The Confident Mrs. Prescott
The charity gala was in full swing inside the grand ballroom of the city’s most exclusive hotel.
Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, soft classical music floated through the air, and elegantly dressed guests mingled with champagne flutes in hand.
Jesse stood near one of the tall marble columns, trying his best to maintain a polite distance from Francesca Monroe.
The young woman was relentless. She clung to his arm like a vine, pressing her body close every chance she got, laughing a little too loudly at things that weren’t funny, and constantly finding excuses to touch his shoulder or fix his already-perfect bowtie.
“Jesse, darling, you really should dance with me,” she purred, leaning in so her perfume enveloped him. “Everyone’s watching. We look so good together.”
Jesse subtly shifted away, gently but firmly removing her hand from his sleeve for the third time in ten minutes. “I’m not in the mood for dancing tonight, Francesca.”
She pouted dramatically and immediately looped her arm through his again. “Oh, come on. Don’t be so cold. Your mother said you needed someone to keep you company—”
He pulled away once more, jaw tight, creating space between them. The whole thing was almost comical... Francesca’s persistent clinging versus Jesse’s constant, quiet evasion. He looked like a man trying to escape a particularly determined octopus.
Before Francesca could latch on again, the entrance doors opened.
Alexander and Emery walked in.
Alexander looked every bit the composed elder brother in his tailored black tuxedo, calm and perfectly groomed. But it was Emery who stole the breath from the room.
She looked simple yet breathtakingly elegant, quiet beauty that didn’t scream for attention but demanded it anyway.
Jesse froze.
His mind went completely blank.
He had seen her in the office, in casual clothes, even in that peachy-pink bridesmaid dress on the worst day of his life… but this? This was something else entirely.
She looked so beautiful it hurt.
So kissable it made his chest ache.
His eyes widened, completely mind-blown. For a moment, the entire gala faded away. All he could see was her... the way the light-blue satin caught the chandelier light and made her skin glow, the gentle curve of her waist, the soft vulnerability in her stormy eyes.
His heart slammed against his ribs. He wanted to cross the room, pull her into his arms, and kiss her until the whole world disappeared.
Instead, he stood rooted in place, Francesca still trying to cling to his arm while he barely registered her presence.
Alexander offered Emery his arm politely. She took it with quiet hesitation, her gaze scanning the room until it landed on Jesse.
Their eyes met across the crowded ballroom.
For one electric second, everything else vanished. Jesse’s expression was raw... stunned, possessive, and filled with a longing so deep it was almost painful. He didn’t smile. He didn’t look away. He simply stared, completely undone by how breathtaking she looked.
Ivy followed a few steps behind them, grinning brightly as she spotted her brothers.
Francesca noticed the shift in Jesse immediately. Her grip on his arm tightened possessively, but he didn’t even seem to notice.
Emery quickly looked away, cheeks flushing, but the brief eye contact had already sent her heart racing.
Jesse remained frozen, the elegant light-blue gown and the woman wearing it burning themselves into his memory.
He had never wanted anything more in his life.
And he had never felt more powerless.
×××××××
Ivy had just led Emery deeper into the crowd when Harper and Rebecca spotted them. Both women zeroed in immediately, their expressions tightening with displeasure.
Harper was the first to speak, not even bothering to lower her voice. “Ivy, why on earth did you bring this embarrassment to the gala? Right in front of everyone?”
Rebecca’s gaze swept over Emery’s light-blue satin gown with clear disapproval. “Exactly. This is a Prescott family event. We have an image to uphold. Parading her around like she belongs here only invites questions and pity.”
Emery stood tall beside Ivy, her hand lightly resting on the ruched bodice of her gown. Her stormy eyes met theirs without flinching.
Before Ivy could respond, Emery spoke, her voice calm but edged with quiet steel.
“I am not an embarrassment,” she said clearly. “I am Alexander’s wife. Whether any of you like it or not, that gives me every right to be here. This is my family now too.”
The words landed with surprising force. Harper’s mouth opened, then closed again. Rebecca’s eyebrows rose slightly, caught off guard by the quiet defiance.
Ivy grinned beside her, clearly proud.
A moment later, a group of well-dressed guests approached, an older couple and their adult daughter, all smiling politely.
“Mrs. Prescott,” the woman greeted Rebecca warmly, then turned to the group. “And who is this lovely young lady?”
Emery stepped forward smoothly before anyone else could speak. She offered a warm, confident smile, the kind that felt perfectly at home in Prescott circles, and extended her hand with graceful ease.
“Good evening,” she said, her tone friendly yet polished, carrying just the right touch of elegance. “I’m Emery Prescott, Alexander’s wife. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The guests lit up, clearly charmed. “Alexander’s wife! How wonderful. We hadn’t had the chance to congratulate you properly yet.”
Emery continued with natural poise, “Thank you so much. We’re both very grateful for everyone’s support tonight. The cause is so important.”
Rebecca and Harper stood frozen, watching in stunned silence as Emery handled the introduction with surprising confidence and warmth. There was nothing meek or out of place about her. She sounded every bit the Prescott wife... composed, gracious, and perfectly mannered.
