I’ll be in the studio, Emma announced to no one in particular, needing the sanctuary of the one space in the penthouse that felt truly hers. Art had always been her refuge in times of emotional turmoil. Today she attacked a blank canvas with fierce energy, dark colors reflecting her turbulent emotions.
Hours passed unnoticed as she worked, channeling her confusion and hurt into passionate brushstrokes. She was so absorbed that she didn’t hear the elevator until it chimed, announcing an arrival. Assuming it was Ethan, she turned with words of reconciliation on her lips, only to freeze at the sight of the woman stepping into her studio.
Tall, elegant, with sleek dark hair and eyes that assessed Emma with cool calculation, she wore a designer suit that screamed old money and carried herself with the confidence of someone who had never been denied anything she wanted. Mrs. Carter, I presume. The woman’s voice held a hint of an accent.
Italian, perhaps. Sophia Moretti, 34. The name struck a chord of recognition.
Ethan had mentioned her once, briefly, when discussing a charity event, his former girlfriend, the serious one, before he’d adopted his reputation as Manhattan’s most eligible bachelor. Yes, Emma confirmed, suddenly conscious of her paint-splattered appearance and wild curls. And you were here because… Sophia’s perfect smile didn’t reach her eyes.
I was hoping to speak with Ethan, but his assistant said he was unavailable. When I mentioned our history, she suggested I might find you here. The implication was clear.
Sophia had connections that granted her access where others would be turned away. Ethan is in meetings, Emma said, setting down her brush. I can tell him you stopped by.
That’s thoughtful, Sophia replied, moving further into the studio, examining Emma’s work with a practiced eye. But I’m happy to wait. We have so much to catch up on.
Before Emma could formulate a response, the elevator chimed again. This time, it was Ethan who emerged, his expression darkening instantly at the sight of Sophia. Sophia, his voice was cold, controlled.
This is unexpected. Ethan, darling, she moved toward him with practiced grace, kissing both his cheeks in European fashion. I’ve just been getting acquainted with your wife.
The slight pause before wife spoke volumes, as did the way Sophia’s hand lingered on Ethan’s arm. Emma felt a surge of irrational jealousy, followed by anger at herself for the reaction. What are you doing here? Ethan asked, stepping away from Sophia’s touch and moving to Emma’s side.
The possessive hand he placed at the small of her back should have reassured her, but it felt performative rather than genuine. I’m in New York for the Chandler Foundation Gala, Sophia explained. When I heard about your unexpected marriage, I had to see for myself.
After all, we always talked about how you weren’t the marrying type. Her eyes flicked meaningfully to Emma. Things change, Ethan replied curtly.
People change apparently. Sophia’s smile was predatory. The invitations to the gala went out weeks ago, addressed to Ethan Carter and guest.
I assume you’ll both be attending. Ethan tensed beside Emma. We haven’t discussed it.
Oh, but you must come. Sophia’s gaze fixed on Emma. Everyone is dying to meet the woman who finally captured the elusive Ethan Carter.
It’s quite the fairy tale, isn’t it? Left by one brother at the altar, married to the other the very same day. The deliberate cruelty of the words hung in the air. Before either could respond, Sophia continued, speaking of brothers, I ran into Liam yesterday at the Pierre.
He seemed quite distressed about recent events. Emma felt Ethan’s body go rigid beside her. You spoke with Liam? He asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
Briefly, Sophia said with a careless shrug. He was rather drunk. Poor thing kept saying there had been a terrible mistake, that he needed to make things right.
The tension in the studio was suffocating. Emma found herself unable to look at Ethan, afraid of what she might see in his face. Doubt, regret, the assumption that she might still have feelings for Liam.
I think you should leave, Ethan said to Sophia, his tone brooking no argument. Sophia raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. So protective already? How sweet.
She retrieved her purse from where she’d set it on a nearby table. I’ll see you both Saturday at the gala then. Eight o’clock, black tie.
Goodbye, Sophia, Ethan said firmly. With a final calculating look at Emma, Sophia departed. The elevator doors closing behind her with a soft chime that seemed to echo in the sudden silence.
I’m sorry about that, Ethan said after a moment, running a hand through his hair. Sophia can be territorial. Emma supplied, putting distance between them as she moved to clean her brushes.
She clearly still thinks she has some claim on you. She doesn’t, he said flatly. You never mentioned you two were serious, she said, keeping her voice deliberately casual.
Ethan’s expression shuddered. It was a long time ago. Not that long, according to her.
Emma couldn’t keep the edge from her voice. You always talked about not being the marrying type. Emma? Whatever explanation he might have offered was interrupted by the sharp ring of his phone.
Ethan checked the display, his jaw tightening. I need to take this. It’s my father.
