiece, a soaring symphony of glass and steel that twisted elegantly toward the sky. It was my greatest achievement.

A small crowd of reporters and photographers was already gathered at the base of the building. And standing beside the podium, looking pale and efficient, was Corinne.

"What' s this?" I asked, my voice tight.

"Just a little pre-engagement press event," Carter said smoothly, taking my hand and leading me toward the cameras. "We' re announcing a new city initiative for architectural preservation, and I thought, what better place to do it than at the base of our city' s most iconic modern building? My brilliant fiancée' s masterpiece."

He was using my success. Weaving it into his political narrative, making it part of his brand. He put his arm around me, smiling for the cameras, and I felt like a hostage.

He began his speech, talking about integrity, about preserving the city' s soul, about the importance of safety codes. As he spoke, I noticed a strange smell. Acrid. Chemical.

Then, a wisp of smoke curled up from a service panel on the building' s lower facade.

A woman in the crowd screamed. The smoke thickened, turning from grey to black. A small, bright orange flame licked up the side of the polished granite.

Panic erupted. The press surged forward, cameras flashing wildly.

But the fire didn't spread. It was small, contained, almost... theatrical. It sputtered for a few moments, charring a section of the facade and shattering a single glass panel before a security guard extinguished it with a fire extinguisher. The whole event lasted less than a minute.

Through it all, Carter was the picture of calm. He held his hands up, reassuring the crowd. He directed his security to establish a perimeter. He was in complete control.

When the chaos subsided, he turned back to the reporters, his expression grave.

"We will, of course, launch a full investigation," he said, his voice resonating with authority. "But this unfortunate incident highlights a critical issue. It underscores the urgent need for updated safety codes, especially in our city' s older, iconic buildings. Even the most modern designs can have vulnerabilities."

He subtly shifted his gaze to me, a look of disappointment in his eyes. He didn' t have to say my name. He had planted the seed. The fire at Harper Jensen' s building. The fire that exposed a flaw in her design.

My fatigue was suddenly gone, replaced by a shot of pure, cold adrenaline. This was no accident. This was a setup. He had orchestrated this entire event to tarnish my reputation, to make me seem flawed, unstable, and in need of his steadying hand.

My phone rang as we were driving home, the silence in the car thick and suffocating. The caller ID read 'Godfather.' Edward Frederick. The formidable media mogul who had been my father' s best friend and my only true family since they died.

I answered, my voice trembling slightly. "Edward."

"Get out of the car, Harper," his voice was a low, urgent command, stripped of all pleasantries. "Tell the driver to pull over right now."

I looked at Carter. He was staring out the window, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips.

"I... I can' t," I whispered.

"I' ve had my people looking into him ever since you announced the engagement," Edward' s voice was like gravel. "I never trusted him. That fire was arson, Harper. My forensics team just confirmed it. An accelerant was used on the service panel."

My blood ran cold.

"That' s not all," he continued, his voice tight with rage. "I had a source at your doctor' s office pull your recent bloodwork. You' ve been systematically drugged, Harper. A low-grade sedative, consistent with the herbal compounds in the supplements Carter' s 'nutritionist' recommended. He' s been poisoning you."

The teacups. The smoothies. The fogginess. The exhaustion. It all clicked into place, a horrifying mosaic of calculated abuse.

"You need to get out now," Edward commanded. "I have a team two blocks behind you. Create a scene. Do whatever you have to do."

As if on cue, Carter' s phone buzzed. He answered, his voice dropping to a confidential tone. "Is it done? Is she on her way?" He paused. "Good. She' s becoming a liability. Lock her away. We' ll say she had a mental collapse from the stress of the fire at her building. A breakdown. I' ll handle the press."

He hung up and turned to me, his face a mask of deep, loving concern. "Baby, that was the director of a private wellness retreat upstate. After what happened today... I think you need some time. To rest. To get better."

The car slowed, turning onto a private road. Ahead, I could see two men in dark suits standing by a black town car.

They were here to take me away. To lock me up.

"Stop the car!" I screamed, grabbing the wheel. The driver swore, swerving as I yanked it hard to the right. The car screeched to a halt, half on the shoulder.

Before Carter could react, I threw my door open and scrambled out. A black SUV screeched to a halt behind us, and two men, built like mountains, got out. Edward' s men.

One of them opened the back door for me while the other stood between me and Carter, who was now out of the car, his face a thunderous mask of fury.

"Harper, get back in the car!" he yelled. "You' re having a hysterical episode!"

As Edward' s man bundled me into the SUV, weak and disoriented, I heard Carter' s voice on the phone again, cold and final.

"The plan has changed. She knows. Take her."

The last thing I saw before the door closed was Carter' s face, contorted with a rage so pure it was terrifying, as his security team started to move toward us.