Fiona was harshly choked, feeling uncomfortable as if her words had been snatched away.
“I wouldn’t mind. After all, you are Harry’s sister. And two years ago, didn’t we do the same? Nothing has changed,” Fiona said with a forced smile.
In just a few short sentences, Hattie’s tone seemed nonchalant, but beneath the surface, every word was a mockery of Fiona.
Fiona was no fool. If Harry couldn’t tell, did that mean she couldn’t either?
Saying she thought Fiona would already be Mrs. Stewart, mocking her lack of legitimacy – even if she were, she would still be better than Hattie.
A convict, what did Hattie even count as? Worse than a floozy, even a floozy has a retail value, but she’s worthless, no one even wants her.
Two years had passed, why hadn’t Hattie died in prison? And Harry, had he forgotten who had stabbed him 29 times, putting him in the ICU, and who had tirelessly cared for him?
Fiona had done so much just to change her status. She had been Harry’s girlfriend for ten years, engaged for three. Everyone knew she was his girlfriend, but no one understood why she, the girlfriend who had always been by Harry’s side, hadn’t become Mrs. Stewart yet.
Why?
It was all because of Hattie.
If it weren’t for her, she would have taken that position long ago.
Hattie looked at Fiona, feigning politeness and gentleness in the midst of her obvious anger. It was unbearable. This was the kind of patience only a mother hen would have.
“Nothing has changed?” Hattie repeated Fiona’s words. “Is that really true, Fiona? How is your leg?”
Fiona’s face froze, her forced smile fading. Hattie’s sinister gaze made her heart race, touching a nerve.
Two years ago, Fiona had called her out, and they had been in a car together. Midway, they had been in an accident. Maybe it was karma, but that accident had cost Fiona a leg, leaving her a small cripple.
She probably still wore a prosthetic.
That accident had been arranged by Fiona herself, intending to harm Hattie. No one could have expected that she would walk away unscathed, while Fiona lost a leg.
Fiona harbored resentment and wanted to blame her, saying the accident had been arranged by Hattie. In anger, Harry, paying no mind to the truth, had broken Hattie’s foot and locked her in a room for two days and nights, nearly causing her death from the pain.
It was that incident that led Hattie to develop a deep hatred for Harry. As soon as her leg healed, she had stabbed Harry, putting him in the ICU, and then she had been sent to prison.
During that time, so many bad things had happened, piling up like a series of torments. Enduring them made her stronger, failing to do so was disastrous. Hattie had endured until now, and yet she had considered giving up.
But she had never done anything wrong in her life. She had saved so many people; why should she die early?
So she made a decision. She would torment Harry until he died. However, it seemed that this scumbag Harry was immortal.
Hattie wasn’t a saint. It was impossible for her not to resent Fiona. But she had learned that the more she resented someone, the happier that person became. What was to be done? Of course, she would outdo Fiona at being resentful.
She would walk the resentful path while the other had nowhere to go.
Hattie looked at Fiona’s left leg with caution. “The prosthetic you have now is really well made. It looks natural when you wear a skirt. Is it comfortable to walk? And when you and Harry are in bed, do you have to take off the prosthetic first?”
Fiona’s face turned purple.
The angrier she got, the happier Hattie seemed. She wouldn’t bother anyone if no one bothered her, but if someone bothered her, she would kill them. She just didn’t want Fiona to have an easy time with Harry. Since Harry had brought her here, she would stir up trouble in the backyard.
“You don’t know, but Harry has always loved my legs. He’s especially fond of them. Now that you have a prosthetic, no wonder he hasn’t married you. Isn’t that right, Harry?” Hattie leaned towards Harry, her last three words spoken with an enigmatic air, leaving everyone uneasy.
Harry found it intriguing. It was the first time he had seen Hattie like this, with a hint of jealousy. Could it be that Hattie cared about him?
Fiona saw Harry completely focused on Hattie and felt extremely displeased.
“Harry,” Fiona called him back to reality.
With symbolic reassurance, Harry said, “I don’t have any intention of rejecting you. You are my fiancée and you always will be. Let’s go inside.”
Hattie almost wanted to laugh. If she was always a fiancée, then it was impossible for her to be a wife. Harry was playing word games.
As she sneered, someone suddenly pushed her, and Hattie stumbled into the room, glancing back at the culprit, Harry.
“Be careful what you say in the future. Don’t make her angry,” Harry warned.
“I was just showing concern. Why would that make her angry?” Hattie retorted coldly.
Fiona casually turned Harry’s hand. “Never mind, let’s go in and have dinner. I made soup tonight. I didn’t know if Hattie would come back or if there would be enough for the three of us.”
Hattie volunteered, “I can go make some.”
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re thinking. Behave,” Harry saw through her intentions with just one look.
It was a pity; she had wanted to make a stew that would cause illness because of incompatible ingredients and ensure they wouldn’t survive.
Harry changed his shoes and seeing Hattie still standing there, he opened the shoe cabinet, rummaged inside, and threw a pair of slippers at Hattie’s feet. “Put these on.”
Hattie glanced at the slippers. They were the ones she had worn before. Even during her two years in prison, the shoes she had worn were better organized than she was. Everything was exactly as it was before.
Fiona felt jealous, realizing that in the two years Hattie had been away, she hadn’t been able to thaw Harry’s heart. His heart had only grown colder after Hattie’s imprisonment.
In addition to the slippers, everything in Hattie’s former bedroom, the clothing she had worn, the items she had used, remained untouched.
Once, she had ventured into Hattie’s room and casually flipped through a book on her desk. When Harry found out, he had questioned and warned her, saying that she couldn’t enter Hattie’s room without his permission.
At that time, Fiona didn’t understand the significance of her staying. She had considered giving up, but she had already lost a leg. If she lost love and this position as well, she would have nothing.