Chapter 1 – Emika #2
When I reached the hospital, I was asked to wait for the doctor, and I did that in my mother’s ward. I sat on the chair beside her bed, my hand holding on to hers as the steady beep of the EKG punctuated the stillness.
The ward smelled of antiseptic solution and cold air, the soft light catching my mother’s brown hair. She lay there, asleep, her chest rising and falling with slow breaths. I tapped my feet rapidly against the floor while chewing on my nails.
I hoped to God that whatever was wrong with her was nothing serious. And with every minute that passed and the doctor didn’t show up, my anxiety grew even worse. In my head, I already thought the worst and could pray that I was wrong.
When the door swung open, and a tall man with neatly trimmed facial hair walked in, my heart skipped a beat.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss….” His eyes dropped to the file in his hand, as if searching for his patient’s name.
“Morgan,” I answered, rising to my feet.
“Right.” He stepped forward, flipping through the file.
“What happened to my mother?” I asked, my heart racing in anticipation.
He cleared his throat and met my gaze. “She has a severe cardiomyopathy.”
My brows arched.
I had no idea what that meant, but “severe” and “cardio” in the sentence never meant anything good. Especially not coming from a doctor.
He continued, “Her heart muscle is weakened and enlarged. It’s not pumping blood the way that it should.”
“Oh, my God,” I whispered to myself, my legs suddenly feeling too weak to carry my weight.
A sharp ringing filled my ears, drowning out the next words that flew out of his mouth. I gripped the chair’s armrest behind me and slowly sank into it.
“We need to operate as soon as possible.”
His words cut through my heart like a freaking knife as I buried my face in my palms. My pulse was racing, my mind reeling with a thousand thoughts at once.
Surgery was definitely going to cost a lot of money. Where the hell was I supposed to start from?
My whole body was shaking, and unshed tears kept stinging my eyes.
He continued, as if blind to the fact that I was having a fucking nervous breakdown. “After the surgery, she’ll need long-term medication, regular monitoring….” His voice droned on, explaining the situation like I didn’t already know how bad it was.
My fingers clenched around the fabric of my skirt, my nails digging into my flesh. I barely had enough savings to keep me stable for the next few months. In my head, I calculated every dollar, every cent in my bank account, and it all combined was laughably small.
“How much?” I asked without looking at him.
When he named the amount, my head instinctively rose to face him. My breath hitched in my throat as a bead of cold sweat trickled down my left temple. Even if I worked two jobs for the next two years, I wasn’t going to raise that money.
“She’s stable now,” the doctor said, his voice gentler. “But I’m afraid we don’t have a lot of time.”
I took her hand again, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest.
“I’ll leave you alone now.” He quietly stepped out of the ward.
My lips trembled as I tried so hard to fight back the tears that welled in my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Mom,” I whispered. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me.”
Overwhelmed with guilt, I blamed myself for not being there for her. If I hadn’t ignored my intuition and just called her the first time the thought crossed my mind, maybe….
Maybe what? a voice whispered in my head, stern and harsh. What would you have done? You couldn’t have prevented this from happening. So stop wallowing in guilt and start thinking of ways to raise that money. The voice paused, then continued: Crying will solve nothing. Now put on your thinking cap.
After a moment of careful thought, I concluded that only one person could help at this point. My heart skipped a beat because this was someone I barely knew, and my mother wanted nothing to do with him.
And no, it wasn’t my father.
It was her father—Richard Beaumont—the man she swore never to see again.
Apparently, they’d had a falling out long before I was born because my mother chose to follow her own path. Not the one her billionaire father chose for her.
Yes, billionaire. The man was fuckin’ rich in every important currency in the world. Mom was a proud woman and would rather die than go to him for help. I was proud too. But there was no way I was going to sit back and let a fight that didn’t concern me stop me from trying.
He was my only hope right now, and I was running out of time. If my plan somehow worked, Mom would be furious when she found out. But I’d rather she were alive and furious than calm and dead.
I wiped the tears from my eyes and let out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry. But I have to do this.” I rose from my chair and kissed her forehead with quivering lips.
From the hospital, I drove straight to the Beaumont mansion at the outskirts of town. The drive took a while, and the whole time I was thinking about how to introduce myself. I had no idea what to say to the man or if he’d even grant me an audience.