As the guests moved on with pleasant goodbyes, Harper muttered under her breath, “Well, look at that. The little mouse finally knows how to squeak properly.”
Rebecca said nothing, but her sharp eyes narrowed, reassessing the young woman standing before her with new, reluctant interest.
Emery simply turned back to Ivy, a small, quiet smile on her lips, not triumphant, but steady.
She had drawn her line.
And for the first time, the family felt it.
×××××××
Emery stayed close by Alexander’s side throughout the early part of the evening, surprising the entire family with how gracefully she handled herself.
Whenever guests approached, she greeted them with quiet confidence and warm poise, the kind of effortless elegance that belonged in Prescott circles.
She smiled at the right moments, offered polite compliments, and spoke about the charity cause with genuine interest.
Even Rebecca and Harper exchanged stunned glances more than once, clearly taken aback by the young woman who had once been relegated to doing dishes now carrying herself like she belonged there.
At one point, the crowd and the constant conversation began to weigh on her. Emery touched Alexander’s arm lightly and murmured, “I’m going to sit down for a bit. My feet are starting to ache.”
Alexander gave a small nod. “Of course. Take your time.”
She excused herself gracefully and made her way to a quieter area near the bar.
A passing waiter offered her a tray of sparkling water. She took a glass, sipped slowly, then took another sip, letting the cool liquid soothe her.
Absentmindedly, her free hand drifted to her still-flat stomach. A small, private smile touched her lips as she thought about the tiny life growing inside her.
Then it hit.
The familiar wave of nausea rose sharply, fast and unforgiving. Her stomach churned violently. Emery’s face paled. She set the glass down carefully on the nearest surface and looked around, trying not to draw attention.
“Excuse me,” she asked a nearby server, voice tight, “where is the nearest restroom?”
The server pointed toward a discreet hallway on the left.
Emery thanked him quickly and bolted, moving as fast as the elegant floor-length gown would allow without causing a scene.
Her hand pressed lightly over her mouth as she hurried down the corridor, the shiny light-blue satin whispering against the marble floor.
×××××××
Emery barely made it into the stall before her body betrayed her again. She dropped to her knees, gripping the edge of the toilet as violent nausea surged through her. She heaved, tears stinging her eyes from the effort, her slender frame shaking with each wave.
Then she felt it... a gentle hand gathering her hair, carefully pulling it back from her face and holding it securely at the nape of her neck. The touch was steady, familiar, and heartbreakingly tender.
When the sickness finally passed, Emery gasped for air, flushed the toilet with a trembling hand, and slowly lifted her head.
It was Jesse.
He knelt beside her on the cold marble floor of the luxurious restroom, his black tuxedo jacket discarded somewhere, sleeves rolled up to his forearms.
His eyes were filled with worry and something deeper... raw, unguarded concern. His light stubble shadowed his sharp jaw, and his dark hair was slightly tousled from running his fingers through it.
“Emery…” he said softly, voice low and careful, as if afraid she might shatter. “Are you alright? Let me get you some water—”
She pulled away sharply from his touch, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her stormy eyes, still watery from vomiting, hardened into cold steel.
“I’m fine,” she said flatly, her tone rude and clipped. “I don’t need your help.”
Jesse flinched but didn’t retreat. He stayed kneeling, voice gentle. “You don’t look fine. You’ve been sick twice tonight. Let me...”
“I said I’m fine,” she cut him off, voice sharper this time. She pushed herself up on unsteady legs, refusing to look at him. “Go back to your date, Jesse. Francesca is probably wondering where her perfect escort disappeared to.”
The words stung, but Jesse tried again, keeping his tone even, almost pleading for normalcy. “Emery, please. I’m not here as anyone’s date. I saw you leave suddenly and I got worried. We used to talk. Can we just… talk for a minute? Like normal people?”
She let out a bitter, humorless laugh as she straightened her light-blue satin gown with shaky hands. “Normal? There’s nothing normal about us anymore. You made sure of that when you chose to be a coward instead of a man.”
Jesse’s face paled, pain flashing across his features, but he still reached out instinctively when she swayed. “Emery...”
She turned to leave, but the dizziness hit her like a wave. The world tilted violently. Her legs buckled, and she started to fall forward.
Jesse moved fast. His strong arms caught her around the waist, pulling her securely against his chest before she could hit the floor.
For a brief second, she was pressed against him, the familiar warmth of his body, the scent of his cologne, the steady beat of his heart under her cheek.
Emery stiffened immediately, pushing weakly against his chest. “Let go of me.”
Jesse didn’t release her right away. His voice dropped to a whisper, rough with emotion. “I’ve got you. Just breathe.”
She shoved harder, cold and rude even as dizziness still clouded her vision. “I said let go. I don’t need you. I don’t want you here.”
He finally loosened his hold, helping her steady herself against the sink. His hands lingered for half a second longer than necessary, as if letting go physically hurt him.
Emery straightened, refusing to meet his eyes. “Go back to the party, Jesse. Your family is waiting. And so is Francesca.”
With that, she turned and walked out of the restroom on unsteady legs, leaving Jesse standing alone, his arms still aching from holding her, his heart shattering all over again.
×××××××