The biometric panel beside the door glows red before I even touch it.
My palm presses against the cold surface, leaving a smear of blood from knuckles I split somewhere between Milan and this porch. The device chirps twice—a cheerful sound that mocks the devastation it's about to deliver—and then the screen flashes with words that feel like a death sentence.
COHABITATION PERIOD RESET. NEW DEADLINE: 90 DAYS FROM CURRENT TIMESTAMP.
Three minutes. I missed the deadline by three goddamn minutes because of construction traffic and a universe that apparently delights in watching me suffer.
The inheritance clock has reset, which means if it resets again, we both lose everything. Richard's final manipulation continues from beyond the grave, his conditions tightening around my throat like a noose I helped him tie.
Harper stands in the doorway, silhouetted against the warm light spilling from the foyer, and even now—broken and bleeding and facing the wreckage of everything I've worked for—I cannot stop myself from cataloguing her beauty.
Her hair tumbles past her shoulders in waves that catch the porch light like spun gold. Her eyes are red-rimmed, evidence of tears she'll never admit to shedding, and her silk robe clings to curves I mapped with my mouth less than forty-eight hours ago. She is devastating in her fury, a storm given human form, and I want to drop to my knees and worship at the altar of her rage.
Then she screams.
"What the hell happened to you?" Her voice cracks on the question, and for one brief moment I see fear beneath the anger. "Your face, Jaxson, your face is destroyed, and you're bleeding everywhere, and the panel just reset the entire cohabitation period because you couldn't be bothered to show up on time."
"Harper, let me explain what happened in Milan, and why I had to leave, and why the flight was delayed beyond my control." I step toward her, my body protesting each movement. "Constantin Popescu's men caught up with me, and the beating was the price for staying alive, and I drove ninety miles an hour from the airport trying to make it back before midnight."
"I don't care about your excuses." She retreats into the foyer, putting distance between us that feels like miles rather than feet. "I don't care about your shady Italian business partners or whatever criminal enterprise you've been running across the Atlantic. All I care about is that you just added another three months to this nightmare, and now I'm trapped in this house with you even longer than before."
"The reset doesn't have to be a nightmare if you would just listen to me for five minutes instead of screaming accusations you don't understand." I follow her inside, tracking blood across the marble floor that Mrs. Wilson will have to clean tomorrow. "I went to Milan because men were threatening your safety, Harper. Vincent made it very clear that Constantin's disappointment might extend to you if I didn't show my face."
"Oh, how noble of you, protecting me from dangers you created in the first place." Her laugh holds no warmth, only bitter accusation. "You built a life with criminals and liars, and now you expect gratitude because you flew across an ocean to clean up your own mess?"
"I expect you to acknowledge that I took a beating for you." My voice rises despite my best efforts to remain calm. "I let them use me as a punching bag because the alternative was watching them hurt you, and then I dragged my broken body onto a plane and drove like a maniac trying to get home before that clock expired."
"Home?" She spits the word like it tastes rotten. "This isn't your home, Jaxson. This was never your home. You made that abundantly clear when you left for seven years without a single phone call or letter or any indication that the people in this house mattered to you at all."
"I left because your father shipped me off to another continent like unwanted luggage, and you didn't even say goodbye." The old wound tears open, bleeding fresh. "I waited, Harper. I waited for you to call, to write, to give me any sign that my absence registered in your perfect little life, and you gave me nothing but silence."
"Your absence was a relief." Her chin lifts, jaw tight with defiance. "Every day you were gone was a day I didn't have to walk on eggshells around your temper or wonder what cruel thing you'd say next. Richard did me a favor when he sent you away, and the only mistake he made was letting you come back."
I move toward her, desperate to close the distance, to make her see what her words are doing to me. My ribs scream with each step, my vision swimming from the concussion I probably sustained somewhere between Alexei's fist and the warehouse floor.
"Don't come near me." She backs against the staircase railing, her body pressed against wood that has witnessed too many of our confrontations. "I meant what I said this morning, Jaxson. What happened between us was a mistake I won't repeat, and the sooner you accept that, the sooner we can get through these next three months without destroying each other."
"You're lying to yourself because the truth terrifies you." I stop two feet away, close enough to see the pulse hammering in her throat. "You felt everything I felt in that bed, and pretending otherwise doesn't erase what we both know."
"What I know is that you're a disaster who ruins everything he touches." Her voice climbs higher, each word a blade designed to sever. "You ruined your relationship with Richard, you ruined any chance of being part of this family, and now you've ruined our inheritance by being too selfish and reckless to make it home on time."
"Harper, please just let me hold you for one minute and explain why I had to go to Milan." I reach for her, my bloodied hand extended in supplication.
"Don't touch me." She slaps my hand away, and the impact sends pain radiating through my damaged knuckles. "You're pathetic, Jaxson. Truly, genuinely pathetic. Standing there bleeding on the floor, begging for affection from a woman who told you this morning that you meant nothing to her."
The word lands like a blow, but she isn't finished.
"You're worthless, and you've always been worthless, and Richard was right to send you away because keeping you here would have contaminated everything good about this family."
The slap happens before my brain registers the decision.
My palm connects with her cheek—not hard, not with the violence I'm capable of, just enough pressure to stop the avalanche of words that are burying me alive. The impact is instinctive, born of pain and exhaustion and seven years of accumulated agony that finally found its breaking point.
Silence crashes through the foyer like a physical force.
Harper's hand rises to her face, fingers touching the mark I've left, and when she pulls them away, they're smeared with crimson. My blood, transferred from my split knuckles to her porcelain skin, leaves a print on her cheek that looks like evidence of a crime I'll never be able to undo.
Her eyes meet mine, and I see fear replacing fury—genuine fear, the kind I never wanted to inspire in someone I love.
"Harper." Her name escapes my lips as a broken whisper. "I didn't mean to... I would never..."
But the words evaporate before they can form into apology or explanation. She stares at me like I've become the monster she always accused me of being, the blood on her cheek a testament to violence I swore I'd never commit against her.
I've done the unforgivable.