Chapter Nine
Emily
The heavy silk of the Vera Wang gown pooled around Emily’s feet like spun snow. She stared at her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror of the VIP bridal suite, a glass of complimentary champagne resting in her manicured hand.
She looked perfect. She looked exactly like the wealthy, untouchable society wife she had always deserved to be.
A giddy, bubbly laugh escaped her lips as her mind drifted back to the night of the engagement.
It had been flawless. Ryan had rented out the entire penthouse terrace of a very chic downtown hotel.
The guest list had been a who's-who of the city's elite. She remembered looking across the patio and seeing Ryan’s mother—a notoriously icy matriarch who had finally thawed—cooing and drooling over little Charles, holding her grandson like he was the crown prince.
And then, Ryan had gotten down on one knee, opening a velvet box to reveal a radiant-cut diamond so massive it practically caught its own gravitational pull.
It was the ultimate victory. She had secured the bag, the ring, and the bloodline.
"Emily, darling, are you going to come out and show us, or keep that masterpiece all to yourself?"
The voice of Ryan’s sister, Claire, broke through the memory. Emily took a final sip of her champagne, plastered on her most radiant, winning smile, and stepped out from behind the velvet curtain into the center of the private showroom.
A collective gasp echoed in the room.
Ryan’s mother, seated on a plush ivory sofa, pressed a hand to her pearls. Beside her, Claire was bouncing six-month-old Charles on her lap. Her three carefully selected bridesmaids—women she had befriended specifically for their social standing—beamed with envy.
"Oh, Emily," her mother-in-law breathed, her eyes shining. "It is absolutely exquisite. You look like royalty."
"Thank you, Elizabeth," Emily beamed, twirling slightly to let the train fan out. She looked at her son, who babbled happily in his aunt's arms. "I just want Ryan to be proud when I walk down that aisle."
"He’s already a very lucky man," Claire smiled, lifting a crystal flute. "To the future Mrs. Sinclair!"
"To the bride!" the women echoed, their champagne glasses clinking in a chorus of wealth and privilege. They spent the next hour talking about floral arrangements, the five-star hotel catering menu, and the endless, exhausting details of a high-society wedding.
When they finally left the boutique, stepping out into the crisp afternoon air, the group exchanged air-kisses and parted ways.
The moment their luxury SUVs pulled away from the curb, Emily’s radiant, attentive smile instantly dropped. Her jaw ached from faking it. She turned to the young woman standing quietly behind her, holding the baby and the diaper bag.
"Take Charles home," Emily instructed the nanny, waving a dismissive hand. "I need an afternoon to myself to decompress. Make sure he's fed before Ryan gets back."
"Yes, Ms. Bennett," the nanny nodded, securing the baby in the back of the town car.
Emily turned and walked toward the high-end, multi-level shopping pavilion down the street. She wanted to walk around, look in the luxury windows, and just enjoy the intoxicating feeling of having absolutely no budget.
She was admiring a display of designer handbags when she saw him.
He was carrying a massive stack of oversized shoe boxes out from a stockroom, wearing a cheap, ill-fitting polo shirt with the logo of a mid-tier department store. His face was gaunt, his hair was unkempt, and there were dark, exhausted bags under his eyes.
Harrison.
Emily paused, a slow, wicked smile spreading across her lips. It was almost too perfect. She couldn't resist.
She walked into the store, her designer heels clicking sharply against the tile. She stopped right in front of him just as he set the boxes down.
Harrison looked up. He froze, the color draining entirely from his pale face.
"Hello, Harry," Emily purred. "Working hard?"
Harrison swallowed, his jaw clenching. He looked like he wanted to scream, but he was trapped in his uniform, trapped in his miserable reality. "What do you want, Emily?"
"Nothing at all," she said breezily. She reached up to push a stray lock of hair behind her ear, making sure her left hand flashed directly in his line of sight. The massive, flawless diamond caught the harsh fluorescent lights of the store, throwing prisms of light across the walls.
Harrison’s eyes dropped to the ring. He stared at it, the last remaining shred of his pride visibly crumbling.
"Just doing some wedding shopping," Emily continued, twisting the knife. "It’s going to be the event of the season. I'd invite you, but... well, I don't think you own a tuxedo anymore. Keep up the good work, Harry."
She turned on her heel and walked out, her heart soaring with malicious glee. She had won. She had absolutely, unequivocally won.
Emily returned to the sprawling, multi-million-dollar Sinclair estate an hour later, floating on a cloud of retail therapy and petty vindication.
She walked through the grand foyer, dropping her shopping bags on the marble floor. The house was entirely silent. The nanny and Charles must have been in the nursery wing.
