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"Patricia?"
"Emily," her voice was ice. "I heard about your... performance yesterday."
I gripped the phone. "I don't think a marriage counts as a performance."
"Marrying another man hours after my son left? Darling, that is absolutely a performance." She paused.
"Now, Brandon is heartbroken. I'm sure you don't want things to get uglier."
"Are you threatening me?" I couldn't believe this.
"I'm just stating facts. The Scott family has many friends in this community. A lot of influence."
Her voice sharpened.
"Annul this farce of a marriage, and we can let this all pass like a bad dream."
I was shaking with anger.
"My marriage to Nathan is legal, Patricia. I'm not annulling anything."
"Then you're choosing war," she said coldly.
"Be careful, Emily. You might lose more than you bargained for."
She hung up. I stood there, phone still pressed to my ear.
"Emily?" Nathan's voice came from the study doorway.
He had clearly heard part of it.
"Was that Patricia Scott?"
I nodded, unable to speak.
His expression hardened into stone. "It's time to act."
Nathan led me into his study.
It was my first time really looking at the space.
Degrees, awards, photos with famous figures lined the walls.
But on the most prominent spot on his desk sat a simple framed photo.
It made me freeze—it was me, eighteen years old, at the winery in Napa, laughing at the camera, holding a bunch of grapes.
"You... you have a photo of me?" I asked softly.
"I have a lot of photos of you," he admitted, opening a drawer.
It was filled with them—me at my Stanford graduation, the opening of my first design studio, even candid shots of me with Brandon.
I felt dizzy. "Nathan... this is a little..."
"Creepy?" He gave a bitter smile.
"I know. But I couldn't stop. You've had my heart since that summer."
He took a deep breath. "But I never interfered, Emily.
Even when you chose Brandon, I just stepped back and watched.
I hired people to keep an eye on you, just to make sure you were safe and happy."
"You... hired people to follow me?"
"Not follow," he explained hurriedly. "Just... check in. Occasionally."
I took a step back, suddenly feeling suffocated. Was this love or obsession?
"Emily, please understand," his voice was pleading. "I did it because—"
A knock on the door interrupted him. Michael poked his head in, looking grim.
"Sir, they made their move. The Scotts just pulled all their capital."
