Hated For No Reason
Alexander pushed open the bedroom door and stepped inside, the lock clicking softly behind him.
The recessed lighting cast a low, intimate glow over the sleek masculine space... the large platform bed with its gray comforter, the black marble accents, the faint scent of his cologne still lingering in the air.
Emery had changed out of the sparkling dress into a pair of Ivy’s borrowed pajamas... soft gray cotton top and matching pants that hung a little loose on her slender frame.
She sat curled on the plush carpet near the foot of the bed, knees drawn to her chest, long chestnut-brown hair falling in messy waves around her shoulders. Silent tears streamed down her fair cheeks as her stormy eyes stared blankly at the dark wooden floor. She didn’t look up at first.
Alexander stood there for a long moment, swaying slightly. His neatly styled dark hair was disheveled, his tie gone, the top buttons of his white shirt undone.
The clean-shaven, composed man from the altar was gone. In his place was someone raw and unraveling... completely, dangerously drunk.
Emery finally lifted her gaze. Her breath caught. Something was wrong with him. His calm, observant eyes were glazed, unfocused, and filled with a grief so heavy it seemed to weigh down the entire room.
“Alexander…” she whispered, voice hoarse from crying.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he crossed the room in unsteady steps, dropping to his knees in front of her on the carpet. His broad shoulders trembled as he reached out, large hands cupping her face with surprising gentleness despite the alcohol coursing through him.
“I’m sorry,” he slurred softly, thumb brushing away one of her tears. “I’m so fucking sorry, Emery.”
Before she could respond, he leaned in and kissed her... not the polite, empty brush from the altar, but a deep, desperate kiss born of pain and too much whiskey.
His mouth tasted of liquor and sorrow. Emery froze for a heartbeat, then let out a broken sob against his lips. She was too exhausted, too shattered to push him away. In that moment, everything felt inevitable.
Alexander’s hands moved down her arms, pulling her closer until she was straddling his lap on the floor.
He kissed her again, harder, his fingers slipping under the hem of the borrowed pajama top to trace the soft skin of her waist. Emery’s breath hitched, fresh tears slipping down her cheeks even as her body responded with a trembling kind of surrender.
He lifted her effortlessly and carried her to the large platform bed, laying her down on the cool gray sheets.
His movements were clumsy with drink but driven by a grief-filled urgency. Clothes were shed in a haze... his shirt, her pajama top and pants, until there was nothing between them but warm skin and shared heartbreak.
Alexander moved over her, his broader, more solid frame pressing her into the mattress. He entered her in one slow, deep thrust, a low groan escaping his throat.
Emery gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as he began to move... steady at first, then faster, more desperate. It wasn’t tender lovemaking. It was raw, drunken, grief-soaked sex, a way for him to drown the pain of Camilla’s betrayal.
He held her thigh with one strong hand, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he drove into her again and again.
Emery’s soft, broken moans mixed with her quiet sobs. She came first with a shuddering cry, her body tightening around him. Alexander followed moments later, spilling inside her with a guttural sound that sounded more like pain than pleasure.
Afterward, he collapsed beside her on the gray bedding, breathing hard, one arm draped heavily across her waist. The room fell into heavy silence broken only by their slowing breaths.
Alexander was already drifting into an alcohol-fueled sleep, emotionally detached even in the aftermath. Emery lay staring at the ceiling, tears silently rolling down her temples onto the pillow.
She would soon be pregnant with Jesse’s child.
And tonight, she had just slept with his brother.
×××××××
The next morning, the Prescott family gathered in the sleek, modern dining room. The space had a strict monochromatic dark-gray aesthetic: a large rectangular marble dining table with delicate white veining dominated the center, surrounded by twelve black leather chairs with thin metal legs.
Two matte black vases holding minimalist twig arrangements sat in the middle of the table. Above it hung a layered black pendant light with metallic glass shades that cast a soft, dramatic glow.
