Chapter Five Getting to know you
Henry's grandmother had been talking about mysterious woman for years. She'd woven stories about her like a tapestry, painting Emilia as the kind of woman he'd be a fool to overlook. But for the longest time, he hadn't given it much thought. It wasn't until a month ago that he had considered maybe—just maybe—changing that.
Curiosity had crept in, subtle but persistent. He wanted to be sure Emilia was as amazing as his grandmother claimed before he even entertained the idea of reaching out. Henry didn't trust people so easily. So, he'd asked one of his assistants to dig up some information on her. Not because he expected to find anything alarming—just enough to know what he might be walking into. But before he could decide whether to contact her himself, his grandmother had beaten him to it.
Henry stepped into his penthouse, loosening his tie with a weary sigh. The day had drained him—endless meetings, empty conversations, the usual monotony. Shrugging off his suit jacket, he draped it over the back of a chair before reaching for the buttons of his dress shirt. The cool air kissed his skin as he peeled the fabric away, leaving him in just his undershirt and slacks.
With one hand, he reached for the remote and pressed play on his voicemail, the other working to unbuckle his belt. The robotic voice chimed in first, listing the number of new messages. Then, his grandmother's unmistakable voice filled the space.
"Henry, darling, it's your favorite grandmother." She paused, and he could hear the familiar rustling of what he assumed was her knitting. "Now, don't go rolling your eyes at me. I have something very important to tell you. I got you a number! A lovely young lady's number, in fact. Her name is Emilia."
His hands stilled.
"She's sweet, smart, and far too pretty for her own good. I just know you'll adore her. Now, don't be a grump. Give her a call, would you? At the very least, humor your old grandma."
Henry chuckled, running a hand through his tousled brown hair. His grandmother had never been subtle, and he had to admire her persistence. He could practically see her waving a dismissive hand, telling him he worked too much and loved too little.
The message continued. "And before you think you can get out of this, remember, I expect you to come visit me soon. I miss my Henry. And don't think I won't ask about Emilia when you do!" A soft click signaled the end of the message.
He shook his head, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. His grandmother had a way of making even meddling seem endearing.
His gaze drifted toward his desk. The file was still there. The one with Emilia's name on it.
He hesitated, then picked it up, flipping it open. A photo of her stared back at him. His thumb traced the edge of the image absently. She was beautiful, there was no denying that. But he wasn't foolish enough to think beauty meant anything beyond the surface.
And yet... there was something in her eyes—something that made him pause.
A part of him wanted to ignore this, to shove the file into a drawer and pretend he didn't care. Because caring led to attachment, and attachment led to pain. He had learned that lesson the hard way.
His chest tightened at the memory. The headlights. The screech of tires. The deafening silence that followed.
His fiancée, ripped from him in an instant. A future unraveled, shattered beyond repair.
He had sworn he'd never go through that again. Sworn he'd never open himself up to that kind of devastation. Love was fickle. Love was fleeting.
And yet, his grandmother's words lingered.
Maybe this wasn't about love. Maybe this was just a favor. A conversation. A way to put his grandmother's heart at ease.
Maybe.
Before he could second-guess himself, he grabbed his phone and typed out a message.
He hit send before he could talk himself out of it.
And just like that, a door he had kept firmly shut cracked open.
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The conversation that followed had been nothing short of hilarious. Henry wasn't one to laugh much, especially since Zoey, but with Emilia, it had come so easily, so naturally, that it caught him off guard. She had a way of disarming him, of making him forget the weight he carried on his shoulders.
At one point, she had launched into an oddly passionate spiel about octopuses—how they could squeeze through tiny spaces, how they had three hearts, and how after mating, the males often died tragically. He had been drinking a glass of whiskey at the time and nearly choked on it from laughing so hard.
Who the hell talked about octopuses on a first conversation? Emilia, apparently. And somehow, it only made him more intrigued.
As he lay back on his couch, his phone still in his hand, a rare sense of excitement stirred in his chest. He had walked into this expecting nothing, just a favor to his grandmother, a mere formality. But now? Now he found himself wanting to talk to her again.
Maybe, just maybe, this wasn't going to be the disaster he thought it would be.
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Emilia couldn't help but blush as she read Henry's last message, her lips curling into an involuntary smile. He had a way of making her feel seen, like she was more than just the sum of her long shifts and tired bones. But as her gaze flicked up to the time, reality crashed in. 12:17 AM.
She groaned softly, tossing her phone onto the charger before turning back to the half-packed chaos of her life. She had promised herself she'd be out by morning, and there was no turning back now. For the next thirty minutes, she moved in a quiet flurry, folding the remnants of her past into four suitcases. Four. That was all she really had. The thought settled in her chest like a stone—she had never been the type to splurge on herself, yet a glance around the apartment showed all the expensive things she had bought him. Her stomach twisted. How had she let it get this far?
With a slow exhale, Emilia started to think of what to take or burn before making her way to the living room. The walls were littered with the past—photographs of her and Chase, frozen smiles that had long since lost their meaning. One by one, she plucked them down, the paper frames curling slightly at the edges. How many times had she convinced herself to stay? The trash can lid closed with a dull thud, and just like that, they were gone. She stepped back, surveying the now-barren space. It looked different, emptier—no longer hers. Just a cold, impersonal bachelor pad with no trace of the woman who had once dreamed within these walls.
With one last glance, she walked to the kitchen counter, slipping off the engagement ring with a finality that sent a shiver through her fingers. She set it down beside the house key—two things that no longer belonged to her. Then, without another look back, she grabbed her bags, stepped into the hallway, and locked the door behind her. No more wasting time on men who didn't care. No more waiting to be loved the way she deserved. It was time for a fresh start. A new beginning. And maybe... just maybe... Henry would be part of it.
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