Chapter 43 Breakfast Table
EMILY
Walking into the Wolfe family dining room feels exactly like stepping inside a commercial freezer.
The rich, savory aroma of roasted rosemary chicken and garlic potatoes fills the air, but the temperature among the people at the table is absolute zero.
Arthur Sr. sits near the center of the massive mahogany table, his silvering hair perfectly combed as he stares intently at his gold wristwatch. He doesn’t look up when my boots click against the hardwood floor.
To his right, Martha sets her heavy silver spoon down against her porcelain bowl with a sharp, deliberate clink. Her immaculate silk blouse doesn’t have a single wrinkle, and her face is a rigid wall of stone.
At the head of the table, Celia keeps her spine perfectly straight, her sharp eyes fixed entirely on her soup, her weathered fingers ignoring the jade prayer beads resting beside her plate.
They don’t speak. They don’t acknowledge the grease smudges on my jacket or the fact that my hands are still raw from hours of handling the stiff slide of a Night Wind pistol down in the cellar.
A sudden scrape of wood breaks the silence.
"Emily! You’re back!" Lily cries out, her small sneakers sliding off the leather cushion of her elevated chair.
She runs across the room before Martha can even reach out to catch her arm. Her little face is bright, a few crumbs of bread sticking to her chin as she throws her arms around my legs. Her tiny fingers grip the fabric of my denim jeans, completely unbothered by the dampness still lingering from my morning training session.
"Come watch the rabbit cartoon with me," Lily says, tilting her head back to look up into my face. "We can make the sugar cookies with the red sprinkles this afternoon. Grandma Martha said I could have two after lunch."
I look down at her small, innocent eyes, and the tight knot of anger in my chest softens just a bit. She doesn’t know about the vipers in this house. She doesn’t understand that her aunt Beatrice is currently sitting in the pitch blackness of the Meditation Room because of a twisted plot to destroy my reputation. I want to spend time with her. I want to build a safe world for her and for the baby growing inside me. But the heavy, suffocating glares from the adults in the room are a clear warning.
"Lily," Celia’s voice cuts through the room like a sheet of ice. Her wrinkled hands grip the edge of the table as she glares at her granddaughter. "Come back to your seat this instant. Your chicken is getting cold. Martha, clean her fingers."
Martha stands up immediately, her heels sounding softly as she approaches us with a wet linen napkin. She doesn’t look at me. She simply takes Lily by the wrist, her movements stiff and unyielding.
I don’t want to cause a scene that forces Leo to step in, and I certainly don’t want to trigger Alistair’s security sensors over a family meal. I slowly kneel down, keeping my movements deliberate so my sore muscles don’t betray me. I squeeze Lily’s small shoulder gently.
"I have some important work to finish upstairs in my room, Lily," I say, keeping my voice gentle and clear. "I promise we’ll watch the cartoons and bake those cookies together very soon. Go finish your lunch for now."
Lily pouts, her lower lip sticking out, but she lets Martha guide her back to the table. I stand up straight, tucking my soiled hands into the pockets of my jacket, and walk out of the room under the heavy weight of their silent hostility.
The heavy oak door of my bedroom shuts out the silence of the dining room, leaving me alone with the quiet ticking of the wall clock. I walk over to the small writing desk near the window, my mind shifting back to my true goal in this house. This contract marriage with Alistair keeps me safe from the reach of my father, Thomas Vance, and my cruel stepmother, Lydia. But it’s still a cage. To truly gain my freedom and ensure my baby has a future, I need my own financial leverage.
My cardiology formula is the key. Dr. Aris wants the licensing rights, and once that deal is signed, I won’t have to endure the snobbery of the Wolfe clan ever again.
My thoughts drift back to yesterday’s chaos at the Greenery Villas lake. I need to thank the people who actually helped me save Lily when the family was busy panicking. I pull out my phone and dial the number for the Didi Café, the place where the nightmare started.
The line rings three times before a young woman answers. The background noise is a chaotic mix of grinding espresso beans and the sharp clink of ceramic mugs.
"Didi Café, how can I help you?"
