"You’re still awake," Ryan said, stepping into the drawing room. His voice was smooth, a rich baritone that still sent a traitorous shiver down Emily's spine.
"I wanted to wait up for you," Emily said softly, standing up and walking toward him. "You said the meeting would wrap by ten."
"The Geneva deal is taking longer than expected," Ryan sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. He stepped forward and pulled her into his arms, pressing a warm, lingering kiss to her forehead. "I’m sorry, Emily. You know how much I hate leaving you alone in this big house."
He was always so attentive when he was actually in the room. He remembered her favorite flowers; he complimented her gala preparations; he played the role of the devoted husband with terrifying ease.
But the absences were growing. The "Geneva deal," the "emergency trips," the "late-night client dinners."
Emily rested her cheek against his chest, her hands smoothing the lapels of his suit jacket. As she inhaled the scent of his expensive cologne, her stomach dropped.
Beneath the cedar, there was a faint, powdery trace of something else. Something floral.
It was Sloane. Emily knew the sickly-sweet scent of that imported perfume anywhere. He hadn't transferred her. He hadn't fired her. He was still with her, keeping her tucked away in the shadows of his life while he played house with Emily.
Only months ago, in the bridal suite, she had screamed. She had clawed at him and run. But the Emily standing in the drawing room tonight was a different creature. She had learnedthe rules of the cage. And she couldn't imagine a life without him. This was the cost of loving a man like Ryan.
"It’s alright, darling," Emily murmured, forcing the tremor out of her voice. She pulled back and offered him a flawless, understanding smile. "I know how hard you work for our family."
Ryan’s dark eyes softened. He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a slim, black velvet box.
"I saw this today between meetings," he said, handing it to her. "A small token, to apologize for the late hours."
Emily took the box. Her fingers did not tremble as she popped the lid open. Inside rested a stunning tennis bracelet—flawless, round-cut diamonds.
"Ryan, it’s breathtaking," Emily gasped, playing her part to perfection. She held out her wrist. "Put it on me?"
He smiled, securing the clasp around her delicate wrist and bringing her hand to his lips. "Only the best for my wife."
He did not stop at her hand. Ryan stepped closer, erasing the remaining space between them, and cupped her face. His mouth crashed down on hers. It was a kiss designed to consume, his tongue parting her lips with a ruthless, practiced heat that sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core. He pulled her flush against his chest, one hand tangling in her meticulously blown-out hair while the other gripped the curve of her waist. She tasted the expensive scotch on his breath, mixed with the faint, lingering betrayal of the lilies, but the sheer, overwhelming physical domination of his kiss drowned out her rational thoughts. He devoured her mouth, leaving her breathless, reminding her with every bruising slide of his lips exactly why she stayed.
"I'll be right up," Emily promised as he turned to head upstairs.
She sank back onto the velvet sofa, her perfect posture finally collapsing. She loved him. But she hated the man who came home smelling of his mistress. She took a shaky breath, wiped her eyes, and stood up. She smoothed her silk dress, checked her reflection in the mirror above the fireplace, and began the long walk up the stairs to share a bed with a liar.
***
Two weeks later, Emily sat on the edge of the marble bathtub, staring at the small plastic stick in her trembling hands. Two pink lines.
A breathless, euphoric laugh tore from her throat. This was it. This was the unbreakable bond she needed. Another Sinclair heir. With a new baby, Ryan would stay home. He would look at her the way he did when they first met. The way he did when he first met Charles. This time he would get to experience her pregnancy alongside her. He would finally, completely let Sloane go.
That evening, she waited in the study. When Ryan walked in, she handed him the small gift box containing the test.
Ryan opened it, and for a split second, he went completely still. Then, a beautiful smile broke across his face.
"Emily," he breathed, looking up at her with eyes full of sheer adoration.
He crossed the room in two strides, sweeping her up into his arms and spinning her around. He kissed her deeply, fervently, raining kisses over her cheeks and her jaw. "A baby. Another child. Emily, this is incredible. You are incredible."
For the first time in months, Emily felt entirely ecstatic. She was over the moon. The attention, the warmth, the sheer joy radiating from him—it was everything she had fought for. She had won. This was their happily ever after.
***
Seven months later.
The afternoon sun beat down on the sparkling blue water of the estate's sprawling pool. Emily reclined on a padded lounger, wearing a swimsuit that perfectly accentuated the enormous, undeniable bump of the final stretch of her pregnancy. She was sipping sparkling water, feeling a profound sense of peace. Ryan had been perfect lately. He was home more, he was affectionate, and the ghost of Sloane seemed to have finally vanished from their lives.
The sound of tires crunching on the gravel driveway caught her attention.