The walls were dark concrete-textured panels, flanked by built-in shelving displaying small decorative objects and subtle accent lighting.
A prominent black-and-white geometric artwork hung between the shelves. Recessed ceiling lighting with warm amber cove accents framed the perimeter, while polished dark gray marble tiles gleamed underfoot.
On the right, a floor-to-ceiling window with a dark curtain allowed natural light to filter in.
Emery was not there.
Rebecca had made it crystal clear that she would not allow the new bride to join them at the family table.
Jesse entered last, still wearing the same rumpled shirt from the night before. His dark brown hair was messy, and his intense dark brown eyes were noticeably red-rimmed and swollen.
Ivy looked up from her plate and froze. “Jesse… why are your eyes so red?”
He dropped into his chair with a heavy sigh. “Didn’t sleep well last night.”
“No one did,” Harper said bitterly, cutting into her toast. “No one will until that woman is out of this house.”
Jesse’s jaw clenched hard, a muscle ticking visibly. “Are you serious? You’re acting as if this is all her fault! She was forced into this just like Alexander was.”
Harper snapped her head up, eyes flashing. “Why are you getting so furious on her behalf?”
“Harper, let it go,” Percy said quietly, placing a hand on his wife’s arm.
“He’s right,” Alexander murmured, eating in silence without looking up. “It’s not Emery’s fault.”
Jesse shook his head, frustration boiling over. He turned sharply to Grandpa Luis, who had remained completely silent the entire time. “And you... you just sit there and quiet down at every important conversation. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Jesse, behave,” Rebecca said sharply.
“No, you should behave!” Jesse shot back, voice rising. “You cannot punish Emery for something Camilla did. She’s innocent in all of this. She’s suffering too.”
He shoved his chair back violently, the legs scraping loudly against the polished marble floor. “Fuck this breakfast.”
Jesse stormed out of the dining room without another word.
Ivy let out a heavy sigh and pushed her plate away. “You’re all so pathetic.” She stood up and followed her twin out.
The remaining family members stayed seated. Rebecca picked up her coffee cup with tight lips. Harper rolled her eyes and continued eating. Alexander ate quietly, detached as ever. Grandpa Luis simply took another bite, offering no comment.
The heavy silence returned, thicker and colder than before.
×××××××
A short while after the tense breakfast ended, Ivy returned upstairs carrying a simple tray with toast, fresh fruit, scrambled eggs, and a glass of orange juice. She balanced it carefully as she knocked softly on the door of Alexander’s bedroom.
“Emery? It’s Ivy. I brought you some breakfast.”
There was no answer.
She knocked again, then gently pushed the door open.
The luxurious room was dim, the dark curtains still drawn.
Emery lay curled up on the large platform bed under the gray comforter, still wearing the borrowed gray pajamas.
Her hair was damp with sweat and stuck to her forehead and neck.
Her fair skin had taken on an unhealthy flush, and her eyes were glassy and unfocused.
Ivy set the tray down on the black marble coffee table and hurried over to the bed.
“Emery?” she called softly, sitting on the edge of the mattress. She reached out and brushed the bangs away from Emery’s forehead.
The heat radiating from her skin was alarming.
“Oh my God…” Ivy whispered, pressing the back of her hand firmly against Emery’s cheek, then her neck. “You’re burning up.”
Emery stirred weakly, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m… okay. Just tired.”
“No, you’re not okay,” Ivy said, worry sharpening her tone. She placed her palm fully on Emery’s forehead. The fever was dangerously high... hot enough to make Ivy’s own hand feel cool in comparison. “This is really bad. You’re on fire.”
Emery tried to sit up but only managed a small, shaky movement before collapsing back against the pillows, a soft whimper escaping her lips. Her breathing was shallow and labored, cheeks flushed an angry red against her normally rosy tone.
Ivy stood up quickly, heart racing. “Stay right there. I’m getting a thermometer. And I’m telling someone.”
