Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Emmersyn
“Leave,” he says with finality, his voice like a blade that threatens to slice through me. A punch so strong that will push me into the abyss and leave me stranded in the dark.
I stare at him, dumbfounded. The word hangs in the air, heavy with finality, but I don’t move. I can’t. My feet feel rooted to the floor, as if the very ground beneath me refuses to let me go. I’m frozen in place, caught between shock and defiance.
Normally, I would go. In fact, I’d slam the door after telling him how he’s let me down—again. I’d tell him I can’t believe I actually expected him to behave like a civilized person and do something for someone else or his precious family. But to him, I’m still just the spoiled rich girl who has the world at her feet.
I wish things were that simple. Everything I have, I’ve earned through hard work. Everything. I want to put him in his place, to tell him that I’ve spent my life making sacrifices for the people I love, and for those I don’t even know. But I don’t. Because right now, I need to find the words that will convince him to help me one last time.
I study him from head to toe, trying to figure out what matters most to him. What makes him tick, what makes him Caleb Cunningham—the ruggedly handsome man I’m married to, who’s now ordering me out of his life as if I’m nothing more than an inconvenience.
Okay, every time I’ve come into his life, it’s never been for something easy. In my defense, though, last time, he offered. This time, I can’t just let him go this easily. Not yet.
He’s changed too. There are hard lines in his handsome face, adding new depth to his features. Caleb stands at six foot three, with a muscular, athletic build. His short, dark blond hair is neatly kempt, complementing those striking blue eyes that used to see right through me. And those chiseled features, marked by a few minor scars, hint at a life of action and danger—a life that’s clearly shaped him into the man standing before me.
It’s the way he carries himself, the confidence that radiates off him, the way he fills the room with his presence. He’s not the boy I married; he’s a man who’s lived, who’s fought, who’s survived. A man who probably hates me. Despite that, I have to swallow my pride and beg for his help.
“Leave,” he repeats, this time walking toward the door, clearly ready to see me out.
He’s giving me that look—the one that says he’s already made up his mind and nothing I say will be enough to change it. But I can’t give up. Not now. Not when everything is on the line.
“You can’t just dismiss me like that,” I say, mustering the last bit of strength I have, pretending his rejection isn’t digging into me.
He raises an eyebrow, clearly not expecting me to push back. “We’ve talked, I heard yet another ridiculous scheme by Gertrude Langley. I’m not getting involved.”
I take a deep breath, refusing to let his dismissive tone knock me down. “This isn’t just about you or me. It’s about something bigger, something that affects more than just the two of us.”
He crosses his arms, those piercing blue eyes narrowing slightly. “Why should I care about the bigger picture? I’ve paid my dues. You’re old enough to figure this out on your own, Em.”
“Did you read the letter?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.
He nods, then casually opens the door as if this conversation is already over. “Don’t fucking care.”
“And the part where she says that nothing I do will fix it?” I press on, knowing I have to make him understand. “Did you see the note she left? You’re literally my last hope. I already hired the best lawyers to look into the will. It’s ironclad.”
“Not my fucking problem,” he mutters, his tone flat as he shrugs, making it clear he’s completely checked out.
I swallow hard, trying to find the right words. He’s always been like this—impossible, stubborn, infuriating. But I’ve never been one to back down. And I’m not about to start now. If I’m going to get through to him, I’ll have to hit where it hurts. This is bigger than just us.
“Fine, I’ll leave,” I say, turning to the door. “Just remember all the unemployed parents who will thank you for this.”
“Don’t you fucking go there,” he snaps, his tone sharp enough to cut.
I shrug, walking assertively toward the door. “I’m just stating facts.”
“You’re only doing this for the fucking money,” he accuses. “It’s all about not losing your cushy lifestyle, the company, and everything you’re used to.”
How dare he say that? I stop right in front of him, my glare burning as I look up at him. “This isn’t about the money. I was willing to walk away from Langley Media because I hate that she’s trying to manipulate me even from beyond the grave, but if I do that, I leave all these people unemployed.”
Caleb scoffs. “Sure. At least be honest. You get the company, all her assets, and?—”
“You can have them,” I cut him off, my voice firm. Ah, so that’s what’s bugging him—the money. It bothers him that my grandmother left everything to me. Who else was she going to leave it to? I’m her only granddaughter and heir.
What did he expect? At least now I know what he wants— to see me penniless, out on the street. But what he doesn’t understand is that there are worse things in the world than having to start from scratch.
