My Own Home
Emery walked into the sleek living room carrying a tray of fresh tea, her steps quiet on the polished dark marble floor.
Harper was there again as usual. The woman never seemed to stay in her own home. She was perched on the black leather couch like she owned the place, scrolling through her phone.
The moment Emery entered, Harper stood up, scooped Kitty from the play mat, and practically shoved the baby into Emery’s arms without a word. Then she sat back down with a satisfied smirk.
Sitting beside Rebecca was a stunning young woman... charming, impeccably fashionable, with sharp features and confident posture. She assessed Emery from head to toe with cool, appraising eyes.
“This is the replacement bride?” the woman asked, her voice smooth but laced with mockery.
“Yeah,” Rebecca replied tiredly, sipping her tea.
“Emery, this is Francesca,” Rebecca continued. “She’s a very special guest.”
Francesca tilted her head, a cruel little smile playing on her lips. “Where are your manners, replacement?”
Emery quickly adjusted Kitty on her hip, keeping her voice steady despite the insult. “Good morning. I’m Emery—”
“I already know who you are,” Francesca cut in, waving a dismissive hand. “Tell me about your impressive skills. How exactly does one trap an innocent man and get him to knock you up on the very first night of marriage? Quite the achievement for someone who used to live paycheck to paycheck.”
Harper let out a sharp laugh. “She’s got talent, I’ll give her that. From hand-me-downs to carrying the Prescott heir in record time. Must be exhausting pretending to be fragile and innocent all the time.”
Rebecca leaned back, her tone cold. “Some women know exactly how to play the victim card. One night with my son and suddenly she’s pregnant. How convenient.”
Emery’s eyes flashed. She shifted Kitty higher on her hip and spoke quietly but firmly, refusing to stay completely silent this time.
“I didn’t trap anyone,” she said, voice steady even though her heart was racing. “I was forced into this marriage the same day Camilla ran away. I didn’t ask for any of this. And I certainly didn’t plan a pregnancy to ‘secure’ anything.”
Francesca raised an elegant eyebrow. “Oh, listen to her. So defensive. You really think anyone believes that sweet, quiet act? You saw your chance and took it. Now you’re walking around this house like you belong here.”
Harper smirked. “Exactly. Poor little orphan girl finally hit the jackpot. Must feel nice to go from charity case to Mrs. Prescott overnight.”
Emery’s grip on Kitty tightened slightly, but she kept her chin up.
“I never asked to be Mrs. Prescott. And I certainly never asked to be spoken to like this in my own home. If you have such a low opinion of me, Francesca, perhaps you should direct your questions to Alexander instead of insulting a woman holding a baby.”
The room went momentarily still. Francesca’s charming smile faltered for a split second, clearly struck by the quiet defiance. Harper’s eyes narrowed, surprised that the “doormat” had actually talked back.
Rebecca’s expression hardened. “Careful, Emery. You’re still new here. Don’t forget your place.”
Before anyone could respond, Francesca leaned forward with a saccharine smile. “Speaking of places… I’m actually here because I’ll be Jesse’s date for the family charity gala tonight. It should be a lovely evening. He always did know how to choose good company.”
Emery felt the words land like a punch to the gut, but she kept her face carefully neutral, even as her heart twisted painfully. Jesse’s date. Of course.
She adjusted Kitty once more and spoke softly but clearly, “Then I hope you both enjoy the evening.”
With that, she turned and walked out of the living room, carrying the baby with as much dignity as she could manage, leaving the three women behind her.
Harper’s mocking laugh followed her down the hallway, but Emery didn’t look back.
×××××××
Jesse sat behind his desk in his office, phone pressed tightly to his ear, his free hand clenched into a fist on the polished surface. His voice was low but furious as he argued with his mother.
“No, Mom. I’m not taking Francesca to the gala. I already told you this morning.”
Rebecca’s sharp voice crackled through the speaker. “Jesse, don’t be ridiculous. She’s perfect for you... beautiful, well-connected, from a good family. You’ve been single for far too long. It’s time you started thinking about your future.”
Jesse’s jaw tightened, his dark brown eyes flashing with anger. “My future is not your business to arrange. I’m not interested in Francesca Monroe, and I’m not going to parade her around like some trophy just to make you happy.”
“You’re being stubborn and selfish,” Rebecca snapped. “This family needs stability. After everything that’s happened with Alexander’s marriage, we can’t afford more scandals. Francesca would be an excellent match.”
Jesse let out a bitter laugh. “Stability? You mean control. I decide who I spend time with. Not you. Not anyone.”
He didn’t wait for her reply. With a sharp motion, he hung up the phone and tossed it onto the desk, breathing hard.
The door opened a moment later. Alexander walked in carrying two takeout bags, placing them on the desk before sitting down across from his brother.
“What happened?” Alexander asked calmly, though his observant eyes noted Jesse’s tense posture.
Jesse sighed heavily, running a hand through his dark hair. “She’s setting me up with Francesca again. For the gala tonight.”
“Francesca Monroe?” Alexander raised an eyebrow.
Jesse nodded, leaning back in his chair with a frustrated exhale.
Alexander let out a short laugh. “Mom’s really determined. She’s gonna make sure Francesca ends up in your bed by the end of the night.”
Jesse rolled his eyes, not amused. “It’s not funny, Alexander.”
Alexander composed himself, though a small smile still lingered. “Come on. You’ve been single for years. You have to marry someone eventually.”
Jesse’s expression hardened, his intense dark brown eyes locking onto his brother’s. “I decide who I marry. Not Mom. Not you. Not anyone else.”