As Ivy rushed toward the door, she glanced back at the fragile young woman lying in her brother’s bed. Emery looked so small and broken in the middle of the large masculine room... the new wife no one in the family wanted, now fighting a high fever on top of everything else.
Ivy’s protective instincts flared. She closed the door quietly behind her and hurried downstairs, already planning how to get help without triggering another family explosion.
Emery lay there alone again, eyes half-closed, body trembling with chills even as her skin burned. A single tear slipped down her temple and disappeared into the gray pillow.
She felt utterly alone in this cold, luxurious house.
×××××××
Ivy burst back into the master bedroom only minutes later, thermometer in one hand and a damp cloth in the other. Jesse was right behind her, his face tight with worry after she had pulled him aside in the hallway and told him Emery was burning up.
“Emery, your fever is too high,” Ivy said firmly, sitting on the edge of the bed again. She slipped the thermometer under Emery’s tongue. “We’re taking you to the hospital.”
Emery shook her head weakly, her stormy eyes glassy and unfocused. “No… I’m fine,” she whispered, voice hoarse and trembling. “Just let me sleep. Please.”
The thermometer beeped. Ivy pulled it out and her eyes widened. “103.8°F. Jesse, this is dangerous. She’s shaking.”
Jesse didn’t hesitate. His eyes softened with fierce protectiveness as he leaned over the bed. “You’re not fine, love,” he murmured, the endearment slipping out before he could stop it. He quickly covered it with, “You’re burning up. We’re not arguing about this.”
Emery tried to push herself up, but her arms gave out. A soft, broken sound escaped her as chills wracked her slender body. “I don’t want… to cause more trouble. Your mother already—”
“Fuck what anyone else thinks,” Jesse cut in, voice low and rough. He slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her effortlessly against his chest. She was light and far too hot. “You’re going to the hospital. End of discussion.”
“Jesse…” Emery protested weakly, her head lolling against his shoulder, waves sticking to her damp skin. Her bangs clung to her fever-flushed forehead. “Please… I can’t…”
Ivy grabbed a soft throw blanket from the foot of the bed and draped it over Emery. “We’re doing this for you, not them. Come on.”
Jesse carried her downstairs without waiting for permission. He moved with urgent purpose through the sleek black-and-gray house. Ivy hurried ahead, grabbing car keys and her phone.
Rebecca appeared in the living room doorway just as they reached the front entrance. “Where do you think you’re taking her?”
“Hospital,” Jesse answered curtly, not slowing down. “She has a dangerously high fever.”
Rebecca’s lips pressed into a thin line, but before she could protest further, Ivy shot her a sharp look. “We’re not asking for permission, Mom.”
They bundled Emery into the back seat of Jesse’s SUV. He climbed in beside her, pulling her gently against his side so her head rested on his shoulder. Ivy took the driver’s seat and started the engine.
Emery’s breathing was shallow and uneven. She shivered despite the blanket and the heat radiating from her body. “I’m sorry…” she whispered, tears slipping from the corners of her stormy eyes. “I didn’t mean to… make everything worse.”
Jesse’s heart twisted painfully. He brushed damp strands of hair from her face, his touch far gentler than the storm raging inside him. “Shh. You’re not making anything worse. You’re sick. That’s all that matters right now.”
As the car pulled away from the mansion, Jesse kept his arm wrapped securely around her, his jaw clenched tight. He hated seeing her like this... fragile, feverish, and still trying to apologize for existing in their world. The same world that had forced her into a marriage she never wanted.
Ivy glanced at them in the rearview mirror, her expression softening. She said nothing, but she drove faster, determined to get Emery the help she needed.
Emery’s eyes fluttered closed, her body limp against Jesse’s side as the fever pulled her deeper under. In her half-delirious state, she whispered his name so quietly only he could hear:
“Jesse…”
His grip on her tightened, eyes burning with unshed tears and quiet possession.
×××××××