The pain sliced, stabbed and throbbed away at Harriet until she fell to her knees. She tried to breathe, but the pain had barely just begun, moving to rip through her lungs until nothing was left. It traveled with lightning speed through her body, taking all, until only pain remained.
She had been wrong. She had been so wrong.
Damien just stood there, motionless and watching her crumble. He called out to the housekeeper, Chantelle, his voice strained. "Please take Melissa and Larry to the guest room."
Chantelle nodded and gently ushered them out of the room. Melissa casted a last, pitiful glance at Harriet before leaving, the little boy clutching her hand tightly.
As the door closed behind them, Harriet felt the room closing in on her. How did this happen? Had she overlooked the signs? Had she trusted Damien so blindly?
She buried her face in her palms, by now the tears had started flowing. She continued to stare into her palms as she spoke.
"You have a son? Why didn't you tell me?" Harriet managed to raise her head to meet Damien's gaze. To see if she could find any sign of remorse, any little sign that he felt sorry, that he cared about her, that he didn't mean to hurt her, that he didn't mean to unleash this soul-shattering pain unto her soul.
But there was none. The last part of Harriet's heart broke and she clutched at her stomach tightly to stop the pain from ripping further through her guts.
Damien ran a hand through his hair, but his expression remained neutral. He wasn't affected by seeing this sight of her. Broken, bruised, mentally and emotionally scarred. He didn't care.
"Look, I'm sorry you have to go through this, Harriet. Melissa was just a mistake I made at a club a few years back. I had no idea she was pregnant and had my baby. I only found out a year ago."
"A year ago?" Harriet repeated, trying but failing to stop her voice from fading. "You've known about this for a year and didn't tell me?"
Damien stepped closer, looking down at her. He exhaled sharply. "I didn't know how to."
Harriet gritted her teeth. This wasn't working. Damien was barely giving her a reaction. The benefit of doubt. It was like this wasn't even a big deal. He continued to stare down at her.
Seeing his glare still firmly aimed at her, Harriet used the very last drop of her energy to shout, "How could you?!" she breathed deeply for a few moments, then added, quietly, "How could you do this to me? You've been seeing her for a year, haven't you? The apple cologne! It was her! I got a whiff of it immediately she walked in."
Damien's dark-blond eyebrows became a hard line over his eyes. His eyes darkened for a second and his gaze continued to bore into Harriet's.
But that gaze, the gaze that was currently boring through hers, didn't belong to the Damien she knew. Because it was filled with accusation and hatred. These eyes were glaring at her with unconcealed contempt.
Harriet swallowed back the pain that was clawing up her throat, the pain of being on the receiving end of such a hard stare. Minutes passed by and neither of them moved an inch. The air seemed to crackle around them. Harriet watched as Damien's fist clenched at his side.
The look on his face grew darker still. He seemed to be mentally warring with himself. She wondered what he was fighting inside. What he was trying so hard to hold back and finally it came pouring out.
"I'm so sick and tired of pretending! You've done your fucking part in my life, Harriet. I appreciate that but you don't get to dictate to me how I should fucking live my life." Damien yelled, his voice instead of echoing through the room, pierced through Harriet's heart. "Melissa is the mother of my child, you aren't and I love her, okay? And I've been trying not to fucking get on your bad side because you're the daughter of Ethan Prescott but you know what? Fuck it! Melissa and my son are staying in this house and you're welcome to leave if you can't take it!"
Harriet flinched at the aggression in Damien's voice. Flinched at the venom in his words. Flinched at the stranger standing before her.
This time, his anger was unbounded. This time, his hard words contained the force of a slap to the face. The image of the man before her blurred; it took her a while to realize that it was her tears clouding her vision.
A tear fell down Harriet's cheek. Damien's dark gaze didn't waver.
"Who are you?" she whispered. She shooked her head as Damien continued to stare, a slight tightening at the corner of his eyes the only evidence that her words had any effect. "Who are you right now?" Harriet glanced down at her fingers. Feeling her throat close, she said, "Where is the man I love?" Risking one more look at Damien's face, she whispered, "Have…have you ever loved me, Damien? All these years, have you been pretending to care about me?"
Damien's head snapped back as though Harriet had punched him. Then he laughed. He laughed, but the sound held no humor. He laughed one more. Icily.
He dropped to his knee beside her, then brought his hand up to pat her head. "Sure. I loved your last name. Prescott. Does that count?"
"After everything I've done for you," Harriet's voice cracked on every syllable and the tears continued to flow freely.
"I didn't fucking ask you to do anything, Harriet. You did it because you wanted to. Because you wanted to prove a point to your father. It was for your own ego." Damien rose to his feet and paced back and forth the room for a while. "Thank you, Harriet. I'm now a successful tech conglomerate and it's all thanks to you. Is that what you want to hear? But unfortunately, I have no use for you anymore. You can't bare me a child, at least let me get with women who can and stop bitching about it. Melissa and Larry are staying and that's final!"
Damien stormed out of the room and slammed the door as he did. Harriet continued to sit on the floor. Frozen. And, against her better judgment, she let herself pretend that the last ten minutes had never happened.
She let herself pretend that Damien hadn't said those words to her. That he didn't bring a stranger into her home. That all the pain and the suffering she was feeling that moment, had never been felt. And the bottomless black void that had replaced her heart was filled with light—the brightest light possible.
But this wasn't their reality. The reality came crashing back, like a storm-whipped wave dropping on to a rain-lashed beach. She rose to her feet before she walked stiffly out of the living room toward their bedroom, barely holding herself together.
Harriet walked in and Damien was nowhere to be seen. He was probably in the guest room with that woman, Harriet thought.
The skin around her eyes heated with tears again, and she quickly ran to the bathroom to wash her face. But on the vanity sat Damien's razor and aftershave.
Letting out a shaky breath, she braced her hands against the cool edge of the vanity. The mirror showed her a reflection of Damien's body wash in the shower stall. Everywhere she turned, something of his popped up, reminding her of him.
After splashing her face with cold water, Harriet dried herself off and slowly walked back into the room. Damien's robe was laying on the dresser and her heart churned. She allowed herself to hate him, to despise him for using her all these years without remorse and with that came blinding clarity.
She couldn't do this.
She couldn't spend the rest of her days in this house with that woman, pretending like everything was okay. She couldn't breath the same air as the man who lied to her for years and used her for his own personal gains.
Her sobs eventually slowed then subsided altogether, and before she could second-guess herself, she pushed open the closet and pulled out a suitcase. Then grabbed what she needed and tossed them into it.
Harriet didn't allow herself to think. If she did, she would chicken out, and she couldn't afford to at this stage. She stared at the wedding ring around her finger and slowly pulled it out before placing it on the dresser.
Then she finally walked out the door. Out of Damien Shawn's life.