Chapter 10
Emery's POV
I left without finishing the drink I never had. The wind had picked up by the time I was back on the street once more, slicing through my coat like it wasn't there.
At my apartment, I sat in silence. The folder lay on the table, now untouched, but every word burned in my brain. I'd never felt so dumb. So manipulated. I'd believed I'd been careful. I'd established rules, set boundaries. But Roman had crossed every one of them and made me believe I'd wanted him to.
I didn't weep. I was too angry for that.
I visited the penthouse once more that night. Something was on my mind. I didn't sleep. So I did something for which I was ashamed.
I went to the penthouse again.
Nathan was not present. The security system was still accepting my code. I shouldn't have been aware of that. But Roman had lowered his guard once, and I remembered.
I reminded myself I needed closure. One additional piece of evidence. Something to hold over his head when the time came.
The house was still. Bitterly cold. As it always was when Roman was away. But I knew where to look now. The study. The one that had been inaccessible until now.
The cabinet behind the bookcase swung open with a gentle click. More folders. Legal documents. Trusts. Property deeds. Tax returns. And then I saw it my name.
I caught my breath as I pulled out the file.
There it was. A prenuptial agreement. Signed. Dated. Witnessed.
Except. it was signed by me.
I blinked, racing heart. I did not sign this. I never did.
It was dated three weeks ago.
The signature was perfect. Too perfect.
The door creaked behind me. I stood still.
Roman.
He stood in the doorway, his expression impassive, his voice low and weary. "I told myself I'd tell you. I just needed more time."
I held the prenup between us. "You forged my signature."
"I didn't," he replied hastily. "It's not what it seems."
"It seems like I'm just a name on paper. A pawn in your game. Again."
He stepped closer, but I stepped back. I could not abide the look in his eyes. Not when I had no idea what was lie and what was truth.
"I was going to tell you everything," he said. "But I knew once I did, I'd lose you."
"You never had me," I whispered. "You just purchased me. And disguised it as love."
The space between us was heavy with silence.
"Emery, please."
"I trusted you," I said to him. My voice cracked. "And you used me. You were supposed to take care of me."
He said nothing. Not a word. And somehow, that hurt more than anything.
I hurried past him, my feet moving quickly, uneven. I didn't look back.
But as I stepped into the elevator, one thing rang louder than the others:
What else is Roman Hart hiding from me?
I looked at the prenup, my name on the bottom line in bold, unambiguous letters. My signature or something horribly similar scribbled alongside Roman's. The air sat thick in my lungs. As if I couldn't inhale enough of it. As if it had grown heavy and merciless, weighing down upon me.
My legs took off before I could grab them. I clutched the folder to my chest and flung out of the library, past the antique lamps and oil paintings that looked like ghosts watching me unravel. I found Roman in the sitting room, unruffled as always, with a glass of scotch in his hand as if the world had just blown up at his feet.
I didn't wait for him to ask me in.
"Tell me it's not real," I said, waving the prenup back and forth like a weapon. My voice didn't crack. I was relieved about that.
Roman stared at me. Silent. Unmoving. The kind of silence that spoke volumes. I hated that part about him.
His eyes settled on the papers. "I wasn't going to use it."
"So it is real," I gasped. My hands trembled now.
He stood up, slowly setting the glass down. "It was done by my lawyers weeks ago. Before. before things were different."
I laughed, but there wasn't any humor in it. "Changed? Roman, you kissed me. You handled me like I was something. You looked at me like I was more than a piece." I shook my head.
"You are more," he said in a rush. Too rushed. "That's the issue. Emery, I didn't mean for you to find out about that. I didn't want you to be a part of this. I tried to keep it clean. I tried to provide you with an exit."
I blinked hard, trying to make sense of his convoluted logic. "This was never real. You used me as your fiancée, Roman. Whether real or not, you pulled me into your war. And now I find out it was never real. It was about inheritance. About power."
"Not in the beginning," he answered. "I swear. There is a clause, yes. Marriage keeps the company in my name. But you know what we have made it real. That is why I didn't tell you. I knew you'd go. And I couldn't risk losing you."
His voice broke on the last word. A crack in the facade. But I couldn't allow myself to get to it.
"You should have lost me the second you chose to lie," I told him. My heart was racing, but I made my voice remain steady. "You don't get to love me by controlling me, Roman. That's not love. That's manipulation."
He stepped closer to me, reaching out. I moved back.
"Emery."
"No. We're finished."
I turned and walked away. My heels clattered on the marble like a drumline. I didn't look back.
The ride down in the elevator was endless. My throat burned. My eyes swam. I did not weep, though. Not yet. Not until I was behind the steering wheel of my car, hurtling through the streets of the city, fists clenched around the wheel as if they could hold all the broken pieces of me.
I didn't know where I was going. I just wanted to leave. Space. Air. Maybe I'd go to Talia's. Maybe I'd spend the night in a hotel. Maybe I'd just disappear.
I had just passed 48th Street when I noticed the car.
Black. Sleek. Too slow behind me. At first, I thought I was imagining things. But with every turn I made, they mirrored me. Every red light, they waited. Every change in direction, they mirrored.
Panic tickled its way up my back.
I made a sharp turn and pulled into the parking lot of a late-night diner. Before I could get out of the car, the black car picked up speed to catch up and stopped directly in front of mine.
A man stepped out from the driver's side. Tall. Broad shoulders. Sunglasses at midnight.
My hand automatically reached for my phone.
He walked up to my passenger side and tapped the glass once. I didn't roll it down. I wasn't an idiot.
Then the back door of the car opened. Another man got out.
Gray, older. Cut hair, silver. A scar on his left cheekbone.
He didn't smile. He looked at me through the glass.
"Emery Blake," he said. His voice was suave. Almost polite. "You've been asking the wrong questions."
I didn't reply.
"You were never the target," he continued, stepping closer. "Roman was. You were just the ultimate tool."
My breath stuck.
He smiled then. A small, evil smile.
"Get in."
And again, my world tipped on its side.