Chapter 18 Is this real?
If I knew that saving the Wolfe matriarch would earn me a business card from a scientific idol, I might have administered the injection with a bit more flourish or style.
The quiet in the laboratory remains and it gives me the chance to actually think. Since this whole fiasco started, I’ve not had time to actually process my thoughts without feeling like there’s a weight on my shoulder. But in these few minutes since my victory, I’m actually processing that I’m about to make my long-time dream come true.
Is this real?
Dr. Aris stands by the stainless steel counter as he packs up his medical bag. He looks at me over the rim of his spectacles, his eyes holding a warmth that I have barely encountered since I stepped into this house of ice. Or maybe he has always looked at me with warmth but I’ve been too preoccupied to notice it.
"You don’t need to prepare anything, Emily," Dr. Aris says. He slides a white business card across the workbench toward me. "Yesterday and today must have been a lot for you. Take some time to rest. When you’re ready, decide on your terms for the licensing agreement. My door is always open to a mind like yours."
He offers a respectful nod to Alistair and makes his exit. I pick up the card, my fingers grazing the embossed ink. My heart stops. My heart actually stops for a few seconds.
Underneath his name, in elegant, understated lettering, it reads: *Dean of the Etrand Empire’s Institute of Cardiology Research.*
I nearly drop the card. This isn’t just a veteran doctor. He is the man whose papers I’ve spent years deconstructing in the corner of public libraries. He is the person who essentially wrote the modern textbook on heart rhythm. He doesn’t publish his pictures and never agrees to interviews, for reasons best known to him.
And he just called my formula a work of genius.
Is this real?
The air in the lab feels lighter, or maybe I’m just finally allowed to breathe. I turn to Alistair, who is still standing near the centrifuge. He is watching me with an intensity that makes the back of my neck prickle.
"You’re like my lucky godsend," I say. The words come out before I can stop them, fueled by a rush of genuine, dizzying gratitude.
I step toward him, my hands reaching out to grip his arm. I’m not thinking about the contract or the cold way he has treated me. I’m thinking about how he stood and rescued me from that storage room. About how he stood in front of that needle. I’m thinking about how he forced his aunt to honor a wager that should have ended in my humiliation. I’m thinking about the fact that I would have never gotten an opportunity like this if I didn’t have him.
I grip his sleeve tightly, my fingers feeling the hard, solid muscle of his bicep beneath the expensive fabric of his suit.
"Thank you, Alistair," I whisper. "Thank you for standing up for me. For the dignity."
Alistair doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t soften either. He looks down at my hands on his arm, his expression a mask of granite. The silence between us stretches, filled only by the distant, rhythmic crash of the waves against the cliffs outside.
"Don’t get confused, Emily," Alistair says. His voice is a cool, steady weight. "I didn’t do it to win your thanks. I did it because your reputation reflects on the child you’re carrying. If you’re proven to be a fraud, my heir is born into a scandal. I’m protecting my interests, nothing more."
His phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out, his gaze already shifting away from me. He answers the call with a brief, sharp greeting and walks toward the door without a second glance. I stand there in the middle of the lab, my hands still curled into empty air.
The gratitude in my chest sours into something more familiar. A reminder. I’m a vessel. I’m a line item in a ledger.
I look back at the business card. I need to focus on this opportunity. A massive financial windfall is what most people would expect me to ask for. Millions of dollars to ensure I never have to look at a price tag again. But as I think about my father’s disappointed face and the way Chloe looked at me like I was a broken toy, I realize that money isn’t what I’m hungry for.
I know exactly what I want and I don’t need time to think about it.
I pull my phone out and dial the number on the card. Dr. Aris picks up on the second ring.
"Doctor," I say, my voice gaining a new, steady strength. "It’s Emily. I’ve reached a decision regarding the cooperation."
"Emily," he says, sounding surprised. "I’m not even out the gate yet. You’ve already made your decision?"
"Yes, Doctor. Can we meet in an hour? The Savina Café on Ring Road."
"I’ll be there," he replies.
I drop the call and head back to my room to change. I need to get out of this lab coat, out of this house. I’m halfway through the door when I find a tiny obstacle waiting for me.
Lily is sitting on a velvet ottoman in the hallway, her legs dangling and her pigtails slightly askew. She is clutching a tray with two crookedly iced cookies and a glass of milk. She looks up at me with wide, hopeful eyes.
"Are you going away?" she asks, her voice a small, disappointed pout.
"Just for a little while, Lily," I say, kneeling to her level. I take a cookie from the tray, the sugar crunching between my teeth. "I have a meeting."