I have my health, my career, and a purpose. I’ll be fine with or without my grandmother’s money.
That’s why I have no problem saying, “Anything I’m inheriting from her, you can have it all.”
“The only thing I want is the divorce and to never see you again,” he says, his words cold and final. “Never again, Emmersyn.”
It’s so much like the first time. And just like then, I have to beg him to do this one thing for me, because unfortunately, this is what my grandmother set up. She left me in a position where I have to depend on someone who wants nothing to do with me. It’s the story of my life. All I need is a little more time.
So I ask him again. “Six months. I’m only asking for six months under the same roof. You don’t need to do anything else. I’ve already asked the lawyer if we can stay in my grandmother’s penthouse. It’s big enough—we can divide it. We don’t even have to see each other at all.”
“You want me to live with you for six months?” He stares at me incredulously. “I have a job that requires me to travel.”
“I understand, but?—”
“No,” he cuts me off, his tone sharp. “I’m not here for your entertainment or to play along with whatever twisted game you’ve got in mind.”
“This isn’t a scheme I concocted to make your life miserable. The shrew . . . It’s about making me pay for something or who knows what. She always took pleasure in seeing me miserable, even when she claimed to love me,” I say, sensing a crack in his armor. “I’ll pay you a salary—on top of everything she left me. If you have to hire anyone to cover for you, I’ll pay them too.”
“You’re going to give me everything?” he asks, his tone sharper, probing. “Including your trust?”
I stop breathing, my heart stuttering in my chest. That’s not something I can just give up, not even for this.
“So, you wouldn’t give up all your money, huh?” He’s daring me now, those blue eyes narrowing, challenging me to call his bluff.
“It’s not that,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “After I graduated and started working, it’s been funding a charity that helps with college tuition and books.”
He continues to look at me in a way that makes me feel small and judged, as if he doesn’t believe for a second that I could be using that money for anything other than personal gain. No matter what I say, nothing will convince him that I’m not the person he thinks I am.
Fine, good luck trying to use the money. He’s going to have to hire someone to run the charity that allocates those funds annually. His problem, not mine. But then again, it’s not just about the money. It’s about keeping the company as it is, making sure no one loses their jobs. That’s why I’m doing this.
“Fine, you can have that too. Everything. Just do this one thing, will you?” I say, more determined now. “I do need you to promise me you’ll keep the company as is. No layoffs, no changes. I run a charity with the trust money, and I need to make sure it’s in good hands.”
After a long pause, he steps closer, his gaze intense, probably trying to intimidate me. “I’ll have my lawyer draw something up,” he says, his tone clipped.
“You’re not taking my word for it?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“Sorry, don’t trust you.” I almost laugh at what he says because he’s not sorry in the slightest.
His words hurt more than I’d like to confess. It hurts to know he never trusted or believed me, but I won’t waste energy trying to convince him this time. Once this is over, we’ll go our separate ways, and I’ll have six months to figure out where to start my new life. Do I really have to give him everything I own, or just what I inherited from my grandmother?
Who cares at this point? He’ll have his lawyer draft some ironclad contract where he gets the satisfaction of taking everything away from me. But at least I’ll finally be free—from all of it. For the first time, I won’t have to figure out a way to keep my late mother happy, my grandfather at peace, and Grandma . . . well, she won’t be around to manipulate me anymore.
It’ll finally be over.
“You know what’s sad?” I say, not sure if I’m talking to him, the universe, or myself. “I have to depend on a man to fix something—again. But make no mistake, I’m only doing this because she’s forcing me—again. I don’t need a man to be happy, to live my life, or to succeed. After the six months, we’ll divorce, and hopefully, you won’t fuck over the company and the livelihoods of all its employees.”
With those final words, I turn on my heel, chin up, and march out of the room. My heart’s pounding, but I refuse to let it show. You’ve got this, Em .
As I’m about to step over the threshold, I pause, taking a deep breath. Then, in a flash of defiance, I spin back around, pull out a fancy pen with pink ink from my purse, and scribble my digits on the back of his hand, adding my name and a little heart for good measure. “Just in case you forget my number,” I say with a sweet smile before walking out, leaving him standing there with a bemused expression.
“Don’t worry, I’ll add it to my contacts as She-Devil,” he calls after me, his voice laced with playful sarcasm.
“Good, I’ll have you in my phone as Satan,” I reply, tossing the words over my shoulder, hoping to have the last word.