LOGINThe machines were the first thing anyone noticed.
A steady, rhythmic beeping filled the room—soft, controlled, indifferent. It didn’t care about what had been lost. It didn’t pause for grief. It simply continued, marking time in a way that felt almost cruel. Emma lay motionless beneath the stark white sheets. The harsh hospital lighting softened nothing. It exposed everything—the faint bruising along her arms, the bandage wrapped carefully around her hRowan Blackwood had never avoided a question before. That thought followed Emma all the way to her office. It lingered while she sorted through emails. While she reviewed contracts. While she attempted to read a report for the third time. Nothing seemed capable of distracting her from the fact that Rowan had deliberately changed the subject. It wasn’t the answer itself that bothered her. It was the avoidance. Rowan always answered. Sometimes honestly. Sometimes sarcastically. Sometimes in ways that made her want to throw a stapler at him. But he answered. Today he hadn’t. Emma sighed and closed the file in front of her. A knock sounded against the glass door. A smile immediately tugged at her lips. “Come in, Rowan.” The door opened.
Emma returned home just as dawn began painting the sky in shades of gold and pale blue. The city was slowly waking. A few cars moved through the streets. Streetlights still glowed in the distance. Everything felt quieter than usual. Or perhaps it was simply her mind. By the time she unlocked the front door and stepped inside the house, exhaustion had settled into every part of her body. The living room was dark. The kitchen was empty. Stephanie was still asleep upstairs. Emma set her bag down near the staircase before pulling her phone from her pocket. Her brows lifted. Six missed calls. Three messages. One voicemail. All from Rowan. The earliest call had come barely twenty minutes after she left his apartment. A smile tugged at her lips. She pressed call. The phone rang once. “Emma.” Relief immediately flooded his voice. She leaned against the kitchen counter. “Good morning to you too.” “Where are you?” “Home.” A pause. “Home?” “
Silence settled between them. Not an uncomfortable silence. Not anymore. It was the silence that came after a storm. After truths had finally been dragged into the light. Emma sat motionless. Her hands rested in her lap. Her eyes burned. Across from her, Edward looked older than she had ever seen him. Not because of his illness. Not because of the grey in his hair. Because for the first time in his life, he wasn’t hiding. There was nothing left to hide behind. No excuses. No distance. No walls. Only truth. For several moments neither spoke. Then Emma finally broke the silence. “What about Adrian and Stephanie?” Edward looked up. The question clearly surprised him. Emma swallowed hard. Her throat felt tight. “If looking at me hurt so much…” Her voice trembled. “If I reminded you of Mom…” She forced herself to continue. “Then why didn’t it hurt with them?” The question hung in the air. Heavy. Painful. Necessary. Emma felt
The room was silent. Not the comfortable kind. Not the kind that came from peace. The kind that came when a truth was finally about to be spoken. Edward sat motionless across from Emma. His hands were clasped so tightly his knuckles had turned white. For several moments he said nothing. Simply stared at the floor. As though looking directly at her would make the words impossible to say. Finally he spoke. “It started with a letter.” Emma frowned. Edward laughed bitterly. Not because anything was funny. Because it wasn’t. “Then another.” His gaze remained fixed somewhere in the distance. “A few months later there were more.” Death threats. Warnings. Photographs. Pr
Emma left before sunrise. Rowan was still asleep. One arm stretched across the empty side of the bed while the city remained wrapped in darkness beyond the apartment windows. For several moments she stood beside the doorway simply watching him. The previous evening replayed endlessly inside her head. The gala. Victor. The photographs. The stories. The look on Edward’s face whenever Violet appeared on the screen. Nothing about it made sense. For years Emma had believed she understood exactly what happened after her mother’s death. Believed she understood her father. Believed she understood herself. Now she wasn’t certain of any of it. And somehow that uncertainty felt worse than anger. At least anger was familiar. This was
The drive was quiet. Not uncomfortable. Not awkward. Just quiet. Emma sat in the passenger seat staring through the windshield while city lights blurred past outside. The gala felt distant already. Like something that had happened to someone else. Victor’s voice still echoed inside her head. The photographs. The stories. The look on Edward’s face when she’d asked him what changed. Most of all— Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would finally get answers. Or at least she hoped she would. For twenty years she’d imagined this moment. Countless versions. Countless explanations. Now it was real.
Laura Reed stood outside Emma’s house looking perfectly composed.Which was almost funny considering she had rung the bell like someone trying to break through the gates.The garden lights cast soft gold across the stone pathway leading to the front door, illuminating Laura’s pa
Emma and Rowan didn’t remember when exhaustion finally stopped feeling temporary. It didn’t arrive like collapse. It arrived like silence. Somewhere between half-finished reports, glowing city lights, and the hum of an office that never truly slept,
Laura Sterling refused to read the comments personally anymore. At least that was what she told herself. But by midnight, she still sat alone in the dim sitting room scrolling endlessly through social media with one hand pressed unconsciously against her stomach.
The house stayed silent long after Dominic left. Emma stood motionless in the center of the living room, staring at the half-open front door. Cold night air drifted inside slowly. The curtains moved softly near the windows. Everything else rem