As he stepped away to answer, Emma returned to her canvas, adding fierce strokes of crimson that reflected her inner turmoil. Everything had changed so quickly. The open, tender man from the lake house had vanished, replaced by the guarded, distant Ethan she’d first known.
His call ended quickly. That was my father, he said unnecessarily. He’s insisting we join him for dinner tonight.
I thought we were having dinner just us, Emma reminded him, not hiding her disappointment. Ethan’s expression softened slightly. I know, I’m sorry, but this is important.
He’s making some kind of announcement about the company’s future. The reminder of why they’d married in the first place, Ethan’s need to appear settled for the sake of the company’s succession, felt like a bucket of cold water. Of course, she said stiffly, business comes first.
Emma, that’s not fair. Isn’t it? Weren’t those the terms of our arrangement? You needed a proper wife for your corporate image. I was convenient.
The words tasted bitter on her tongue. Is that what you think? Ethan’s voice was dangerously quiet. After everything that happened at the lake house, you still believe this is just about business for me? Before she could answer, his phone rang again.
He glanced at it with obvious frustration. I have to take this. The Tokyo deal is falling apart.
He hesitated, clearly torn. We’ll talk tonight after dinner with my father. As he turned to leave, a notification chimed on Emma’s own phone, a text message from an unknown number.
Emma, please give me a chance to explain. Meet me tomorrow at 1 o’clock PM at our spot in the park. I owe you the truth.
Liam, she stared at the screen, conflicting emotions churning inside her. She had no desire to see Liam, no lingering feelings for the man who had abandoned her. But a part of her needed closure, needed to understand why he had left her at the altar.
When she looked up, Ethan was watching her, his expression unreadable. Liam, he asked, though it wasn’t really a question. Yes, she admitted, not seeing any point in lying.
He wants to meet tomorrow. Something flashed in Ethan’s eyes. Hurt, anger, resignation.
Will you go? The question hung between them, a test, a moment of truth in their evolving relationship. I don’t know, she answered honestly. Ethan nodded once, his face closing off completely.
It’s your decision. You don’t need my permission. As he disappeared into the elevator, Emma felt the walls closing in around her.
Within hours of returning to New York, their fragile connection was fraying, challenged by Liam’s return, Sophia’s appearance, and the harsh realities of the world they’d temporarily escaped. What had felt so real and promising at the lake house now seemed as insubstantial as morning mist, evaporating in the heat of the day. And as the sun set over Manhattan, casting long shadows across her studio, Emma wondered if what they had found had been real at all, or merely a beautiful illusion neither of them could afford to believe in.
Chapter 7. Painful Truths. Dinner with Richard Carter proved every bit as uncomfortable as Emma had anticipated. The Carter patriarch’s Manhattan penthouse practically screamed old money, from the oil portraits of stern-faced ancestors to the hand-carved dining table where they now sat.
I must say, your hasty marriage continues to puzzle me, Richard said, swirling aged scotch in his crystal tumbler, particularly in light of Liam’s return. Liam has returned? Emma couldn’t hide her surprise, shooting a glance at Ethan. His face remained impassive, but the tightening of his jaw suggested this wasn’t news to him.
Yesterday, Richard confirmed, he claims there was a misunderstanding about the wedding, that he never intended to abandon you. A misunderstanding? Emma repeated in disbelief. He left me at the altar without a word.
Richard turned his attention to Ethan. The question remains, what happens now? Nothing happens, Ethan said firmly, his hand finding Emma’s beneath the table. Emma is my wife.
The possessive statement should have reassured her, but instead Emma felt a flicker of doubt. Did Ethan truly want her, or was he simply determined not to relinquish anything to his brother? Of course, Richard conceded. Now, to business.
The board meeting is next Friday. I have decided to announce my retirement. Ethan’s fingers tightened around Emma’s.
That’s sooner than expected? The time is right. Chandler Industries is ripe for acquisition, and I want you at the helm. The implication was clear.
Ethan’s marriage had secured his position as heir. Emma felt like a pawn in a corporate chess game. Her presence valued not for herself, but for what she represented.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of business talk that deliberately excluded her. By the time they returned to Ethan’s penthouse, tension had built between them like an approaching storm. You knew Liam was back, she said the moment they were alone.
Why didn’t you tell me? Ethan loosened his tie, fatigue evident in his face. I only found out this afternoon. I was going to tell you after dinner, like you were going to tell me about Sophia? About how serious you two were? His eyes flashed.
Sophia was my past. It’s irrelevant. Not to her, and apparently not to your father, who mentioned her three times tonight.
My father has always had his own agenda where Sophia is concerned. Her family connections appealed to him, and I don’t, Emma concluded. The hurt she’d been suppressing finally surfacing.
Ethan crossed to her, taking her shoulders in his hands. What my father thinks doesn’t matter. This is between us, Emma, is it? Because tonight felt like I was just part of a business strategy.