In the sprawling living room, the parents remained locked in a high-stakes negotiation over dowries and wedding dates. Outside, in the drafty hallway, Quentin leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around his stoic features.
Diego stood beside him, lighting one of his own. "Are you really going through with this? Marrying my sister?"
Quentin let out a soft, dry chuckle. "Have I ever been one for jokes, Diego?"
Diego fell silent. It was true—Quentin Harris was a man whose word was iron. He took a long drag of his cigarette and sighed. "That nephew of yours is a piece of work. I bet Javier never imagined his trap would end with Amanda in your bed."
Quentin squinted through the smoke, his gaze unreadable. "What's the matter? Already dissatisfied with your new brother-in-law?"
Diego shrugged. "I'm dissatisfied that my sister has spent her life picking the wrong men." He'd known Quentin for years and Javier just as long. While Javier wore a mask of youthful innocence, Quentin was a man of depth—though perhaps too much depth for a girl as impulsive as Amanda.
"Is that so?" Quentin's voice carried a hint of a tease. "Or are you just bitter because the woman you liked for two years ended up running off with a Harris?"
Diego's face went purple. "Shut up!"
The realization that Elena Lewis was a calculated fraud stung. He thought back to Amanda's warnings—how she had practically threatened him to stay away from Elena. He frowned. "Wait... it seems Amanda knew about Javier's double-dealing all along. She even tried to warn me."
Quentin crushed his cigarette under his boot. "And what does that tell you? Even knowing he was trash, she still cared enough to protect the people around him."
Diego patted Quentin's shoulder with a look of genuine pity. "She's stubborn, bold, and a nightmare when she's bored. Good luck, brother. You're going to need it."
Quentin's lips quirked into a ghost of a smile. "She's young. Let her cause a little trouble."
"Having our parents at home is enough trouble," Diego joked. "Don't let her climb onto the roof and start tearing the house down."
Quentin laughed, a rare, genuine sound, and patted Diego back. "Take care of yourself."
Quentin found Amanda in the back garden. From a distance, she looked like a small, angry bird squatting next to a rosebush. She was systematically stripping the petals off a perfectly good flower.
"Bastard Javier... Damn Quentin... All Harris men should rot..."
Pluck. Pluck. Pluck.
Her original plan had been to use Quentin to drive a wedge between the Harris men, but she hadn't intended to become the "Youngest Aunt" in the process. The title felt like a lead weight, yet... there was a dark satisfaction in knowing Javier would have to bow his head to her.
"What are you doing?"
Quentin's voice startled her. She looked up, the remains of the rose clutched in her hand. She stood up, brushed the dirt from her dress, and marched over to a nearby garden swing, sitting down with a huff.
"Just picking flowers," she replied curtly.
Quentin looked at the mangled bush. "You're certainly 'enthusiastic' about it." He sat down on the swing beside her.
Amanda immediately scooted to the very edge, glaring at him. "What do you want?"
Quentin leaned back, seemingly unaffected by her hostility. "I'm here to tell you that I'll pick you up tomorrow morning. We're going to the Civil Affairs Bureau to register the marriage."
The finality of it hit her. Her life's trajectory had been permanently derailed in forty-eight hours. "I know," she snapped. Then, a thought occurred to her. "Wait. I can't get married! My contract with Starlight Entertainment has a strict 'no marriage, no dating' clause!"
She looked at him, her eyes wide with a mix of panic and "gotcha" energy. Quentin remained unmoved. "And?"
"And?!" Amanda practically vibrated with rage. "And because of you, I'm about to breach my contract! I'll have to pay a massive fine, my reputation will be ruined, and I'll probably have to retire before my career even starts!"
She was shouting in his face now. Quentin stared at her for a few seconds, mesmerized by the way her eyes sparked when she was angry. He found it... endearing.
"Do you want me to handle it?" he asked, leaning in closer.
Amanda didn't back away this time. She bared her teeth. "It's not a want, Quentin. It's a 'have to.' You're the one who got me into this mess!"
She was right, of course. Especially since Starlight was a subsidiary of his own empire.
Quentin tilted his head. "I'll handle it. But I have a condition."
Amanda's jaw dropped. She let out a frustrated, hysterical laugh. "Conditions? You want to set conditions? Try me, Quentin Harris. Tell me what you want and see if I don't throw you into that koi pond."
Quentin didn't flinch. He reached out, his fingers gently brushing the corner of her mouth, smoothing away her scowl. "Just one condition," he whispered. "Smile for me. Just once."
The anger died in Amanda's throat. She froze, her heart doing a strange little flip-flop. For a moment, the garden was silent.
Quentin smiled, his gaze dropping to her lips. Then, his voice turned serious. "We didn't use protection that night. What if you're pregnant?"
The romantic tension evaporated instantly. Amanda flushed a deep crimson and swatted his hand away. "Don't worry about it! I already took the morning-after pill!"
She wasn't a fool; she knew how to protect herself. But the moment the words left her mouth, the air around Quentin turned freezing. His face darkened, his eyes turning cold and sharp.
"Do you have any idea how much those pills damage your body?" he asked, his voice low and stern.
Amanda shrank back a little, surprised by his sudden intensity. "I... I had to. I can't just have a child after one night of... of whatever that was."
Quentin took a deep breath, standing up straight. The warmth was gone, replaced by a brooding, heavy aura. "Don't ever take that medicine again," he said. "It's late. Go inside and rest."
He turned and strode away without looking back.
Amanda watched him go, stunned by the sudden mood shift. "So much for 'gentle,'" she muttered. "One second he's sweet, the next he's a drill sergeant."
She didn't realize that Quentin wasn't angry with her. He was angry with himself. If he had been more careful, if he hadn't let his desires override his reason, she wouldn't have had to put her health at risk. For the first time, the "King of the Harris Family" felt the weight of a regret he didn't know how to fix.