Chapter 25 Emma
Chapter twenty-five
Emma
The bagel shop on Lexington opened at five.
I knew because I'd been here before—back when Elion was three employees and a dream stapled together with caffeine and spite. Back when I couldn't afford to sleep past four, couldn't miss a single opportunity, couldn't be anything less than perfect.
I'd forgotten the city had a hush like this. How the streets belonged to delivery trucks and joggers and the occasional person who, like me, had too much in their head to sleep.
The bell above the door chimed as I stepped inside. The same cracked leather booth in the corner. The same smell of fresh bread and burned coffee. The same disinterested teenager behind the counter who didn't care.
I ordered a cinnamon raisin bagel with cream cheese. Sat down. Watched the steam curl from my paper cup of tea.
And let myself think.
I'd make the same choice again.
The words had been echoing in my skull for hours. Through the sleepless night in that guest room, the silent packing of my bag, the elevator ride down and the walk through the streets.
He'd said it without hesitation. Without apology. Like it was simple—like lying, forging, rewriting my company's reality was just another box to tick.
Protect Emma. Check.
I tore off a piece of bagel. Chewed without tasting.
Who gave him the right?
The answer came immediately, unwelcome and undeniable.
You did.
I shoved it down. Took another bite.
The collar sat warm against my throat. I'd thought about taking it off this morning—had stood in front of that guest room mirror, tension straining the chain, ready to undo everything.
I'd stood there for five full minutes, staring at my reflection, willing myself to pull.
To take back the promise.
To prove I didn't need him or his protection or any of the things he'd offered me.
The chain had stayed where it was.
Coward, the old voice whispered. You can't even commit to your own anger.
But it wasn't cowardice. Not really.
If he hadn't done it—if he'd let the real numbers come to light, let the merger collapse, let Elion fall—
I would have shattered.
Not cracked. Not bent. Shattered. Into a thousand jagged pieces that no amount of love or patience or devotion could have put back together.
Elion wasn't just a company. It was my proof.
My evidence that I was more than what my childhood had made me.
That I could build something from nothing, something mine, something no one could take away.
And I would have watched it die.
The realization seeped into my bones, heavy and undeniable.
He didn't just save Elion. He saved me.
And in the quiet, rebuilt corners of my soul—the ones he'd mended piece by piece—I knew he always would.
Every time.
I set the bagel down. Pressed my palms flat against the table.
So what now?
The ethical argument was clear. What he'd done was wrong. Fraud. Forgery. A federal crime wrapped in good intentions. If anyone found out—if Nathan ever got proof—it wouldn't just be Damien's career on the line. It would be mine.
He'd gambled with my future without asking permission.
And he'd won.
You're angry because he was right.
My thumbnail dug into the styrofoam cup. A crescent appeared, then another.
I hated that voice. The one that always cut through my bullshit.
But it wasn't wrong.
I would have lost everything—because my morals wouldn't bend.
You needed him.
My whole body rejected it. Shoulders tightening. Jaw clenching.
No.
I don't need anyone.
I built Elion from nothing. I survived my mother. I clawed my way out of a childhood designed to break me and I did it alone, without help, without—
Except, I hadn't.
Hadn't survived my childhood, not really. My mother's voice still ringing in my head, poking holes in the confidence Damien was trying to mend.
But I didn't need anyone to do that. I could.
I could be the woman who could handle her own problems, who didn't require someone to swoop in and save her from herself.
That's not what this is.
The promises. The vows.
This is what that looks like, Emma. Even when it's messy. Even when it's hard.
He'd done exactly what I'd asked him to do.
And I'd punished him for it.
The tea had gone cold.
The bagel sat untouched now, cream cheese congealing at the edges.
Someone behind me ordered an everything with lox—the smell sharp, almost aggressive—and the register slammed shut with a metallic clang.
I'd been sitting here for over an hour. My back ached from the cracked leather booth.
Unethical, I catalogued. Morally gray at best. Criminal at worst.
But also: necessary.
Also: effective.
The bagel shop had filled slightly—a few more early risers trickling in, lost in their own thoughts, their own crises.
My phone sat dark on the table. I'd silenced it hours ago. Hadn't checked it since.
I knew what I'd find if I did. Missed calls. Voicemails.
The audio proof of a man on the edge. Pacing the penthouse, calling my name, wondering if I'd remain.
Part of me wanted him to suffer.
The petty, wounded part.
Good, it whispered. Let him pace. Let him panic. Let him feel what it's like to have someone make choices about your life without asking.
Let him wonder if you're coming back.
I let myself feel it. The vindictive satisfaction. The sharp-edged pleasure of knowing he was suffering.
Then I let it go.
Because holding onto it felt like swallowing poison and hoping he'd be the one to choke.
The rest of me—the part that remembered his face in the streetlight, the vulnerability cracking through his certainty, the way he'd said I can take it and meant every word—
That part just wanted to go home.
Home.
I pulled out my phone. The screen lit up with notifications.
Six missed calls.
Three voicemails.
One text: I'm sorry.
My thumb hovered over the voicemail icon.
He's not perfect.
No.
He made a choice that wasn't his to make.
Yes.
And you're going to forgive him anyway.
I stood up. Tossed the bagel and tea and stepped into the early morning heat, already thick despite the hour.
Because beneath all of the truths. All the betrayals. The anger. The fear and the wounded pride—
I trusted him.
Still.
Even now.
Maybe especially now.
The penthouse lobby came into view. I paused at the door, one hand on the glass, my reflection staring back.
You're really doing this.
Yes.
You need him.
I let the words settle. Let them exist.
Yes.
I needed him.
And maybe that wasn't weakness after all.
Maybe it was just love.
And I was done running from it.