The Harper family members suddenly understood Old Madam Harper's plan.
Only now did it click: this was why she had deliberately injured Flowers.
Over the past three years, Jeff Sterling had spent more time with that poodle than with anyone else in the family. People say dogs look down on people—but Flowers was the one creature in the household that had never judged Jeff. No prejudice, no disdain. Just pure, unconditional affection.
From his last visit, it was obvious: Jeff and Flowers shared a deep bond. The dog would light up the moment he walked in.
Old Madam Harper knew the harsh truth—right now, the only being in the entire Harper family worth Jeff coming to see in person was that damn dog. Not her. Not Robert. Not Susan. Not even Emily.
No one else mattered as much as Flowers.
It was already 3 a.m., and the rain still hadn't stopped.
But for the Harpers, sleep was impossible tonight.
Ryan Caldwell couldn't sleep either—but not from worry. His mother had forced him into bed with yet another strange woman, part of her desperate attempts to salvage the family's crumbling alliances.
...
The next morning, 7:30 a.m.
Jeff had just slid into the back of his Maybach, ready to head to Horizon Group, when his phone rang. Brandon Harper.
"What?" Jeff answered curtly.
Brandon's voice dripped with forced cheer. "Brother Jeff! You sound so energetic this early. I was worried I'd wake you."
"Get to the point," Jeff said, impatience clear.
Brandon knew better than to waste Jeff's time now. "It's about Grandma's poodle—Flowers. Yesterday a flowerpot fell and crushed her paw. She can't walk on it. Poor thing hasn't eaten all day. Grandma says Flowers will only eat if *you* feed her. Jeff… could you come by Sterling Heights Villa?"
Jeff's eyes narrowed. So this was their play—lure him back to the family home using the dog.
The injury might be real. It might be fake. Either way, the timing was too perfect—right after his identity as Chairman was revealed. They'd probably hurt the dog on purpose.
Fury rose in his chest. "Did you injure Flowers deliberately just to drag me over there?"
Brandon panicked. "No way, Brother Jeff! Flowers is Grandma's baby—we'd never hurt her!"
Jeff snorted. "Better not have."
"After work this afternoon, I'll head straight to your grandma's place. Tell her: I'm taking Flowers with me. She can name her price."
Of everyone in the Harper family, Flowers was the only one Jeff actually wanted. Three years of companionship had forged a real bond. Neither wanted to be separated.
Brandon practically beamed through the phone. "Yes, yes! We'll prepare dinner and wait for you. See you tonight, Brother Jeff!"
Later that morning, at Horizon Group headquarters, Jeff met someone who had been waiting all day.
Laura Caldwell—Ryan Caldwell's mother.
She had changed into a sharp, professional business suit. The moment she saw Jeff, she stepped forward with a polite smile. "Mr. Sterling, do you have a moment? I'd like to speak with you."
Jeff didn't need to guess. She was here to beg for her son—to plead that he drop the hammer he'd already dropped on Ryan.
True or false, whatever Emily claimed yesterday, Ryan had lusted after Jeff's wife. Coveted what was his. He deserved every bit of ruin coming his way.
Jeff's revenge against Ryan wasn't finished yet.
"I'm very busy," Jeff said flatly, striding toward the elevator.
Laura hurried after him. "Then I'll wait in the reception room. You're not busy forever, Mr. Sterling. Please—just a few minutes when you can."
Jeff didn't respond. Didn't tell her to leave, either.
He actually had a decent first impression of Laura Caldwell. As the daughter-in-law of a prominent Riverforge family, she carried herself with far more grace and manners than Susan Harper ever had. Perhaps because Laura came from old money in the Emerald Coast region—real class, not the Harper brand of nouveau riche snobbery.
Still, Jeff left her waiting the entire day.
She sat in the reception area, drinking only water, refusing food. Patient. Persistent.
Jeff never gave her the chance to speak.
At 5 p.m., he left the office. The Maybach took him straight to Sterling Heights Villa—Old Madam Harper's residence.
This place was arguably the most familiar spot in Riverforge to Jeff. For three years, he'd shuttled daily between Emily's apartment in New City and this villa, driving the beat-up Audi Emily had handed him like charity.
Every time he pulled up, he'd been invisible. No one came out to greet him. If a Harper happened to be at the door, they'd look right through him. Even when he said hello, he got silence.
He'd tried everything—talking NBA with Brandon, complimenting Jessica's outfits, bringing small thoughtful gifts for Robert and Susan.
Nothing worked. Always ignored.
But today?
The moment the Maybach rolled to a stop, the entire Harper family lined up at the entrance to welcome him.
Including Old Madam Harper—eighty years old, standing there in person.
"A bunch of snobs," Jeff muttered under his breath.
He felt no pride, no satisfaction. Just disgust at this materialistic, two-faced family.
The driver stepped out to open Jeff's door, but Brandon beat him to it.
"I'll get it! I'll get it!" Brandon rushed forward, yanking the rear door open with a wide smile. "Brother Jeff, you're here! Please, come in."
Jeff ignored him—exactly the way Brandon had ignored Jeff for three long years.
Susan hurried over next, tissue in hand, reaching to dab at Jeff's face. "Oh, Jeff dear, you must be exhausted after a long day! Look, there's still sweat—"
Jeff pushed her hand away without a word. No one touched him.
Robert stepped up, bowing slightly. "President Sterling."
Michael Harper, ever the opportunist, chimed in with fake admiration. "President Sterling is truly impressive. Even the way you walk has more presence than President Ma!"
Jessica approached with starry eyes—no trace of her old contempt. She wore a short plaid skirt and white blouse, like a high-school fantasy, and held out an elegant envelope. "I wrote a poem… I wanted to give it to you."
Jeff didn't take it. He had no idea what had possessed Jessica to suddenly play the literary romantic. From three years of knowing her, her "poetry" was probably garbage.
"Jeff, my boy," Old Madam Harper said gently, her voice soft for the first time in his memory. "You're here."
Jeff let out a cold, disdainful snort.
The old matriarch of the Harper family—humble? It was almost laughable.