Chapter 12 The Gamble
Beatrice Wolfe is acting like an apology is a death sentence, but I’m more than happy to be the executioner of that sentence.
I’ve never been ashamed of myself, my upbringing or the skills my mother taught me in my life.
However, a few seconds ago I came dangerously close to hating my background and the core things that made me who I am today. All because of someone knows nothing about me, my life or the things I’ve been through.
I can’t let this slide.
Beatrice looks at me from across the wreckage of my belongings, her nose wrinkled as if she’s caught the scent of something rotting in the vents. To her, I’m just a girl from a bankrupt name who happened to stumble into a miracle. She doesn’t believe in my medical knowledge and honestly, I don’t really need her to.
I just need her to take back the humiliation she has put me through. And is currently still putting me through. Because I don’t deserve it.
"You think you’re worthy of an apology from me?" Beatrice asks. She lets out a sharp, jagged laugh that echoes through the vaulted living room. "I’m a Wolfe. You’re a social climber who can’t even finish high school. Even if that juice you injected actually worked, it doesn’t make you a doctor. It makes you a thief who stole a label."
I feel the heat of the room, the collective disdain of the family pressing in on me. My hands are still slightly red from where she slapped me, and my throat is tender from Alistair’s grip. I’m tired of being the target for their bored cruelty. I’m tired of being the girl who gets pushed. If I’m going to stay in this house of wolves, I need to show them I have teeth of my own.
"If you’re so sure I’m a fraud, let’s make this interesting," I say calmly. "Let’s place a wager. If the lab results prove that medicinal agent is my own invention, you don’t just apologize with words. You stand right here, in front of the entire family, and you slap yourself in the face as a gesture of your own ignorance."
A collective gasp ripples through the room. I can see Alistair’s father, Arthur Sr., stiffen. Celia doesn’t say a word. Beatrice looks like I’ve just suggested she dance naked in the driveway. Her face goes from pale to a deep, insulted red.
"And if I’m right?" Beatrice asks. "If that’s just some store-bought reagent you stripped the label off of?"
"Then I’ll divorce Alistair immediately," I reply, ignoring the sudden weight in my stomach. "I’ll walk out of this residence on my hands and knees in total disgrace. I’ll take nothing. No money, no status, no claim to the Wolfe name. I’ll vanish as if I never existed."
The deal seems to appease Beatrice because she doesn’t even hesitate. She’s so convinced of my failure that she practically vibrates with glee. "Deal. We have twenty witnesses, Emily. Don’t think you can cry your way out of this when the sun comes up and the truth ruins you."
"I wouldn’t dream of it," I say.
The room remains silent as I crouch back down to the rug. The embarrassment I felt a few minutes ago has completely vanished, replaced by a clinical detachment. I gather my mother’s leather notebook and the small vials of herbs that have rolled under the side tables. Finally, I reach for the white plastic wrapper of the sanitary pad lying inches away from Alistair’s polished black shoes.
A few minutes ago, I wanted the floor to open and swallow me. Now, I just pick it up. I don’t look at Alistair. I don’t look at the whispering Wolfe’s. I put it in my bag, zip the canvas shut, and stand up with my head held high. I’m a woman who has survived the dark and hunger. A few silk wrappers and judgmental glares aren’t going to break me.
"We have an indoor store where you can get anything you need for the night. I’ll ask one of the maids to pack a few things up for you," Alistair says. "Jackson would bring any other thing you need tomorrow. For now, follow me."
I reply with a nod and watch Alistair as he turns toward the grand staircase. We climb to the second floor, passing oil paintings of rich looking ancestors who seem to be scowling at me.
Alistair opens the door to a bedroom that is larger than the entire ground floor of my father’s estate. It smells like cedar and oranges. The furniture is heavy, dark wood, and the bed is covered in a silver silk duvet that looks like liquid moonlight.
It’s a beautiful room in a household filled with ugly people. I find it slightly...strange.
I don’t expect him to, but Alistair follows me into the room and closes the door behind him.
He turns to me, his hands resting in his pockets. He looks at my neck and I see his jaws twitch. I know what he sees. The red marks of his fingers must already start to darken into ugly bruises.
"I lost control," Alistair says. His voice is quiet, lacking its usual edge of iron. "I shouldn’t have put my hands on you. I apologize, Emily."
I touch the sore skin, wincing slightly. It’s the first time I’ve heard him sound almost human. Well, not exactly the first time but because of what happened downstairs, I’m already doubting if the other times I saw humanity in him, I wasn’t being delusional.
"It’s okay," I say, a small, tired smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. I don’t hundred percent mean it but I honestly don’t know what to say. It’ll take me some time to properly process his apology.
I try to use humor to diffuse the situation.