The words came out sharper than he intended, heavy with everything he couldn’t say... the secret love he still carried for the woman now married to the man sitting across from him.
Alexander studied him for a long moment, the smile fading into quiet curiosity, but he didn’t push further. He simply nodded and started unpacking the lunch.
“Fair enough,” he said quietly. “Just don’t let Mom drive you crazy.”
Jesse stared at the food without appetite, his mind already drifting to Emery, wondering how she was coping with another day in that house, carrying a child, while he was being pushed toward someone else.
The silence between the brothers felt heavier than usual.
×××××××
The family was gathered in the sleek living room for afternoon tea. Soft light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm glow over the black leather couches and marble surfaces.
Alexander had returned from the office a short while ago and still wore his tailored work clothes, suit jacket unbuttoned, tie loosened. He sat quietly in an armchair, listening as his sister made her case.
Ivy was leaning forward, eyes bright with determination. “Emery, you have to come to the gala tonight. It’s a family event. You’re part of this family now. It’ll be good for you to get out of the house for once.”
Grandpa Prescott nodded firmly from his seat, teacup in hand. “I agree with Ivy. You should attend. It’s important for the family to present a united front.”
Emery sat on the edge of the couch, hands folded tightly in her lap, her hair tied back neatly. She looked tired, her stormy eyes downcast. “I… I don’t think I should. I’ve been feeling a bit sick lately, and the crowd, the noise... it might be too much. I wouldn’t want to embarrass anyone.”
Ivy waved a hand dismissively. “You won’t embarrass anyone. You’ll be fine. Come on, it’ll be fun. You can wear one of the new dresses Jesse bought for you.”
Alexander listened in silence, his calm, observant gaze shifting between his sister and his wife. He finally spoke, his voice even and reasonable. “Ivy, if she doesn’t want to come, let her be. There’s no need to pressure her.”
Emery glanced at Ivy and added quietly, almost apologetically, “Your mother won’t like it if I show up.”
Ivy let out a dramatic snort and rolled her eyes. “She can go fuck herself.”
The words hung in the air for a second. Alexander’s lips twitched into a faint, barely-there smile, the first crack in his usual composure. “Ivy, behave.”
Grandpa Prescott chuckled softly under his breath.
Ivy didn’t even flinch at her own boldness. She leaned closer to Emery, her tone turning gentle but insistent. “Seriously, Emery. You deserve one night where you’re not stuck in this house doing chores or hiding in your room. Please? For me?”
Emery hesitated, biting her lower lip. She looked down at her hands, then back at Ivy’s hopeful face. After a long pause, she finally gave in with a small, reluctant nod.
“Okay… I’ll come.”
Ivy let out a triumphant little squeal and clapped her hands. “Yes! That’s my girl. We’ll find you something beautiful to wear.”
Alexander watched the exchange quietly, his faint smile fading back into his usual restrained expression. He said nothing more, but his eyes lingered on Emery for a moment longer.
Emery forced a small smile, but inside, dread coiled in her stomach. A gala meant seeing Jesse. It meant watching him with Francesca. It meant pretending she was fine while carrying a secret that could destroy everything.
And yet, for the first time in weeks, someone had actually wanted her to be there.
×××××××
Emery stood nervously in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom, her reflection staring back at her with wide, uncertain eyes.
The strapless, floor-length gown Ivy had chosen for her was stunning... shiny light-blue satin that caught the light with every small movement.
The fitted bodice featured a draped, ruched front that cinched elegantly at the waist before flowing into a full, graceful skirt with a subtle train. It was sleek, formal, and far more luxurious than anything Emery had ever worn.
Ivy stood behind her, carefully arranging Emery’s long chestnut-brown hair into soft, elegant waves that cascaded past her shoulders. A few wispy curtain bangs framed her fair face, softening the look. Ivy stepped back with a satisfied smile.
“You look beautiful,” she said warmly. “Really, Emery. The color makes your eyes pop. Tonight, you’re going to turn heads.”
Emery offered a small, hesitant smile, smoothing her hands down the shiny fabric. She felt exposed... both by the dress and by the idea of stepping into a crowded gala as Alexander’s wife. “Thank you, Ivy. It’s… very pretty.”
At that moment, Alexander emerged from the bathroom, adjusting the cuffs of his crisp black tuxedo.
He stopped mid-step when he saw her, his calm, observant eyes slowly assessing her from head to toe.
For a brief second, he took in the way the light-blue satin hugged her slender frame, the elegant drape of the bodice, and the soft glow it gave her fair skin.
Ivy turned to her brother with a grin. “Well? How does she look?”
Alexander gave a single, measured nod. His voice was even and polite, carrying no warmth, no spark of romance... just quiet acknowledgment.
“She looks pretty.”
Nothing more. No compliment on how the dress suited her, no soft smile, no lingering gaze. Just that simple, detached statement.
Emery lowered her eyes, a faint flush coloring her cheeks. She whispered a quiet “Thank you,” but the words felt heavy in the air.
Alexander finished adjusting his cufflinks and turned toward the door. “We should leave soon. The car is waiting.”
Ivy shot her brother a quick, disappointed glance, but said nothing. She gave Emery’s shoulder a gentle squeeze instead. “Come on. Let’s go show you off even if my brother is being his usual emotionally constipated self.”
Emery managed another small smile, but inside, the exchange only deepened the hollow feeling in her chest. She looked beautiful on the outside, yet she had never felt more invisible.
×××××××