She walked down the long, carpeted hallway toward Ryan’s home office to tell him about the dress. As she got closer, she noticed the heavy oak door was slightly ajar.
And then, she heard it.
A low, breathy moan. Followed by a wet, rhythmic slapping sound, and a deep, masculine groan that she recognized instantly.
Emily stopped dead in her tracks. Her blood turned to ice water.
She crept forward, her hand trembling as she pushed the door open just a few more inches.
Ryan was sitting back in his leather armchair. He was still wearing his tailored suit jacket, but his pants were unzipped and pushed down. Straddling his lap, completely naked, was a blonde woman with her head thrown back, riding him with an aggressive, desperate rhythm.
"Ryan!" Emily shrieked, the sound tearing from her throat in a raw, hysterical pitch.
The woman gasped, freezing and scrambling to cover her chest. Ryan didn't jump. He didn't scramble. He simply stopped moving, letting out a heavy, annoyed sigh. He looked past the naked woman on his lap and locked eyes with Emily.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Emily screamed, tears of absolute fury springing to her eyes. "Are you actually cheating on me right now? In our house? How could you do this?!"
"Emily, lower your voice," Ryan said, his tone terrifyingly calm and completely devoid of guilt. He pulled the woman against him, tucking her head under his chin and running his fingers through her hair in a protective embrace that made Emily’s heart ache.
"You don't need to make a fuss. Go upstairs to our room and wait for me. "
Emily stared at him, her chest heaving, her mind snapping under the sheer audacity of the command. "Go upstairs? You must be out of your damn mind if you think I'm going upstairs!"
Ryan’s eyes darkened. The calm facade dropped, replaced by the cold, ruthless titan who crushed people for a living.
"I said," Ryan’s voice dropped an octave, the tone vibrating with a dark, absolute authority, "go. Now."
The look in his eyes made Emily’s breath catch in her throat. It was a look that promised complete destruction if she disobeyed. The realization hit her with sickening clarity: he wasn't Harrison. She couldn't manipulate him. He owned the house, the money, and her lifestyle.
Trembling, completely stripped of her power, Emily backed away. She turned and fled down the hallway.
Before she even reached the stairs, she heard the moans start again. Louder this time.
She sat on the edge of the king-sized bed in their master suite for nearly an hour, sobbing, her perfectly manicured nails digging into her palms. The victory of the bridal store and the smugness at the mall had evaporated, leaving behind a cold, terrifying reality.
Finally, the bedroom door opened.
Ryan walked in. His suit was perfectly adjusted, his tie knotted, his cuffs immaculate. He walked over to the dresser and began taking off his watch, entirely unbothered.
Emily launched herself off the bed, flying across the room and slamming her fists into his chest.
"You bastard!" she screamed, hitting him again. "You liar! You cheating piece of trash! You had no right!"
Ryan easily caught both of her wrists in one of his hands, gripping her tight enough to bruise, and pushed her back a step.
"Stop it, Emily. You're being hysterical," he said calmly, looking down at her. "You are exaggerating a situation that has absolutely nothing to do with you."
"Nothing to do with me?!" she sobbed, struggling against his grip. "I am your fiancé! I am wearing your ring! Who the hell was she?"
"Sloane. She's a junior associate at the firm," Ryan answered, as casually as if he were reading a grocery list. He let go of her wrists and smoothed his tie. "And it was just sex, Emily. Nothing more."
"You didn't even use a condom!" she cried, the absolute humiliation and betrayal slicing deep into her chest. "I saw you! You told me you loved me!"
"I do love you," Ryan said smoothly. He reached out, his hand cupping her cheek.
His touch felt like a snake slithering across her skin.
"You are a beautiful woman. You gave me a beautiful son, and you give me the perfect image for my partners.
You are the mother of my children, and you are the woman I am going to marry. "
He leaned in close.
"I am a powerful man, Emily," Ryan whispered. "And powerful men have appetites. Sex with Sloane, or anyone else, changes absolutely nothing for us. You get the ring, the chic hotel wedding, and the estate. I get to do what I want. That is the arrangement."
Emily stared at him, the tears freezing on her face.
She looked around the massive, luxurious bedroom. She looked at the diamond on her finger. And then she looked at the man she was tied to.
She had spent years manipulating men, using their guilt and love to get whatever she wanted. She thought she was the predator. But looking into Ryan’s cold, unyielding eyes, Emily finally realized the horrifying truth.
She wasn't the predator. She was just the property.
Ryan didn't give her time to process the utter defeat. He stepped forward, his hands gripping her waist, and pulled her flush against him. He captured her lips in a hard, intense kiss that demanded absolute submission.
When he pulled back, he brushed his thumb over her trembling lower lip.
"I love you, Emily," he murmured, his eyes dark and victorious. "Don't ever forget it."