Love’s Detour: The Second Lead

Late that night, her husband Rupert Getty came home drunk—only to walk into his stepsister’s room.

Harper Mellon followed him, her heartbeat growing heavier with each step.

The door ahead wasn’t fully closed.

That single glance felt like someone had seized her heart and yanked it downward.

Rupert sat on the edge of the bed, head bowed, his entire body steeped in the haze of alcohol and raw desire.

His throbbing arousal strained from the waistband of his pants, his fist working it in slow, urgent strokes. His other hand gripped a crumpled wad of pink lace panties, pressing them to his face as if savor

Harper recognized the lingerie immediately. It belonged to Irene Getty.

Her entire body trembled.

She thought she would rage. Thought she would tear open the door and scream at him.

But she didn’t move.

Instead, she stood there, listening to his ragged, muffled breathing, feeling something inside her chest shatter.

Years ago, when Irene married the wrong man and tragedy followed, Rupert had blamed Harper—accusing her of orchestrating the situation that left his beloved stepsister pregnant and tied to a cruel husband. Harper and Rupert had married for convenience, after all. How could she compare to Irene, who’d grown up with him since childhood?

Their already fragile marriage turned to ice every time Irene showed up with new bruises.

All these years, Harper had never earned Rupert’s heart. They had never even consummated their marriage. Yet she was his wife.

The years of swallowing hurt and humiliation surged up all at once.

For the first time, she realized she had been nothing but a joke.

A complete, pathetic joke.

Harper slowly returned to her bedroom, took two sleeping pills, and only then managed to fall asleep.

The next morning, her body still felt unbearably heavy as she made her way downstairs. Just as she reached the dining room corner, cheerful laughter floated out.

Harper froze.

At the long dining table, Rupert—usually cold and impatient with her—was patiently cutting a fried egg into tiny pieces for three-year-old Jared Carter. His face was soft, almost glowing with warmth. Irene sat beside him, holding a glass of milk, smiling sweetly as she watched them interact.

From any angle, they looked like a perfect family. Loving parents. An adorable child.

Rupert set down the knife and fork, turning to Irene with a voice dripping tenderness. “Irene, don’t worry. Stay here as long as you want. This is your home. No one can make you leave.”

His tone overflowed with affection.

Irene blushed slightly, tugging gently at his sleeve. “Rupert, I’m just worried that if Jared and I move in like this… Harper might get upset.”

Rupert’s expression darkened instantly. “This is the Getty Villa. She doesn’t get to decide anything here.”

Harper’s hands clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms, pain tightening her chest until she could barely breathe.

Looking at Rupert and Irene gazing at each other so tenderly, as if sharing a world that excluded her entirely, she couldn’t hold back any longer.

She stepped forward. “What is this? If I hadn’t come downstairs, were you two about to jump into bed right here in the morning?”

The warm scene shattered instantly.

Rupert’s hand jerked away from Irene’s before he quickly remembered there was no reason to feel guilty. Annoyance twisted his face. “What’s with your attitude this early in the morning?”

Harper’s lips twisted with a cold, sorrowful sneer. Her eyes shot toward Irene. “You’re flirting with my husband right in front of me. Don’t forget—I’m the lady of this house. Irene, you’re divorced. You should have your own place. Take your child and move out today. You’re not welcome here.”

Did they think she didn’t exist? Flaunting their affection openly, and now she wanted to move in?

Before, Harper hadn’t known their twisted relationship. But now that she had seen everything, how could she possibly tolerate it?

Rupert’s voice rose with fury. “Harper, what the hell is wrong with you? Watch what you’re saying! If it wasn’t for your scheming back then, Irene would never have married that scumbag ex-husband, and she wouldn’t have been abused! She’s homeless now, and you still want to throw her out?”

He looked at Irene with obvious heartache.

Irene stood immediately, eyes reddening, clutching Rupert’s sleeve in a trembling grip. “Rupert, don’t be mad at Harper. This is all my fault… If I hadn’t come back… If Harper doesn’t want me here, Jared and I can just… leave and wander the streets…”

“The one who should leave isn’t you!” Rupert pulled her behind him, glaring at Harper with icy authority. “This is my house. As long as I’m here, Irene stays. If you can’t stand it, then get out!”

Harper stared in disbelief. She was the one who had to leave?

Rupert’s favoritism toward Irene pierced her like a blade. She had loved him for so many years, poured every effort into their marriage, and what she received was an order to leave so he could protect Irene.

Only now did she realize—every bit of love he had belonged to Irene, even though she was his stepsister.

Just as Harper opened her mouth to speak, Jared suddenly hopped off his chair and ran toward her like a tiny firecracker, slamming his small body into her stomach.

“Bad lady! Don’t make my mommy leave!”

Harper, unprepared, staggered backward and crashed onto the hard marble floor.

“Jared!” Irene gasped softly.

Pain shot through Harper’s body, leaving her unable to rise.

Rupert rushed over—Harper almost believed he might help her—but he didn’t even look at her.

He walked straight past and scooped Jared into his arms.

Then, above her, his cold voice descended like frost. “Harper, you’re unbelievable. Trying to kick out a three-year-old? You’re truly vicious.”

Harper’s hand, reaching instinctively for support, froze in midair.

Even a stranger might have asked if she was okay. But Rupert didn’t see her pain; he thought she deserved it.

Coldness seeped up from the floor, freezing her heart completely.

Rupert turned away impatiently, soothing the child instead. “Jared, you okay? Come on, let’s go to the garden. Ignore that crazy woman.”

“Okay! I want Mommy to tell me a story!” Jared giggled, wrapping his arms around Rupert’s neck.

“Of course. Mommy will come with us.” Irene’s lips curled in a hint of satisfaction before she replaced it with a gentle smile and followed them out.

Their footsteps—three people moving in harmony like a complete family—echoed farther and farther away.