"Hi, I’m the woman from yesterday afternoon," I say, keeping my voice low as I look toward the door. "The one who was searching for the little girl in the pink cardigan. I want to thank the staff for their help, and I’m trying to find the older woman who gave us the tip about the lakeside villa. I think someone called her Aunt Cherry."
The barista pauses for a moment. I hear the distant hiss of a steam wand before she speaks into the receiver again. "We don’t have Aunt Cherry’s personal phone number on file, Ma’am. She doesn’t work for the café. But she owns the small brick pizza shop two blocks down on Oak Street. She usually sets up her kitchen around noon every day."
"Thank you so much," I reply.
A soft chime signals the exact address arriving via a text message a second later.
I open my leather purse and pull out a thick stack of crisp bills from my saved cash. One thousand dollars. It’s a solid amount of money, enough to show real, tangible gratitude to a small business owner who risked her own safety to give me a clue. I smooth the edges of the green paper, sliding the bills into a clean white envelope before tucking it securely into the inner pocket of my jacket.
A soft tap sounds at the threshold. A young maid enters, keeping her head down as she sets a tray of warm vegetable soup and toasted bread on my desk. She leaves without saying a word, her footsteps disappearing down the corridor.
I eat quickly, the hot broth warming my throat and easing the dull ache in my shoulders from the shooting range practice. Once the bowl is empty, I grab my bag and send a quick text to Leo.
*Heading out to Oak Street to thank one of the people who helped me yesterday at her pizza shop. I’ll meet you by the side garage in five minutes.*
Leo responds within thirty seconds. *I am prepping the vehicle now, Mrs. Wolfe. I must log this destination into the primary security network for the boss to see.*
I text him back, explicitly detailing the exact location and the reason for the visit. I have nothing to hide. I want Alistair to see every step I take so he knows I’m not running away or arranging a secret meeting with Julian Thorne.
ALISTAIR
The top floor of the Wolfe Corporate Tower is completely isolated from the noise of the city below, the heavy glass windows looking out over a sprawling skyline baked in the midday sun. The only sound in my executive office is the steady sound of my fountain pen scribbling against the legal documents on my desk.
My personal phone vibrates against the polished mahogany surface. It’s a high-priority notification from Leo.
I slide the screen open, my jaw tightening as I scan the text. *Mrs. Wolfe is exiting the estate grounds. Destination: Aunt Cherry’s Pizza on Oak Street. Purpose: Expressing gratitude for the lakeside information.*
I set the device down, a slow pressure building behind my eyes.
She’s restless. Even after almost drowning in a freezing lake and spending two hours bruising her thumbs on a pistol slide down in the cellar, she refuses to sit still. Her sharp intellect makes her independent, a trait I respect, but it also makes her a logistical nightmare to manage within a standard security protocol. She doesn’t realize how easily my rivals can exploit her presence.
The heavy glass doors of my office swing open with a sharp, violent clatter. My receptionist doesn’t even have time to page me through the intercom before a thick cloud of expensive, heavy French perfume fills the room.
Naya Zone strides across the leather carpet with her head held high. She’s dressed in a tailored crimson dress that clings tightly to her figure, her blonde hair styled into perfect, glossy waves that bounce with every aggressive step. As the daughter of a prominent congressman and a leading presidential candidate, she moves with an arrogance that matches the elders in my own family. She’s spent the last three months trying to force her way into my social calendar.
"Alistair!" Naya says, slamming her leather clutch onto the edge of my desk with a loud thud. Her perfectly glossed lips press into a thin, angry line, her dark eyes flashing under heavy mascara. "Your assistant keeps telling me you’re in eternal meetings. You’ve been avoiding my calls for three weeks. My father is hosting a private charity gala this weekend, and your seat is still empty. What’s the meaning of this?"
I don’t stand up to greet her. I don’t even look up from the financial report in front of me. I calmly pick up my desk phone and press the speed dial for Leo’s encrypted line.
Naya gasps, her manicured fingers digging into the edge of the mahogany wood as she leans over the desk. "Are you ignoring me? Alistair, I’m talking to you!"
The line rings once before Leo’s gravelly voice comes through the speaker. "Boss."
"Leo," I say, my voice cold and flat as I stare right past Naya’s furious face. "Put Emily on the phone. Now."