Chapter 2
The next day at noon, I bought my own fishing yacht.
Before that, I went to the hospital and picked up a pile of vitamins and medication to help with the miscarriage, scattering them loosely on the boat deck. Next to the pills was a registration notice for the sea angling competition.
The competition was set to start the day after tomorrow. I had pulled some strings in the fishing community to get a spot. I was sick of being Grant Sterling’s business tool. I needed to return to my own world.
Grant and Summer walked up together. Summer innocently asked:
“Is this our fishing yacht for today? Harper chose it herself, so it must be good!”
Grant glanced at the items on the yacht and chuckled:
“I’ve already spoken with the organizers about Summer joining the competition as a sponsor… But since you helped her register, that was thoughtful of you. Let’s go to a nearby shop and pick out some fishing gear for her. You’re the professional; you know best.”
I just stared at him, speechless. I pulled out a signed divorce paper from my bag and handed it to him.
Grant didn’t take it. Instead, he pulled me aside, and for once, he tried to softly coax me:
“You actually like Summer too, don’t you? She’s such a spirited, free-spirited girl. When I look at her, it’s like seeing a younger you. If we had a child, they’d probably be just like her.”
My heart ached for a second. Treat her like a child? He must be treating me like an utter fool. Summer was only three years younger than me.
I pulled away from him:
“We’re getting a divorce. There won’t be any children.”
Grant’s face hardened:
“Harper, don’t be so ungrateful!”
I scoffed and walked directly toward the tackle shop. I needed to buy a new set of gear for my competition the day after tomorrow.
Grant wrapped an arm around Summer’s waist, leaving me behind.
The tackle shop was run by a local fishing association, with a wall covered in medals and trophies from its members. I had a wall like that in my own room, but it was all mine.
Grant and Summer whispered to each other, pointing at the trophies. They exchanged knowing glances and shared a quiet laugh, just like a couple of young lovers.
Suddenly, Summer walked over, frowning as she looked at the fishing gear I had carefully selected:
“This rod isn’t good. I don’t like blue. And this lure is so ugly! I need to take pictures for my Ins that day!”
Grant coldly ordered me:
“Get a lighter set. It’s too heavy for Summer to hold. But not too light either, or the fish will pull it away. No colors other than black. Hurry up; we need to go to dinner soon.”
I was baffled. “I’m buying fishing gear for myself. What does that have to do with you two?”
“Are you out of your damn mind?”
Grant thought I was just throwing a tantrum and laughed, annoyed. My fishing gear was already very complete; buying a whole new set now was indeed unnecessary. But Summer had used my most comfortable set that day, and I found it disgusting.
I left the fishing gear with the shop owner. As I stepped out, I received a message from Grant:
[We’re already at the restaurant. Here’s the address. Hurry up, don’t delay Summer’s fishing trip this afternoon.]