At that gathering, the whole group had gone out of their way to make my life miserable.
For Harrison's sake, I endured it the entire evening.
Near the end, Brent Delgado pushed a full glass of red wine toward me and insisted I drink it. I explained that I wasn't feeling well.
He just gave me that half-smile of his and said what he said.
I finally reached my limit. I grabbed my clutch and stormed out.
Harrison didn't stroll in until the early hours of the morning. His tone was casual, almost bored.
"Half the people in that room were angling for a marriage alliance with the Gilbert family. Because of you, none of them got their chance. A little pushback is expected. You should put in more effort, get along with them. Once you're officially Mrs. Gilbert, these relationships will matter."
I never attended another one of their gatherings. It was a long time before I found out that at every single one after that, Harrison had a woman on his arm.
"You chose not to go. Am I supposed to sit there alone?" he shot back when I confronted him with photos of him cozied up to another woman.
And just like that, in places I couldn't see, he had his first new companion. His first embrace and kiss with someone else. His first time crossing the line.
When I caught him in the act, Brent walked out of the hotel room next door.
"All you ever do is cause a scene. You're out of your mind. Everything my buddy went through for you wasn't even worth it."
I looked him dead in the eye. "Mr. Delgado, you wouldn't go back on your word, would you?"
That snapped him out of his shock at seeing Harrison drenched in beer.
"What is wrong with you?" He raised his hand to strike.
I sidestepped. Crack. The slap landed square on Harrison's cheek, and half his face swelled up instantly.
"Wait, man, I didn't mean to. I was trying to hit—" Brent scrambled to explain.
"Hurt me all you want. Don't touch Sibyl." Harrison's eyes were dark, half anger, half warning.
Brent understood. He gathered his people and turned to leave.
I snatched an empty bottle off the table and aimed it at the back of Brent's skull.
Harrison grabbed me. "Sibyl, hold on, they're—"
Before he could finish, a scream tore through the street.
By the time Harrison came to, Brent and his crew were gone.
They said they'd arranged a hospital room for Harrison out of respect for their former friendship.
A top trauma surgeon. The best medications available. The look of genuine regret on their faces as they left—I pretended not to notice any of it.
In the hospital room, Harrison's expression was grim. "Sibyl, you never used to get physical. When did you become so impulsive? You—"
"I'm sorry. Thinking about how they used to humiliate me, I just snapped." My face betrayed nothing.
Whatever else Harrison had been about to say died in his throat. His expression shifted several times before he finally swallowed his frustration. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. "I wasn't blaming you. They have money and power, and I'm bankrupt now. I'm just worried I can't protect you anymore."
"But maybe this isn't all bad. At least I still got the chance to take a hit for you. At least I got to see you worry about me." He reached for my hand. "Sibyl, will you stay with me these next few days? Can I have your home-cooked meals again?"
Under the weight of all that desperate hope in his eyes, I nodded.
I found a restaurant near the hospital and paid the owner a sum of money, then walked him through the recipe step by step.
"Miss, is this actually edible?" The restaurant owner stared into the pot, skepticism written across his face. "Do you even know how to cook?"
"Just follow my instructions," I replied with a quiet laugh.
How could I not know how to cook?
During those years after I left the Gilbert household, Harrison and I had worked around the clock, chasing one deal after another through an endless parade of business dinners.
Later, Willow Gilbert said I hadn't taken proper care of Harrison during those years, that I was the reason he developed stomach problems.
