Chapter 84

Nathaniel recalled when Isabella had first returned from abroad. She'd been eyeing a Chanel purse, and he'd instructed Dominic to purchase it for her. Dominic delivered the bag to Emerald Heights, where Harrison happened to spot it.

Harrison's face brightened instantly as she admired the purse, her eyes sparkling with delight.

"This is absolutely stunning," she murmured.

She clearly adored it.

Nathaniel remarked, "She has a weakness for Chanel."

Alexander smirked. "Purses? That's simple enough. Thanks for the intel."

Just then, Sebastian strode in. "Nathaniel! Alexander! Didn't expect to see you here."

Alexander shot him a glance. "Sebastian, weren't you supposed to be at the Whitmores'?"

"Yeah, I was. And guess what? I ran into Harrison and her foster father. Nathaniel, Alexander—you won't believe this. Harrison outright rejected him! Didn't even acknowledge him as family."

Sebastian recounted the entire incident at the Whitmore residence.

"Alexander, how can you still defend Harrison? She's not worth your time. Now that you've seen her true colors—shallow, materialistic, heartless—there's no excuse!"

His frustration was palpable.

Alexander frowned. He turned to Nathaniel. "What's really going on between Harrison and her foster father?"

"Not entirely sure," Nathaniel replied.

Unconvinced, Alexander looked back at Sebastian. "Sometimes what you see isn't the full picture. I refuse to believe Harrison is that cruel. There must be more to it."

"You're unbelievable, Alexander! After all this, you're still taking her side?" Sebastian was livid. He'd expected Alexander to cut ties after hearing the truth. "Alexander, she's clouded your judgment. Nathaniel, talk some sense into him!"

Nathaniel's icy gaze was unreadable, his expression stoic as he remained silent.

Meanwhile, at the Falcon estate, Harrison stepped into the living room, where Eleanor sat waiting. "Harrison, you're back. Reginald, bring the soup."

The butler, Reginald, presented a steaming bowl. "Mrs. Falcon, Mrs. Eleanor had this prepared specially for you. Best while it's hot."

Harrison settled onto the sofa with a sweet smile. "Thank you, Grandma."

Eleanor beamed. "Harrison, did you sort things out with Vincent? I was thinking of inviting him for dinner tomorrow. Family shouldn't let these formalities slide."

Harrison's lashes fluttered slightly. "Grandma, don't trouble yourself. I'll handle it."

Eleanor tsked playfully. "Stubborn girl. He's still your foster father."

At that moment, a maid entered carrying a small package. "Mrs. Falcon, this arrived for you."

Harrison took it. "Who sent it?"

"Your foster father," the maid replied.

Vincent had sent her something.

Eleanor raised a brow. "Why didn't he come in? Open it, dear."

Harrison carefully unwrapped the package, revealing a single photograph inside.

It was a childhood picture—one Vincent had taken of her during a bath. He'd barged in unannounced, capturing the moment. Young Harrison had barely managed to cover herself with a towel, her shoulders, legs, and arms exposed. Her wet hair clung to her terrified face, her wide eyes filled with shock. The dim lighting and her vulnerable expression made it clear this image would appeal to twisted minds.

"Harrison, Vincent sent you a photo? Let me see," Eleanor said, reaching for it.