From His Fake Wife to Billionaire Heiress Chapter 211: Revealing Habits

His eyes shifted uneasily. He had a story prepped, just like Sophia had instructed—something to fall back on if anyone started asking questions.

"Yeah, Ms. Harper, I'm from around here."

Harvey offered a casual, easygoing smile and rubbed the back of his neck. "A few years back, I went in with some local buddies on a small-time herb trade—you know, heading into really remote areas to buy medicinal plants from mountain communities, then bringing them back to sell in the city. The first couple years weren't bad; we turned a small profit. But then the market shifted, and we got tangled up in a scam. Lost over a million. Wiped me out almost completely.

"Didn't have much choice after that but to look for something steady. Heard Ashford Group was hiring, so I applied."

Riley simply replied, "I see," and let it drop. She didn't press further or give any hint whether she bought his story.

They continued walking without much talk and soon reached a large reservoir.

It was sizable, its surface glinting under the afternoon sun, stretching out so far the opposite shore faded into haze.

The scenery was peaceful, almost picturesque.

Near the bank, Riley noticed a few young guys standing in small fishing boats, busy casting nets. Curious, she followed a faint, narrow footpath up a low hillside beside the reservoir to get a clearer view.

The hill wasn't tall, but its far side dropped off sharply—a steep bluff plunging dozens of feet down to a deeper section of the reservoir. The water below looked dark and still, impossibly deep. It gave off an uneasy, almost ominous feeling.

Harvey stayed close behind. As Riley paused near the edge, her back to him, gazing toward the distant shoreline and the boats below, his heart began to hammer.

Sophia's cold, clear instructions replayed in his head. "If it comes down to it, find a quiet spot where no one's around. Handle it cleanly. One less problem for good."

Here, now—Riley stood unaware, just steps from the drop. All it would take was one hard shove from behind...

Harvey's hands tightened into fists without him realizing. His palms grew damp with nervous sweat.

Push her, and it'd be over.

Sophia would pay him more money than he'd ever seen. He'd be set for life.

But killing someone...

Harvey had done time before—for assault, not murder. Back then, he'd just wanted to teach that sleazy paparazzo a lesson. The guy had been stalking Sophia, snapping invasive photos and spinning gross tabloid lies about her. Harvey lost his temper and laid into him, but he never meant to take a life.

Actually shoving a living person off a cliff, watching them fall... He didn't know if he could do it.

Hell, the only reason he'd hurt that photographer years ago was to defend Sophia. The guy had crossed every line, and Harvey just snapped in the moment...

Harvey's breathing turned ragged. Inside, he was tearing himself apart.

He was torn between obeying Sophia's orders, claiming a life-changing payout, and facing the brutal horror of murder alongside the last shreds of his conscience.

Riley remained oblivious to the turmoil behind her. She was taking in the wide expanse of the reservoir, the green rolling hills in the distance. A gentle breeze brushed her face, cool and lightly damp from the water. It felt refreshing.

She was beginning to understand why Aiden had chosen Cedar Creek for the resort project.

The place really did have something—peaceful landscapes, untouched scenery far from city noise. The village itself still held rows of well-kept historic buildings: old cottages, a community hall... pieces of classic Havenbrook, steeped in a quiet, nostalgic charm.

With the right development, this kind of setting could easily turn into a popular heritage-tourism spot. It'd draw in city-weary locals looking for a retreat, maybe even visitors from out of state.

Aiden had a good eye. A real shame, though...

Riley's gaze narrowed slightly. The local resistance here was stronger than she'd anticipated.

As she stood there, weighing the project's risks and potential, Harvey's voice suddenly cut in from behind—a little too rushed, a little too tense.

"Ms. Harper, you shouldn't stand so close to the edge. It's not safe—what if you slipped?" He sounded genuinely anxious, as if truly worried she might lose her footing.

But Riley didn't catch any hidden edge in his tone. She just figured he was doing his job, watching out for her.

She turned and offered a calm smile, then pointed toward the dam at the far end of the reservoir. "It's alright. See that dam? That's critical infrastructure. They've got surveillance cameras all over the place, probably even park rangers or water patrol stationed nearby. If someone went into the water, or anything happened, response would be quick."

Almost as if to prove her point, a sharp, piercing whistle blasted from the direction of the dam right then.

Several uniformed figures emerged from the dam station, whistles in their mouths, gesturing urgently toward the water and shouting. They started jogging briskly down toward the shoreline.

As it turned out, those young guys casting nets weren't real fishermen at all—they were poaching, fishing illegally in restricted waters.