Morning crept in softly, casting pale golden light across the room through half-drawn curtains. The scent of warmth and skin still lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the crisp chill the heater was fighting off. Harper lay propped up by a few pillows, her legs tucked under the thick quilt Quincy had pulled up around her the night before.
A light knock echoed at the door.
Quincy stood quickly, gently squeezing Harper's hand before stepping out of the bed. Freya entered with the doctor in tow, a small med kit in his hand. Quincy gestured toward Harper urgently, his tone tight with concern.
"How's her legs?" he asked, his voice hurried.
The doctor glanced at Harper, who offered a faint smile from beneath the quilt, then turned back to Quincy.
"Not that bad," the doctor reassured him. "She just needs to take the medicine and rest well enough. She'll be fine."
Quincy's brows furrowed. "But she can't stand up for long."
"The blood circulation is not good enough yet," the doctor said calmly. "But she will be fine."
Quincy exhaled, relief softening his features. "Thank you, doctor."
Madam Fransisca, who had entered quietly, nodded at the doctor and smiled graciously. "No problem, madam," the doctor said before gathering his things and stepping out.
Fransisca moved closer to Harper, her expression kind. "Blue, I'm very sorry about this. I hope you will understand me."
Harper looked up at her, the faintest strength in her voice. "I understand, madam. You have to do your duty and uphold the rules of the house. It's nothing."
"Be fine, okay? I have to attend to other things." Her tone was warm, almost maternal.
"Yes, madam."
Fransisca turned to Quincy. "Take care of her, Quincy."
"Yes, ma'am," he replied without hesitation.
Once they were alone, Quincy returned to Harper's side. He pulled a chair beside the bed and took her hand again, brushing his thumb over her knuckles.
"You seem to be close with the madam," Harper said, watching him with soft curiosity.
"Sure we are! We're very close. Why?" he asked with a raised brow. "You don't like her?"
"I do! She's very easygoing."
"Easygoing?" he chuckled. "She just troubles me."
Harper gave a tired smile. "How does she trouble you? You just started visiting the courtesan house not quite long."
"True! I'm just saying."
Quincy leaned forward a bit, his smile thoughtful. "She's a very good person. I'm sure my mom would be like her."
"Where is your mum?" Harper asked softly.
"She's dead," Quincy said. "She died after giving birth to me."
"Oh my! That's so sad. So your dad brought you up alone?"
"No. I have a stepmom. She was already in the picture before my mum died."
Harper's brows pulled together. "Your dad was cheating?"
Quincy gave a crooked smile. "Are you not cheating too?"
"Not that type of cheating," he shrugged. "I'm in a marriage of convenience."
"Well, my dad was a cheat. He had a son outside while married to my mum. Then he brought him in after she died. The son was such a bully."
"He bullied you?"
"Yes. Me and my sister."
"You have a sister?"
"Yes. But I don't know where she is. My dad said she ran away. Then Ross told me that she was sold to him."
Quincy's face hardened. "Your father sold you and your sister to him? Why?"
"Because of Philip," Harper said, her voice strained. "He has cancer. We were already donating so much blood for him. Then suddenly, we were being sold off to pay for his medical bills."
His voice went cold. "He will not live long."
"Should I say amen?"
"Yes. Amen," Quincy growled. "I'm gonna kill him myself."
Harper's gaze fell to her lap. "I wanna look for my sister once I'm stable enough. I know she will definitely be here… if she's not dead."
"I will help you out," Quincy said without hesitation. "Do you remember her?"
"I can't remember her well enough. She was taken away when I was ten."
"That's crazy."
"I will find her someday."
Quincy squeezed her hand gently. "We will find her."
And in that quiet, golden morning, filled with aching bodies, secrets laid bare, and soft promises exchanged, Harper believed him.
Days passed like the drifting clouds outside her window—slow and heavy, yet somehow comforting. Harper's body still ached, especially her legs, but it was easier now. The pain had dulled into something she could live with. The worst was no longer physical—it was the constant stir of memories, and the quiet fear of being vulnerable.
But Quincy never left her side.
He made a bed on the couch, only climbing into the one beside her when her nightmares woke her in the middle of the night. He wrapped her in his arms without a word, anchoring her until her trembling stopped. Sometimes, he whispered soft things she didn't fully hear—promises, names, maybe even prayers.
He made her tea every morning. Herbal, warm, and slightly bitter, but he always sweetened it just right. He fed her, helped her wash, and adjusted her pillows a dozen times without complaining.
"Do you want the sunlight, or should I close the curtains?" he asked one morning, already halfway to the window.
"Leave it open," she said. "It feels nice today."
"Alright," Quincy smiled, tugging the curtain aside. Sunlight flooded the room, casting a glow over her face. He turned to look at her and stopped.
"What?" she asked.
"You're getting your color back," he said, almost in awe.
She raised a brow. "Was I that pale?"
"Pale. Fragile. Quiet." His smile faltered slightly. "I hated seeing you like that."
Harper looked down at her legs. "I still feel… fragile."
Quincy walked over and sat beside her, resting her legs gently on his lap. "You're not," he said. "You're the strongest person I know."
She didn't answer. Instead, she watched his hands as he carefully rubbed her legs, encouraging circulation like the doctor had taught him. His touch was firm but tender, his fingers warm and steady.
"Does that hurt?" he asked.
"No," she whispered. "It feels good."
He looked up at her and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You know, you can cry if you want to."
Harper's throat tightened, but she blinked fast, swallowing it down. "I've cried enough."
"There's no such thing," Quincy said softly. "Especially not when you've been through hell."
She met his gaze. His eyes held no pity—only quiet, steady affection.
"You take care of me like it's your job," she murmured.
He smiled faintly. "It's not a job. It's a choice."
Harper reached up and touched his cheek. "Thank you, Quincy."
"For what?"
"For making me feel safe again."
He leaned in slowly, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, then rested his against hers. "You've always been safe with me, Harper. Even when I didn't know how to show it."
They sat like that for a while, sunlight warming the room, silence holding them close.
That afternoon, Quincy helped her sit by the window. He placed a soft shawl over her shoulders and handed her a book. When she got tired, he read to her—his voice calm, steady, laced with warmth. And when she dozed off mid-chapter, he didn't stop. He just kept reading, letting his voice lull her into peace.
Harper was healing, not just in body, but in soul. And Quincy… he stayed, not because he had to, but because his heart was already hers.