chapter 5

By Friday morning, I’d almost convinced myself that staying away from the Hartwell mansion was exactly what I needed.

Almost.

I woke up before my alarm and lay staring at the ceiling of my apartment. The place was supposed to feel like a haven, but every corner held a trace of him: the second coffee mug, the spare key on the hook, the framed photo from our first vacation together on the bookshelf.

My phone lit up with a single text from Adrian: *Good morning. Can we talk today?*

I locked the screen without replying. I wasn't ready yet.

Getting dressed for work without consulting a calendar or worrying if my outfit met Eleanor’s standards felt oddly liberating. At the office, Sarah picked up on it the moment I walked in.

“You look less miserable today,” she noted, leaning against my desk.

“Good morning to you too.”

“I’m serious. You actually look like Emma again. For the last few days, you were walking around like someone had stolen your favorite dog.”

“I don't have a dog.”

“Exactly.”

I laughed, feeling the constant weight in my chest ease just a fraction. I opened my laptop and dove into the pile of unread emails. Work was straightforward: you did the job, and no one criticized which fork you used at dinner.

By noon, my phone rang with Adrian’s caller ID. I let it vibrate until Sarah gave me a knowing look.

“Your husband?”

“Yeah.”

“You going to answer?”

“I don't know.”

“Then don't.”

It stopped, then immediately rang again. I picked up. “Hello.”

“Emma,” his voice sounded worn out. “Can I see you?”

“I’m at work, Adrian.”

“I know. I’m downstairs.”

I sat up straight, glancing toward the glass doors of the lobby. Sure enough, a few coworkers were already whispering. Adrian wasn't the type to blend into a reception area unnoticed.

“Give me ten minutes,” I said, hanging up before he could argue.

When I stepped into the lobby, he was standing near the entrance in a tailored suit, looking every bit the CEO, though the shadows under his eyes betrayed him.

“You look tired,” I said, stopping a few feet away.

“So do you. I haven't been sleeping.”

“Neither have I.”

We walked across the street to a small, ordinary café, no marble, no staff fluttering around us. Adrian looked slightly out of place in the vinyl booth, which brought a faint smile to my face.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing. Just remembering you can survive without a five-star reservation.”

“I’ve eaten at places like this before,” he said, a brief flash of warmth in his eyes. “Before I became CEO.”

The moment passed quickly as he leaned forward, hands clasped over his cup. “I spoke to Mom. She understands you need space.”

I paused. “Does she? Then why did someone from her office call my manager this morning asking if my leave was permanent?”

Adrian frowned, genuinely caught off guard. “She did what?”

“You keep saying you’ll deal with it, Adrian.”

“I know I’ve handled this terribly,” he admitted, his voice dropping. “I should have stood up to her immediately. I should have made it clear that you weren't quitting your job or letting her run our lives.” He reached across the table. “I love you, Emma.”

I looked at his hand, feeling a familiar ache. “I love you too. But love doesn't fix the fact that I was completely disappearing in that house. I couldn't keep asking for permission to live my own life.”

“You don't have to,” he said firmly. “Let me prove it.”

My phone buzzed with a reminder for an afternoon meeting. “I have to get back.”

“Can I come over tonight?”

I hesitated. “I need a little more time.”

He swallowed his frustration and nodded. “Okay. Tomorrow, then. I won't crowd you.”

For the first time all week, I walked back to my desk thinking we might actually have a shot at fixing this.

That feeling lasted exactly three hours.

At 4:17 p.m., a text arrived from Eleanor: *Come to the mansion at seven. We need to discuss your marriage.*

No greeting. No request. Just an order.

I knew avoiding her would only give her ammunition to call me irresponsible, but I wasn't going back as the anxious bride who had left a few days ago.

When I arrived at seven, the mansion was quiet. A maid escorted me straight to Eleanor’s private study. She was sitting behind a massive dark-wood desk, a thin folder open in front of her.

“Sit,” she said flatly.

I remained standing for a second before taking the seat opposite her. “Where’s Adrian?”

“At his merger dinner. Where he should be.” She closed the folder. “He tells me you intend to keep your job.”

“I do.”

“You’re making a mistake, Emma, turning this into a contest between us. Walking out of my house...”

“*Your* house,” I corrected quietly. “That’s the point. I don't need permission to stay in my own apartment.”

Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. “You are a Hartwell now. Your impulsively leaving affects Adrian’s image and his standing.”

“My job doesn't hurt Adrian. Your constant management of our personal life does.”

She leaned back, her tone cold and measured. “Adrian is under immense pressure. He needs a partner who supports his trajectory, not someone who demands he choose between his wife and his family.”

“He married me,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “I didn't realize being his wife meant competing with you.”

“He is still my son,” she said, letting the words settle between us like a barrier. “You may come to regret walking away.”

“I haven't walked away from Adrian.”

“Not yet,” she said with a smooth, sharp smile.

I picked up my bag and left the room without another word. As I reached the front foyer, my phone buzzed with an incoming call from Adrian.

“Where are you?” he asked urgently. “My dad just told me you were at the house.”

“I just left your mother’s study.”

“Emma, stay there. I’m leaving the dinner now.”

“No, don't,” I interrupted. “Do not ditch your merger event, Adrian. That’s exactly what she wants, another reason to blame me for distracting you. Finish your dinner. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

I hung up before he could argue, stepping out into the cool evening air.

As I got into my car, a notification popped up on my screen from an unknown number.

*You should know your husband isn't the only person Eleanor has been planning a future for.*

My chest tightened as a second message followed instantly:

*Ask her about Victoria Whitmore.*