"Can I come?" She jumps up, the milk sloshing dangerously close to the edge of the glass. "Please? I’ve been very good. I didn’t even put glitter in the butler’s shoes today."
I smile, but then I think of the Old Madam. Celia doesn’t even want me in her house; she certainly isn’t going to let me take the family’s favorite grandchild out on a whim.
"We’d need your Great-Grandmother’s permission, Lily. And I don’t think she’s my biggest fan right now."
"I’ll ask!" Lily doesn’t wait for a rebuttal. She turns and sprints down the hallway, her yellow dress fluttering like a dandelion in the wind.
I follow her at a slower pace, fully expecting a sharp *no* to echo through the estate. I find them in the morning room, a space filled with the scent of peppermint tea and old, expensive paper. Celia is sitting by the window, her hand resting on her cane, looking every bit the iron matriarch.
Lily is currently draped over Celia’s lap, her small hands stroking the older woman’s pearls. She’s whispering something into Celia’s ear, her face a mask of adorable, calculated persuasion.
Celia looks up at me. Her gaze is still cold, but as she looks back down at Lily, something in her expression shifts. It isn’t a smile, but the razor edge of her disdain blunts just a fraction. She dotes on this child in a way that seems almost human.
"Fine," Celia says, her voice a dry rasp. "But you are not to let her out of your sight. If she returns with so much as a scratch, Alistair won’t be the only one you have to answer to."
"I understand," I say, offering a polite nod.
The departure is a lot more complicated than I expected. I thought we’d just call a cab, but Greyson, the butler, has other ideas. By the time I get Lily’s coat on, there is a motorcade of three sleek, black SUVs idling in the driveway. Seven or eight bodyguards in dark suits are standing by the vehicles, their earpieces shining in the afternoon sun.
"Is all this necessary?" I ask, looking at the small army currently occupying the gravel path.
"Mr. Wolfe’s orders," Greyson says, holding the door open for us. "Safety is not an area where he negotiates."
I slide into the back seat of the middle car, Lily scrambling in beside me. She doesn’t seem fazed by the amount of guards, She just looks delighted, pressing her face against the tinted glass and waving at the security detail. I feel out of place, like I’m a fugitive being transported under heavy guard rather than a woman going to get coffee.
High above us, on the sprawling marble balcony that overlooks the driveway, a figure stands watching.
Beatrice’s POV
The throbbing in my left cheek is a reminder of my humiliation.
I press my palm against the skin, feeling the heat that hasn’t faded since that silver-spoon-polishing butler had the audacity to strike me. It isn’t just the pain. It’s the insult. A Wolfe, shamed in her own home because of a girl who looks like she bought her wardrobe at a gas station.
I lean against the cold stone of the balcony railing, my eyes narrowed as I watch the three black SUVs crawl down the driveway. They look like a funeral procession. How fitting.
"Going for a little trip, are we?"
I can see Emily’s silhouette through the tinted glass of the middle car. She sits there, acting like she belongs in Alistair’s world, dragging our Lily along for the ride. It’s disgusting. She thinks she’s won because she mixed a few chemicals together and dazzled an old man. She thinks Alistair’s protection is a shield, but she doesn’t realize how quickly that shield can turn into a spear.
I turn my head toward the two men standing behind me. They aren’t Alistair’s mindless drones. They are mine. I pay their salaries, and they know exactly what I am capable of when I’m crossed.
"She’s out of her element," I say. I don’t need to look at them to know they’re listening. "The girl is fragile. A high school dropout with a savior complex. She’s responsible for Lily now. That’s a very heavy burden for someone so inadequate."
My lip curls into a smile that feels more like a snarl. I know my nephew. Alistair is cold, yes, but Lily is his soft spot. She’s the last piece of his brother he has left. If a single hair on that child’s head is out of place, Alistair won’t just sign a divorce paper. He’ll make sure Emily Vance disappears so thoroughly that not even the dirt will remember her name.
The baby in her womb won’t save her then. Alistair doesn’t forgive failure, especially when it involves his blood.
"Follow them," I command. "I want a mishap. Nothing fatal for the girl, of course. Just a lapse in security. A moment of terror. Something that proves Emily is too incompetent to be trusted with the Wolfe legacy."
I want her to feel the weight of this world crushing her. I want her to crawl back to that mildewed storage room where she belongs. I’m going to strip that "savior" title off her and replace it with "liability."
"Make sure it looks like her fault," I add. "And make sure it happens today."
The guards vanish into the house without a word. I stay on the balcony, my fingers tracing the ridge of the bruise on my face. I’ll do anything to see her suffer.