24. Emma
Emma
I t’s a beautiful Sunday, and I’m kneeling to photograph a particularly photogenic display of multi-colored pumpkins when—
“Emma? Emma! Oh my God, it is you!”
I turn slowly, heart pounding, to face Jessica.
She looks exactly as I remember: polished, put-together, and confident, like someone who knows her place in the world.
“Jessica,” I acknowledge, trying to keep my voice steady. “What a surprise.”
“I thought that was you!” she exclaims, looking me up and down with barely concealed curiosity. “What on earth are you doing here? Everyone thought you’d moved overseas after… well, you know.”
The implied reference to my disastrous departure from the agency hangs between us. I force a smile. “Just working—social media management for the farm.”
“I saw the farm’s Instagram and just knew it had to be you behind those gorgeous photos,” Jessica says, pulling me in for a hug. “That aesthetic and those filters are unmistakable. Nobody does it like you do.”
I shift uncomfortably. “You drove three hours just to check if it was me?”
Jessica’s expression softens. “I was worried about you, Em. You disappeared without a word. No calls, no texts. After everything with Marcus…” She lowers her voice, glancing around. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
There’s concern in her voice, but I don’t buy it. Jessica and I were more friendly colleagues back at the agency than friends. Yet here she is, having tracked me down based on Instagram aesthetics.
“I’m fine,” I assure her, though my heart still races. “Better than fine, actually. I love it here.”
She looks surprised, and I can practically see the thoughts forming behind her eyes.
Social media for a farm? After being on track to become a senior account executive at one of the city’s top agencies? What a fall from grace.
“How… rustic,” she says finally. “Very different from Ashcroft Media.”
I nod, already looking for an escape route. “It suits me. Listen, I need to get back to work—”
“Wait,” she says, stepping closer. Her voice drops, taking on a conspiratorial tone. “Does Marcus know you’re here? He’s been looking for you, you know. Says you two have ‘unfinished business.’”
“I have nothing to say to Marcus,” I manage, my voice harder than before. “And my whereabouts are none of his concern.”
Jessica’s expression shifts, a calculating look replacing her faux friendliness. “He’d be very interested to know where you’ve landed, especially since you left him looking like the villain in everyone’s eyes. Do you know what it did to his reputation when you disappeared? The rumors that started?”
“Whatever rumors circulated were likely closer to the truth than the story he told,” I say, anger beginning to override my fear. “He attacked me, Jessica. He tried to force a bond. Sell my heat for investors, and that’s beside everything else.”
She waves a dismissive hand. “He says it was a misunderstanding. That you led him on, made him think you wanted the bond, then panicked and ran.” Her eyes narrow. “He’s been worried about you, Emma. Concerned.”
Marcus isn’t concerned; he’s furious. An alpha like him, used to getting what he wants, doesn’t take rejection well—especially not such public rejection.
“I need to go,” I say firmly, stepping back. “Enjoy your visit to the farm.”
“I think Marcus would really like to know you’re here,” she continues, her tone making it clear this is a threat.
“Working at a little farm in the middle of nowhere. Hiding.” She smiles, the expression not reaching her eyes.
“He always said you were wasting your potential, suppressing your true nature. Looks like he was right.”
I want to see him destroyed.
The thought blazes through me with surprising clarity and force, cutting through my fear. I stand straighter, drawing strength from the declaration I’ve just made.
“You can tell Marcus whatever you want,” I say. “I’m not afraid of him anymore.”
Jessica’s perfectly shaped eyebrows rise in surprise. “Really? That’s not the impression I’m getting from your face right now.” Her gaze drifts past me toward the main house. “This place is quaint. Marcus would find it interesting that you’ve gone so… rural.”
“Time for you to leave,” I say, stepping toward her rather than away. “I have nothing to say to you or to Marcus.”
“Actually, he’ll be thrilled to hear I found you,” she continues, pulling out her phone.
“He’s been absolutely obsessed; he even hired private investigators.
Did you know that? It’s not personal,” she continues.
“But Marcus is offering a generous reward for anyone who finds you, and I really need a new car.”
Fuck this bitch.
“Goodbye, Jessica.”
Before she can respond, a deep voice calls from behind me. “Everything alright over here?”
Rowan approaches casually, his steps measured, but his eyes are sharp. The burnt sugar notes in his scent have taken on a protective edge that makes my inner omega sigh with relief.
“Just catching up with an old colleague,” I say, not taking my eyes off Jessica, whose expression has shifted to one of keen interest as she takes Rowan’s approach.
“Well, hello,” she says, her voice dropping to a silky register I remember well from agency parties. She extends a manicured hand. “Jessica Wilson. Emma and I worked together at Ashcroft Media.”
Rowan takes her hand briefly, his face revealing nothing. “Rowan Home. This is my farm.”
The simple statement conveys unmistakable ownership, not just of the property but of the situation.
“Your farm? How lovely. I was just telling Emma how… unexpected it is to find her in such a rustic setting.”
“I’d say she fits in perfectly here,” Rowan replies, his voice pleasant but firm. His hand rests at the small of my back. “Though I’m afraid you’ve caught us at a busy time.”
Jessica’s eyes narrow at the dismissal, then dart between us, clearly noting Rowan’s protective stance. A calculating smile spreads across her face.
“Of course, I wouldn’t want to intrude. But Emma, we really should catch up properly.” She pulls a business card from her purse and holds it out. “Call me. For old times’ sake.”
I don’t take the card. “Goodbye, Jessica.”
She shrugs, tucking the card back into her purse. “Have it your way. Marcus will be interested to know where you have been all this time.”
The threat hangs in the air as she turns and walks away, her designer boots impractical on the gravel path. I watch until she reaches a sleek silver car parked near the entrance.
Needs a new car, my ass!
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
“An old friend?” Rowan asks quietly when she’s out of earshot.
“The opposite.” My voice sounds distant to my own ears. She works with Marcus, my ex.”
Rowan’s hand at my back tightens slightly, drawing me closer to his side. “The one you’re running from.”
I nod. “She’ll tell him where I am. He’ll come. He thinks he owns me.”
“Let him.” His statement carries such quiet certainty that I look up at Rowan in surprise. His expression is calm but resolute. “This is our territory, our home. He has no power here.”
I want to believe him and trust in the safety he’s offering, but fear has been my companion for too long to be easily dismissed.
“You don’t know him,” I say. “What he’s capable of.”
“And he doesn’t know us,” Rowan counters, turning to face me fully. His hands come to rest on my shoulders, warm and steady. “Emma, listen to me. You are not alone anymore. You have a pack now. We protect our own.”
My eyes burn with unexpected tears. “I can’t put you all in danger.”
“You’re not. You are ours, and this is your home now. Nothing will happen to you.”