Chapter 31 The Hero
BEATRICE
The walls of my bedroom feel like they’re closing in, the gold-leafed floral wallpaper suffocating me with every shallow breath I take. I pace the length of my rug, the silk pile soft beneath my feet, but my skin is crawling. A fine sheen of cold sweat has ruined my silk robe, making the expensive fabric stick to my shoulder blades.
If those men talk, I’m finished. Alistair is a man of absolute order, and I’ve brought chaos into his sanctuary. My hands won’t stop shaking, so I bury them in my pockets, gripping my thighs until it hurts.
The sudden vibration of my phone on the nightstand makes me let out a sharp, choked sound. I lunge for it and my heart rate triples when I see the caller ID. It’s an unsaved number but I know exactly who he is.
"What happened!" I scream into the phone. "The whole reason I paid you is so I won’t be involved in this."
"Relax," a gravelly voice says. It’s one of the men I hired through the back channels. "The two they caught? They’re bottom-feeders. They don’t know your name. They don’t even know the middleman’s name. We kept the layers thick, just like you paid for."
"Good. Don’t call me till I call you."
I sink onto the edge of my bed, the tension leaving my muscles so suddenly I feel dizzy. I end the call without a word and stare at my reflection in the vanity mirror. My perfect blow-dry is a mess, and my eyes look wild, bloodshot from the hours of panic. Relief is a fleeting comfort. The reality that Emily Vance has once again emerged as a savior makes the bile rise in my throat. She was supposed to be the scapegoat. She was supposed to be the negligent wife who let Lily get snatched.
Instead, she’s the hero.
I reach out and sweep a tray of expensive crystal perfume bottles off the vanity. They shatter against the floor, filling the room with a cloying, suffocating scent of lilies and musk. I hate her. I hate the way she looks at me with those observant, clinical eyes. She thinks she has won a place in this house, but I will see her burned out of it.
EMILY
I’m still shivering really hard.
Every time I draw a breath, the damp chill of the lake air seems to settle deeper into my lungs. The thick wool blanket Alistair wrapped around me is starting to feel like a lead weight, itchy and smelling of wet sheep.
As I step into the foyer of the Wolfe estate, a massive sneeze nearly knocks me off my feet.
"Bless you, Madam," a maid says, appearing instantly with a stack of plush, heated towels.
The foyer is a sea of activity. Maids in uniforms scurry back and forth to assist us. One takes my dripping shoes while another attempts to drape a second towel over my head. I feel like a drowned rat being tended to by a colony of very efficient ants.
Alistair walks beside me, his presence a dark, looming shadow. As we pass through the arched doorway leading to the grand staircase, he has to instinctively duck his head to clear the frame. His broad shoulders seem to swallow the light in the hallway. He hasn’t said a word to me since our exchange in the car. I keep my gaze on the floor, watching the way my wet toes leave dark prints on the polished wood.
I’m dreading the moment we reach the bedroom. I just want a shower. I want to scrub the smell of stagnant water and fear off my skin. I decide right then that I’ll wait. I’ll sit in the dressing room or find a corner to hide in until he leaves. I can’t handle being in a confined space with him while I look and feel this pathetic.
Alistair stops near the stairs and turns to Leo. "Take Lily to the nursery. I want a fire started in there immediately. Get her some ginger tea, the kind with the honey from the estate’s private reserve. And I want the doctor here in ten minutes."
His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it that makes everyone in the room move a little faster. I look at him, then quickly look away. The "cold war" we had in the car is still echoing in my head. I played it all back on the ride home, my own reflection in the window staring back at me with judgment.
I had actually been reckless. I had disobeyed a direct order from the one man who is keeping me safe from the Vance family’s reach. I had risked my life, Lily’s life, and even the life of the child I’m carrying, his only heir. The weight of my own stupidity starts to settle in my gut and I understand why he spoke the way he did.
"Miss Emily?"
A tiny, fragile voice pulls me out of my spiral. I look down to see Lily standing a few feet away. She’s wrapped in a pink cardigan that’s three sizes too big for her, her small face pale and pinched. She’s been watching me with wide, dark eyes. She steps toward me, her shoes making a soft squelching sound.
"Are you sad?" she asks, her bottom lip trembling just a little. "Is it because I got taken?"
I feel a pang of genuine guilt. I crouch down, the movement making my wet clothes groan. I don’t care about the water pooling on the floor anymore. I reach out and tuck a stray, damp hair behind her ear. "No, Lily. I’m not sad. I’m just a little tired." I even manage a smile. "And very, very cold."
