After Harry comforted Fiona and took her back, there were only leftover dishes in the dining room, but Hattie was nowhere to be found.
For a moment, Harry felt uneasy, but after calming down, he realized that he had made himself clear enough, so Hattie shouldn’t have left.
If she wasn’t downstairs, then she must be upstairs. Harry went upstairs and indeed found the locked bedroom door open. He walked in quietly and saw Hattie sleeping on the bed.
The room was still arranged the same way as two years ago, with medical books that Hattie loved to read, the medical awards she had received, and her clothes and jewelry in the wardrobe.
Hattie hadn’t changed her clothes and fell asleep on the bed. Harry stood silently by the bed, looking at her. He stayed there for about ten minutes before leaving.
Hattie was still on her period, so he couldn’t do anything to her.
What he didn’t notice was that as soon as he left, Hattie opened her eyes.
She had carefully observed and noticed that things were different. For example, the collection of surgical knives she had gathered before was all gone, and there were no sharp objects in the room.
It seemed that Harry intentionally removed them to avoid repeating the same mistake.
Hattie felt a bit sorry for her knives. She lay on the bed, unsure if it was because she had slept in the hospital in the afternoon, but she wasn’t sleepy at all.
With her eyes open until midnight, at four o’clock in the morning, she heard footsteps outside. She instinctively tensed up, highly alert, and reflexively sat up.
After a while, the outside noise suddenly quieted down and then faded away…
Hattie took a deep breath. For a moment, she thought she was still in prison.
Startled, she gradually grew tired. Hattie fell asleep in a daze, and after a short three-hour nap, she woke up and changed her clothes before going downstairs.
Only Harry was downstairs, but contrary to her imagination, Fiona was not there. The chef that Harry had recently hired was cooking in the kitchen.
“Where’s Fiona?”
“She’s staying somewhere else.”
“If she’s not here, then who’s cooking?” Hattie asked nonchalantly, looking a bit provocative, but Harry wasn’t angry.
“She’s not specifically here to cook for us. I hired a chef, and a few maids will come later.”
“Oh.” Hattie thought of something and suddenly chuckled. “Are you willing? She’s your fiancée. If you feel lonely at night, who will sleep with you?”
“Hattie.” Harry put down the financial newspaper he was reading and looked at Hattie with a serious gaze. The atmosphere suddenly turned cold.
Hattie was taken aback, not understanding why Harry was angry.
Was he mad at her for driving Fiona away yesterday?
“I feel more responsible towards Fiona. I haven’t slept with her.”
Why was he telling her all this? Did he expect her to praise him for being clean?
What use was cleanliness to someone with a broken heart? And responsibility, only Fiona would want that kind of responsibility.
“Are you disgusted because her leg is broken? Harry, you’re really useless.”
“After your period is over, you’ll know if I’m useless or not.”
Hattie’s expression changed, and she blurted out, “Disgusting.”
“Who was the one who said yesterday that she was willing to be my mistress? Since it was mentioned, it should be carried out.”
Hattie gave a cold smile. “Don’t you understand playing along? And can’t you find Fiona? Do you have to force me?”
Harry suddenly got up from the sofa and approached Hattie step by step, looking into her eyes with a strong sense of intimidation. “But I like forcing. In the two years you were gone, I missed you a lot. I kept everything here exactly the same, and I hope our relationship remains unchanged too.”
Hattie squinted her eyes, feeling disgusted. She knew exactly what he meant by “things remaining the same”-he wanted to treat her like his plaything.
“If things are supposed to remain the same, then what about you and Fiona?” she asked.
“I promised to marry her yesterday,” Harry said, his eyes fixed on Hattie without blinking. He seemed to be searching for the slightest change in her expression. He had spent the entire night sleepless, with bloodshot eyes and faint dark circles.
Just like his name, Harry exuded a chilling aura, making him unapproachable.
Hattie’s face turned cold. When she heard Harry say that he would marry Fiona, a change did indeed appear on her face. Smiling, she replied, “Congratulations. I wish you both a joint burial.”
A surge of suppressed pain overwhelmed him, occupying his mind. Hattie truly didn’t care, didn’t care who he married or who he was with.
He felt disappointed, as he couldn’t see any trace of reluctance in Hattie’s face.
In fact, two years ago, she had viciously stabbed him 29 times, the cold blade penetrating his flesh and causing blood to spatter. Since then, he knew that Hattie no longer cared about him.
It was ridiculous that he had been consoling himself, thinking that if Hattie truly hated him, she would have wanted to kill him without hesitation. Avoiding fatal wounds with each of those 29 stabs clearly meant that she still cared about him.
He had been overthinking.
The Hattie from back then didn’t refrain from wanting to kill him; it was simply that rationality overpowered her insane urge to do so. Killing him would have only dirtied her hands, and intentionally taking someone’s life would have led her to her own demise.
Forget it… This is fine, just like this. The Hattie from back then hated him, and now she still hates him. Hatred is better than indifference, as long as she stays by his side.
He agreed to marry Fiona on the condition that Fiona didn’t mind Hattie’s presence and that the three of them could coexist peacefully.
Fiona agreed.
Hattie never expected that a marriage certificate would easily convince Fiona. Women are so easily deceived.
“Let’s eat,” Harry said.
On the table was a nutritious meal specially prepared for Hattie by the chef. Yesterday, Hattie went to the hospital for an examination, and the results showed multiple organ failures. It was impossible to fully recover, only to alleviate the symptoms.
Among them, her heart, lungs, and stomach were the most severely affected. The previous Hattie could eat spicy food and drink cold beer without any problems, but now she couldn’t tolerate even a hint of spiciness and a can of cold beer would send her straight to the hospital.
At the dining table, Hattie quietly held the bowl and sipped the porridge, her pale face gaining a bit of color from the steaming heat.
…
Harry quickly followed through with his words about the “unchanged relationship” and completed what they had started that day at the hotel.
Hattie’s menstrual cycle was irregular, lasting only two days. Harry had been closely monitoring her body, and as soon as her period ended, he hurriedly satisfied his carnal desires. That night, he took care of Hattie.
He had claimed that he would only sleep with Hattie, and she knew full well the strength of his desires. How did he endure it for two years without going insane?
Hattie knew she couldn’t escape. Instead of struggling and hurting herself, it was better to lie down and accept it, to be devoured like a dog.
Knowing that Hattie was in poor health, Harry handled the situation with gentle and hurried movements.
“Hattie,” Harry liked to call her by that intimate name during such moments, which was disgustingly nauseating.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
After adjusting her breath, Hattie opened her damp eyes and smirked, “Let me just say this: you’re worse in bed than a dog, you know.”