Chapter 8: The Eversons

“I hope you understand,” Emily said quietly.

Scott didn’t respond. Didn’t look at her.

Watching him challenge Ian had given her a sick satisfaction she couldn’t explain. She’d wanted more. Her body had reacted faster than her thoughts—and she’d kissed him.

The look on Ian’s face had been worth it. Now he knew what it felt like.

But she couldn’t have done it without Scott.

“Why were you there?”

Scott’s voice cut through her thoughts.

She looked at him. His expression was unreadable.

“I worked there. Used to, anyway.” Her voice faded.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he opened a compartment and pulled out a file.

The marriage contract.

“Here.” He handed it to her without meeting her eyes. “I made adjustments.”

Emily read through it. They’d have to live together for one year and make regular public appearances as a couple.

Her stomach twisted.

“Why do we need to appear in public?”

Ian had always loved the spotlight—stopping to pose for pictures, courting the press. She didn’t.

Scott shifted his gaze to her. “When the press gets hold of this, they’ll be everywhere. And considering your husband just married his mistress days after divorcing you—”

“Ex,” Emily corrected sharply.

“Didn’t entirely seem that way when you kissed me.” His tone was cool. “Look—after what I signed today, if anyone discovers this is fake, it could cost me everything. I won’t lose my reputation over games.”

Then his expression softened slightly. “I’m thinking ahead. For both of us.”

Emily couldn’t shake the feeling he was hiding something. But she continued reading.

Then she saw a clause that made her stomach drop.

“Why do you need me to brand Horizon for the duration of the contract?”

Scott sat forward, his face serious. “The third clause—proving I’m a true Hunter. Ian has the advantage there. He grew up in the company.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve worked with Hunter Autos for years. You understand their brand, their legacy. I need Horizon to feel like it belongs in the Hunter empire—not like an outsider’s company.”

His gaze dropped briefly to where Rosa’s dress dipped low across her chest, then snapped back up. Something dark flickered in his eyes before he looked away.

Emily pulled the fabric together, suddenly self-conscious.

He was right about the clause though.

Bloody Hunters. Always calculating.

She was already living with him, working in his building. Now she had to work for him too.

“I can’t—”

“You didn’t hesitate to use me to make your ex jealous,” Scott said, cutting her off. His voice was cold. “Especially after you bit me and demanded a no-contact clause.”

“You said make it look real,” Emily shot back.

Scott’s lips curved into a faint smile. “I did.”

He had a point. She had enjoyed it—maybe too much.

Emily read the rest. He’d included her original clauses: no physical contact, quarterly payments.

With that, she could cover her mother’s treatments, save her business, pay off debts—everything.

Her mind drifted to her mother’s medication.

“I’ll need an advance,” she said, determination hardening her voice. “For my work with Horizon. Today.”

Scott’s expression shifted—almost like approval. “How much?”

“A hundred thousand. The rest on delivery of the first rebrand.”

“Done.”

Emily pulled the pen from the folder and signed. Her stomach churned as she slid the contract across.

Scott signed, returned the file to the compartment, then handed her his phone. “Your account details.”

She entered her information and passed it back.

He typed something, then looked up. “I’ve postponed the wedding to four days time. I’ll handle arrangements and keep you updated.”

Relief washed over her. Four days felt slightly less impossible than two.

“That works.”

Her phone chimed.

**[Account Credited: $100,000]**

Emily stared at the screen, breathless. The pressure in her chest eased. This would cover her mother’s medications for months.

“I received it. Thank you.”

Scott’s expression remained neutral. “You’ll earn it.”

His coldness stung. He’d been like this since the conference room—distant, guarded.

“If that’s all, I’d like to leave.”

She reached for the door handle.

“How do I know you’re not going straight to Ian?”

The words hit like a slap. He didn’t trust her.

“That makes no sense.” Her voice wavered. “I’m going to see my parents. My mom’s sick.”

Scott leaned back. “Good. Then I’ll come with you.”

Emily’s heart stopped. “What?”

“We’re getting married in four days. The press will find out soon—probably before the wedding. “Don’t you think your parents need to know about your husband through you, and not a tabloid?”

The logic was sound. But panic clawed at her throat.

She hadn’t told them about the divorce. The debts. Any of it.

“No.” She turned and grabbed his arm. “We can’t.”

Scott’s blue eyes pierced through her. “It’s the only way this works, Emily. We tell them now, or they find out from someone else.”

He wasn’t budging.

She sank back into her seat, arms folded. “Fine. But you let me do the talking.”

Scott lowered the partition. “Tell Gerry the address.”

“120 Fremont. House eleven.”

The car pulled into traffic.

Emily’s mind raced. How could she possibly explain the last week? The divorce. The contract. Scott.

She pulled out her phone and transferred money to her father, then texted: *[For Mom’s meds]*

She scrolled through their conversation. Every message from her was the same: *[Mom’s meds]*. Not one reply.

She locked the phone, dread settling in her chest.

Her mind flashed back three years. One night, her father went on a bender.

He’d disappeared for two days, leaving her mother alone.

The call from 911 had come at 3 a.m. Stroke.

If the neighbors hadn’t heard the thud while delivering birthday cake…

Emily’s throat tightened.

When she’d confronted him, her father had blamed her. “If you were a son, you’d be doing the marrying—not being married off”

The words still burned.

The car stopped.

Scott stepped out. Panic surged.

Emily scrambled after him, blocking his path. “You know where they live now. That’s enough.”

He looked down at her, and she felt how much taller he was—how easily he controlled this situation.

Something flickered in his eyes. Amusement, maybe.

Then he smiled and took her hand gently. “Come on. Don’t make me introduce myself.”

His tone left no room for argument.

She followed, compelled by his quiet authority.

They reached the door. Scott knocked.

A loud thud came from inside. Things clattered.

“Go away!”

Oh no. He’s drunk again.

“Dad, it’s me!” Emily called.

“Emily?” Her mother’s voice, faint.

“Mom.”

A few seconds later, the lock clicked. The door opened.

“Hi, Mom.” Emily hugged her quickly and stepped inside. Scott followed.

“Sorry about the mess.” Her mother gestured to a toppled side table. “Your father’s a little… tired.”

Emily couldn’t look at Scott. Shame burned her cheeks.

Her father sat slumped in his chair, pouring another drink. He looked up.

“Why are you here?” His face was blank. “And who the hell did you bring into my house?”

Emily’s hands trembled. “This is Scott Hunter.” She swallowed hard. “My fiancé. We’re getting married in four days.”