Would he recognize me? We’d never met before. I’d only seen his face in the photo album.
When I arrived at the estate, the wrought-iron gates parted, revealing a vast expanse of land. I drove through the tall trees that lined the serpentine driveway. It was like stepping into a different world: darker and more mysterious.
The magnificent building grew more and more enormous the closer I drew to it. I pulled over by the fountain, my heart racing in my chest as I stared out my window.
“You got this,” I whispered to myself, drawing a deep, long breath.
The sun was setting across the horizon when I stepped out of the vehicle. The statues of two eerie-looking gargoyles mounted at the building’s entrance gave me the creeps.
I flinched when a crow swooped over my head, cawing, then perched on one of the gargoyles and ruffled its wings. The bird looked at me and cawed again.
I masked my fear with a frown, hating the fact that everything in this place was dark and eerie. This was supposed to be my estranged grandfather’s house. Not Dracula’s castle.
My shoes scuffed against the pavement as I made my way to the huge wooden front door.
I climbed up the long steps at the entrance.
And there, I took a minute to stare at the door handle, shaped like the head of a growling lion.
Its mane curled around the brass knob, the eyes set with polished amber gems.
“Yeah, that’s not spooky at all,” I murmured, then grabbed the handle and knocked.
I waited for a few seconds before the door creaked open, revealing an elderly man in a black tux. His dark hair was neatly combed, his cologne was expensive, and even his tux was impeccably tailored.
However, he wasn’t my grandfather. He wasn’t the man in the pictures.
“Hi,” I said, my voice calm and collected.
“Can I help you?” he asked, his tone flat.
“Yes. I’m here to see Mr. Beaumont.”
“Do you have an appointment with him?”
“Um…actually….”
I was still talking when he reached to slam the door in my face from inside.
“Wait!” My voice was filled with urgency, my hand snapping out to prevent the door from closing. “My name is Emika Morgan!” The words spilled out in a torrent. “Elizabeth Morgan Beaumont is my mother.”
The man’s expression softened instantly, and his brows arched in disbelief. “You’re Lizzy’s child?”
I nodded.
He looked beyond me, as if searching for her. “Is she with you?”
There was something in his voice that I couldn’t name, but it sounded an awful lot like anticipation.
“Unfortunately, no.” I swallowed hard.
“Please, come in.” He stepped aside, gesturing into the house.
“Thank you.” I walked inside, drinking in the sleek interior design.
There was nothing modern about the place, but it sure was breathtaking. It was a living museum: polished marble floors, expensive chandeliers, state-of-the-art furniture, and high walls adorned with fine art.
One of the hanging portraits caught my attention, forcing me to stop in my tracks. It was my mother; she was way younger and much more beautiful.
“I still miss her to this day,” the man said, standing at a distance. “How is she?”
That question wrecked me in ways I wasn’t ready for.
I turned to him, hesitating for a moment. “She’s sick.”
“Good Lord,” he murmured under his breath.
“I need to speak with my grandfather,” I said. “It’s urgent.”
He nodded. “He’s out back, watering the plants. Follow me.”
He led me to the garden behind the mansion, where the air smelled of fresh flowers and the hedgerows were neatly trimmed. An elderly man with gray hair, dressed in a brown robe, was watering the plants when we arrived.
I stood behind the man in a black tux, his height hiding my petite frame.
“You have a visitor,” he said, his voice calm and gentle.
“A visitor?” my grandfather asked. “Who?”
The man stepped aside, revealing my identity.
Grandpa’s eyes locked with mine, and although his expression remained blank, I could tell that he knew who I was. He recognized me even though he hadn’t seen me before. His grip tightened around the watering can, and his brows furrowed by a whisper.
“Barclay,” he said, without looking at the man in the black tux. “Please, excuse us.”
Barclay nodded and walked away.
“You look just like her,” my grandpa said after a moment of awkward silence.
“I get that a lot.”
He stared at me, as if unsure of what to say or do next. “Twenty-three years,” he said at last. “That’s how long it’s been since she left this house and never returned.” He paused. “Does she know you’re here?”
I shook my head.
“Of course she doesn’t,” he murmured, rubbing his eyes. “Well, it was nice meeting you. But you’d better leave now before she finds out. I don’t want her sinking her fangs into my flesh.”