Alistair, who was halfway to the study, stops in his tracks. He turns back, his tall frame silhouetted against the bright light of the library. He watches us for a heartbeat, his expression unreadable.
I realize I can’t let this hang over us. I need to clear the air before the silence becomes a permanent wall. I stand up, clutching the scratchy blanket to my chest, and look up at him. I have to crane my neck just to meet his eyes.
"Alistair," I say in a raspy shaky voice. "I’m sorry."
He doesn’t blink. He just stands there, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dark trousers.
"I shouldn’t have disobeyed your order to withdraw. I could have spooked it and anything could have happened," I continue, the words coming out in a rush. "I let my emotions get the better of me, and I know I disrupted whatever plan you had in place. You were right. I’m sorry for making things more difficult than they already were."
My apology is met with silence. Alistair looks at me for a long time. His eyes scan my face, probably noting the dark circles under my eyes and the way I’m still shaking.
"I’m glad you’ve regained your clarity," he finally says. His tone isn’t warm, but the ice has thawed into something a little less hard. "Self-correction is a trait I value, Emily. Don’t let it happen again. There will be no next time."
It’s a warning, but it’s also an acknowledgement. He isn’t going to throw me out. At least, not tonight.
Suddenly, the silence is shattered as the rest of the family spills into the foyer. I hear the sound of shoes, fast footsteps an mumurs before I eventually see the rest of the Wolfe family.
Celia leads the charge and she has a deep frown settled on her face. But the moment she sees Lily, the frown dissolves into tears. "My child! My sweet girl!" Celia cries out, falling to her knees to pull Lily into a suffocating hug. Arthur Sr. follows close behind, his face pale, while Martha, Lily’s grandmother, hovers nearby, her hands fluttering like nervous birds.
They swarm Lily, checking her arms, her legs, her hair, as if they expect her to be broken in some places and not completely whole.
"She’s fine," Alistair says, his voice cutting through the hysterics. "She’s cold and she’s shaken, but she’s unharmed."
Lily pulls back from her grandmother’s embrace, her eyes bright with a sudden, childish pride. I’m so happy she can still smile like that. "Emily saved me, Grandma! She went into the big water. She had a gun and she looked like a superhero! She told the bad man he couldn’t have me!"
The foyer goes so quiet you could hear a pin drop on the marble. Celia freezes, her hands still gripping Lily’s shoulders. She looks up at me, her mouth slightly open. Martha looks like she’s just been told the sun was going to rise in the west.
"Is this true?" Celia asks, her voice barely a whisper.
Alistair nods once. "She’s right. Emily managed to get behind the kidnapper before my team could move. If she hadn’t, the situation might have turned into a standoff. She’s the reason the girl is home tonight."
I feel a flush creep up my neck that has nothing to do with the heated towels. I try to step back, to find a way to disappear. "I just... I didn’t think. I just wanted her back."
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Beatrice standing at the top of the grand staircase. She’s dressed in a fresh robe, her hair perfectly back in place, but her frown is so deep it distorts the beautiful proportions of her face. She isn’t looking at Lily. She’s looking at me. Her fingers are digging into the wood of the banister, and her jaw is clamped so tight I can see the muscles jumping in her cheek. She looks like she’s trying to set me on fire with her mind.
"It was nothing, really," I murmur, trying to deflect the heavy stares of the family.
"It was not nothing," Alistair says, stepping closer to me. He’s doing the mixed signals thing again. He places a hand on my shoulder and his touch sends so much warmth through my body it feels like another layer of blanket. "Go upstairs, Emily. Take your shower. The doctor will be up to see you as soon as he’s done with Lily."
He’s shielding me. He knows I’m at my breaking point, and he’s giving me a way to escape the theatrical gratitude and the hidden daggers. I give him a small, tired smile, a brief flash of genuine thanks, and turn toward the stairs.
I’ve only made it halfway up when Beatrice’s voice rings out, high and sharp, cutting through the murmurs of the foyer.
"Well, it’s certainly a relief to have her back," Beatrice says with a fake, sugary sweetness that makes my skin crawl. She starts to descend the stairs, her silk robe fluttering behind her like a shroud. "But let’s not get carried away with the heroics, shall we? After all, Emily was the one who lost the child at the café in the first place. Bringing her back wasn’t a favor—it was an obligation. It’s the very least she could do to fix the mess she created."