Unlikely (H.S.)

fifty

~Harry~

I watched the sun slip lower over the rooftops of Vienna, casting warm amber light across the courtyard below. From the hotel balcony, the air was quieter than it had been in days. Still, everything felt loud in my chest.

I hadn't slept much since Wembley. Not because of the shows—they'd been electric, euphoric. Harper's face in the crowd, her hands in the air, her voice echoing mine, had anchored me through every set. It was everything after that had left me frayed.

Tripp's articles had spread like poison. He'd sold pieces of Harper's life to the tabloids with the gleeful spite of a man who had nothing left to lose. Distorted stories, old messages twisted out of context, cruel quotes designed to make her look unstable, manipulative—worse. And while we'd seen it coming, it didn't make the hit any softer when it landed.

I shut the balcony door behind me and turned as Jeff stepped into the suite, phone in hand.

"He's ready for us," Jeff said, nodding toward the laptop on the coffee table. "You okay?"

I gave a half-shrug, rubbing the back of my neck. "Yeah. Just tired of seeing her hurt."

We sat. Jeff clicked to open the Zoom call. Seconds later, our lawyer's face appeared on screen—David Martin, part of my legal team back in London. Sharp suit, sharp mind. Deadly in a courtroom.

"Harry," David greeted me. "Jeff. Thanks for making the time."

"Let's just get this bastard," I muttered, leaning forward.

David nodded, pulling up a folder on his end. "We've got enough to go forward on multiple counts: defamation, intentional infliction of emotional distress, and violation of privacy—especially surrounding the leaked private correspondence and photos."

Jeff leaned in. "How confident are we?"

"Confident," David said. "We have proof that he was compensated for the materials he sold. And we've already served a cease and desist to several publications that ran with it. Some have issued retractions, others are stalling. But Tripp? He's the source. We hit him hard."

"Good," I said tightly. "I want him to regret ever saying her name."

David didn't blink. "Then we're on the same page. I'm filing for a restraining order alongside the civil suit. He'll be served this week."

I let out a slow breath, then asked the question I'd been carrying like a stone: "Will she have to speak publicly?"

David hesitated. "Possibly. If it goes to trial, she may be deposed. But we'll prep her. And you, if needed. Our goal is a swift settlement—but if he drags it out, we'll bury him in discovery."

Jeff looked over at me. "You good with that?"

I nodded slowly. "I'm not letting him define her story. Not again."

David gave me a small, approving smile. "Then we move forward. I'll keep you updated daily."

The moment the screen went dark and David signed off, I sat back on the couch and scrubbed my hands over my face. My fingers stayed there a few seconds longer than necessary, elbows planted on my knees, head heavy.

Jeff stayed quiet beside me, giving me that look he always did when he knew I was barely keeping it together.

"You want me to stay?" he asked.

"No," I murmured, shaking my head. "Thanks, though."

"Alright." He stood, grabbed his phone. "We're doing the right thing, Harry."