"I understand. If someone looked like they were poisoning my grandmother, I’d probably try to kill them too. Just try to keep it to a light shake next time, alright?"
Alistair doesn’t laugh, but the tension in his shoulders drops by a fraction. He watches me for a long moment, his gaze intense and unreadable. "I’m really really sorry, Emily. Genuinely. There’s no excuse for my actions and I promise that it’ll never happen again."
Okay. That sounds a little better. He’s a man who is used to be in control, and seeing me as a threat to his grandmother clearly broke something in his composure.
"Apology accepted," I say, setting my bag down. A question comes to my mind and I decide to ask immediately before I overthink it.
"Why did you do it?" I ask. "Back there. You told them you’d give up your position as head of the family rather than divorce me. Why? You could have any woman you want. You could find someone with a dozen degrees and a perfect bloodline to bear you an heir. Why risk the empire for a girl you barely know?"
Alistair steps closer. He’s so tall that I have to tilt my head back to see his eyes. He looks at me with that intensity that always makes my pulse jump.
"Because only you can bear my child, Emily. It has to be you," he says.
The answer makes me more confused. Is it about my health? My biology? Or something he hasn’t told me yet? Before I can ask for an explanation, he turns and exits the room, leaving me with more questions.
I’m staring at the closed door when a small, soft knock sounds near the floorboards. The door creaks open, and a little girl with big, dark eyes and messy pigtails peeks inside. This must be Lily. I remember the dossier said her parents passed away years ago, leaving her as the ward of the entire household. She’s cute, wearing a yellow dress that’s slightly wrinkled at the hem.
"Are you the new lady?" she asks in a tiny voice.
"I’m Emily," I say, kneeling so I’m at her level. "And you must be Lily."
She nods, clutching a stuffed rabbit to her chest. "Uncle Alistair says you’re staying and you’re nice."
Alistair said I’m nice?
She fiddles with her rabbit. "Are you nice?"
Despite what I’ve just been through, a find a smile and nod. "Yes, Lily. I’m nice."
And just like that, she loves me. Her face lights up. "No one else in this house is nice. Can you teach me how to bake cookies? The cook says I make too much of a mess, but I really want to make some for Grandma Celia so she feels better."
My heart melts. It’s the first bit of genuine warmth I’ve felt in this house of stone. "I’d love to, Lily. I’m quite good at making a mess myself. When I’m properly settled, let’s see what we can find in the kitchen."
ALISTAIR
Once my driver starts driving away from my family house, I lean my head back against the headrest and close my eyes.
I messed up.
I messed up real bad and there’s no amount of apology in the world that’ll fix it.
I open my eyes and look at my palms. I can still feel the phantom pressure of Emily’s throat. It is a sensation I despise. I don’t like losing control. I don’t like the way my blood turned to ice when I thought she had finished my grandmother.
There’s so much history and hurt in my life, especially regarding my grandmother that the thought of someone harming her made me temporarily blind.
It’s not an excuse for my actions and I know that.
"What’s the update on my request, Jackson?" I ask, looking for a distraction.
Jackson is seated in the front seat. He’s been with me since the beginning and the only person I trust.
"It’s done, sir," Jackson says, "The news of your marriage has been disseminated to every major outlet. By tomorrow morning, it will be the lead story in the financial and social columns. The public record is solidified."
"Good," I say. I watch the dark horizon, my mind already moving to the next move on the board. "It’s the only way to silence Councilor Mark. He’s been pushing that political alliance for months, thinking he can use my resources to fund his election campaign. A marriage to his daughter would have given him a direct pipeline into Wolfe Global’s treasury. I have no intention of engaging in a losing business proposition."
"Sir, if I may."
That’s Jackson for you. Obey first and then ask questions later. "What it is?"
"Councilor Mark won’t be happy about this," Jackson warns. "He’s spent years building his influence. Offending him could lead to complications with the consortium’s regulatory approvals."
"He won’t move," I reply. I know how men like Mark think. They are predators, but they are cautious predators. "To strike at me now, when I’ve already established a legal union, would be to drive the consortium straight into the arms of his political rivals. He’ll back off once he realizes the door is bolted shut. He values his career more than a bruised ego."
I think of Emily. She is the bolt on that door. She is a girl from a bankrupt family with no education and a backpack full of weeds, yet she stood in that living room and challenged my aunt to a wager that could ruin her life. She has a terrifying kind of courage.
Jackson types a few more lines before closing his laptop. He looks in the rearview mirror, catching my eye. He’s been my shadow for a long time, and I can see the question burning in his mind.
"I understand the strategy, sir," Jackson says. He hesitates for a second, then continues. "But I have to ask. Why Emily? Of all the women we could have approached for a contract, why her? What is it about this specific girl that makes her the only one?"