My brows furrowed, a hint of fury flashing across my face. “Don’t worry, she’s not gonna sink her fangs into your flesh,” I said. “She can’t.”
He tilted his head to the side. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She’s dying,” I answered.
His expression didn’t shift, and after a while, all he said was, “Hmm.”
The sound was casual and almost dismissive, and it infuriated me. “That’s it?” My face twisted into a frown. “Your daughter is dying, and all you say is hmm?”
He set down the watering can and faced me squarely. “Did she ever tell you why she left and never returned—why she stopped talking to me?”
“You were trying to control her.”
“Control her?” A soft scoff escaped his lips. “Is that what she told you?”
Silence.
At this point, I was starting to wonder if there was more to this story that I wasn’t aware of.
“Every parent wants what’s best for their child,” he began. “I told my daughter—your mother—that I had the perfect man for her, someone who would take care of her.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But she didn’t listen. She rebelled against me and chose to marry that deadbeat dad of yours. No offense.”
“None taken. He isn’t exactly Father of the Year.”
“If she’d just listened to me, she wouldn’t have been miserable.”
Again, I frowned. “Okay, first, she’s not miserable—”
“Yeah, right.”
“…and second, you need to stop dwelling on the past and help save her life.”
“She made her choice,” he said coldly. “And choices have consequences.”
“How can you say that?” I snapped. “She’s your daughter!”
“She abandoned her duties as a daughter!” he replied with the same tone. “Her union with Patrick Alderman was supposed to strengthen the alliance between both families, but she chose to be selfish.”
Hearing that, I paused, trying to process what he just said. “Hold on a second. You wanted to trade her future for what? An alliance with another family?” I raised my brows. “And somehow she’s the selfish one?”
“You don’t get it, do you? He paused. “There’s a reason powerful families don’t mingle with commoners.”
“Wow,” I murmured under my breath.
My grandfather was a dick, and it suddenly made sense to me why my mother never wanted anything to do with him anymore.
“Are you gonna help her or not?” I asked, clenching my jaw. “The doctor said she has a severe cardiomyopathy and needs to be operated on as soon as possible.”
He hesitated, his expression still as blank as a sheet of paper. “You seem like a brilliant young woman, one who’s willing to do anything to save her mother.”
I tilted my head slightly to the side, a look of suspicion creeping onto my face.
“I’ll tell you what,” he began. “I’ll foot the medical bills and make sure her bad decision doesn’t end up taking her life.”
My brows knitted, sensing there was a catch. “Why do I smell a ‘but’?”
“Because there is one.”
Of course. Men like him never did anything out of the goodness of their stone-cold hearts.
“In return, you’ll make sure that I secure an alliance with a really powerful family.”
“What?” I blurted out, eyes wide with shock.
“You will fulfil the duty your mother ignored years ago.”
“You can’t be serious!” I protested, heart racing in my heaving chest.
“This is my condition; take it or leave it,” he replied coldly.
“And if I refuse?”
He paused. “Then prepare to bury your mother.”
I couldn’t believe a man could be so mean to his own flesh and blood. He didn’t even show any sympathy or fear for his daughter’s life. This man was ready to let her die if I didn’t comply, and my hatred for him was starting to grow.
He walked over to a nearby bench and sat on it, then crossed his legs. “I hope you realize that whether your mother lives or dies solely depends on you.” He looked at me. “She made her choice years ago. It’s time you made yours.”
Richard Beaumont was the definition of evil. But despite how much I already despised the old man, he was my only hope. I had no one else to turn to except him.
It didn’t feel like I was speaking with my grandpa. It felt more like I was making a deal with the devil.
Choices had consequences, and whatever decision I made would greatly affect my life in the most negative ways possible. If I chose to walk away, I’d be responsible for my mother’s death. And that guilt would hunt me for the rest of my life.
If I chose to surrender to him, I’d be signing my life away. I’d become a puppet, another pawn in his game of power and influence. I’d have no future, and happiness would forever be beyond my reach.
Being selfish would save my life, but it would take my mother’s.
Fuck it. What was life without the one person I loved the most in this world?
If signing my future away was the price to pay for her surgery, then I would gladly be sold off to the devil himself.