Chapter 3
I still went to that restaurant because I learned that his assistant, Chris, would be there to deliver some documents to Grant.
“Mrs. Sterling, is everything alright?” Chris’s hand trembled as he took the divorce papers from me.
“I don’t have time to chase him to sign this. You can hold onto it for me,” I said curtly.
Suddenly, a pink figure descended from upstairs. It was Summer. She sweetly called out to me:
“Harper, you’re finally here? Come quick, that bluefin tuna is waiting for you!”
I frowned, then heard a few servers, who had been standing by the door for a long time, whispering:
“Didn’t Ms. Hayes say she invited the sea angling champion to our restaurant? Who’s this?”
“Ugh, I even prepared my camera for a photo op…”
My brow twitched. I had been a sea angling champion five years ago, so of course, no one remembered me. But a bad feeling still rose in my gut.
The next second, several chefs walked out, carrying a fresh bluefin tuna.
“Harper, I’m worried the restaurant won’t prepare this fish well. Only a professional like you can slice it properly.”
I scoffed. This kind of high-end seafood restaurant—if someone catches a rare fish offshore, they’ll buy it for a high price immediately. Their chefs can handle any fish.
Summer walked up to me, all pretense of innocence gone from her face. It was replaced by intense mockery and arrogance. She whispered in my ear:
“If Grant hadn’t married you, you’d probably be just like the guy who caught this fish – bowing and scraping, just to get it onto someone else’s table after a quick photo, wouldn’t you? I’m giving you a chance to slice it for me. You should really appreciate it.”
The servers watched as the fish was taken to the private room, and they started whispering again:
“Ugh, what champion? She’s just a fish butcher.”
“Probably some champion from a bush-league competition. Ms. Hayes is just being nice by saying that.”
I looked at Grant, who stood not far away, watching me with a smirk, as if enjoying a show. I knew he was telling me that without him, I was nothing.
My phone vibrated. It was a photo from the movers I’d hired. They cautiously asked me:
“Should the things in the trophies… be packed too?”
The photo showed a trophy accidentally knocked over, spilling out a sticky, damp mess of used condoms. Every single trophy contained them.
My temples throbbed. Grant would never have allowed that when he was with me. It could only be Summer and him. Recalling their snickering at the tackle shop, I sneered.
I casually pulled out the small knife I always carried and, with one swift, clean cut, gutted the fish. Its internal organs spilled out onto the floor.
Summer screamed, covering her eyes.
Grant put his arm around Summer and snapped, “Harper Vance, aren’t you disgusted with yourself?!”
He’d once praised the exact same action, calling me free-spirited and charming. Now, his eyes were full of nothing but disgust.
“Not as disgusted as you two make me!”
Grant froze, seemingly shocked that I dared to talk back. I turned to leave, and my phone immediately buzzed. It was a voice message from Grant. He was truly enraged:
[Harper Vance, I didn’t want to tell you, but I only liked you at first because of the suspension bridge effect. You got off easy being Mrs. Sterling for five years; it’s gone to your head!]
The suspension bridge effect: It means when you’re in a high-stakes, exciting situation, you mistake your racing heart for actual feelings for the other person.
That night, we had fought that marlin for almost seven hours. The fishing yacht had nearly capsized several times. It was certainly stimulating enough.
So that’s what he considered our love.
But I no longer cared.
Seeing that I didn’t reply, he assumed I was intimidated and added:
[You scared Summer. I’m ordering you to drive the boat for her during her competition tomorrow, to apologize with your actions! Otherwise, don’t blame me if I actually sign the divorce papers!]
I scoffed and replied:
[My pleasure.]