Chapter Four: The Auditorium

Emma’s POV

I sat up slowly, pulse loud in my ears.

Will was already looking at me. The tablet rested closed on his knee. My phone sat on the small table beside him, screen dark now.

“You’re awake,” he said, staring at me.

“Why are you here this early and what are you doing with my—“

“We have a nine-thirty appearance” He cut me off sharply, “At the Ridgeway Auditorium. Company briefing on the terminal expansion. The board wants the two of us visible. Dana’s waiting downstairs with the car.”

I stared at him for a second longer than I meant to. No accusation. No mention of folders or search histories. Just the schedule.

“How long have you been sitting there?”

“Ten minutes. Staff said you were still asleep. I didn’t want to send someone else in.” He stood, set the tablet neatly on the nightstand, and nodded once toward the bathroom. “Twenty minutes. Wear something that photographs clean.”

He left without another word.

“Ten minutes. Staff said you were still asleep. I didn’t want to send someone else in.” He stood, set the tablet neatly on the nightstand, and nodded once toward the bathroom. “Twenty minutes. Wear something that photographs clean.”

He left without another word, the door clicking softly behind him.

I lunged for my phone with unsteady hands and unlocked it, heart hammering against my ribs. I went straight through recent messages, call log, notification history, even the encrypted folder Julian had set up years ago. Nothing new had been opened. No screenshots. No strange access times. The last thing on the screen was the same ordinary lock display it always showed.

I checked the tablet next, flipping it open with my thumb. The household archive sat on the exact same harmless property-index page I had left it on before sleep. No search history visible. No restricted folder highlighted.

He hadn’t looked.

He had simply sat there with a closed tablet on his knee and my phone lying face-up on the table like any other object in the room.

I let out a long, careful breath and pressed the phone to my chest for a second, eyes closed.

Thank God.

Then I set both devices down, stripped off last night’s clothes, and stepped into the shower, already counting the minutes I had left.

Afterwards, I slipped on a black tailored dress, hair pulled back, the same controlled face I had worn at the ceremony. When I reached the private elevator, Will was already inside, scrolling through emails on his phone. He glanced up once, took in the dress, and returned to the screen.

The ride to the auditorium stayed silent.

The building was already filled with press and mid-level executives. Dana met us at the side entrance, earpiece in, expression neutral.

“Main hall is seated,” she said. “You two walk in together after the opening remarks. Cameras will be on the left aisle. Keep it brief and polite.”

Will rested a light hand on the small of my back as we made our way down the corridor. The gesture was purely professional, nothing more, yet I was acutely aware of every point of contact.

When the moderator called our names, we stepped onto the stage together. I wore the practiced smile I had perfected years ago, calm and unreadable. Will spoke for three minutes about job creation and coastal development while I stood beside him, saying nothing and only smiling briefly as the cameras kept flashing.

When the session broke for networking, the hall filled with bodies and low conversation. Will was pulled into a cluster of board members near the front. Dana stayed close to him. I slipped toward the side exit under the excuse of needing air.

I never reached the door.

A man stepped into my path near the refreshment table, mid-forties, sharp eyes, the kind of face that belonged to someone who asked questions for a living. I recognized him instantly from the bylines I had tracked for years.

Tom Reilly.

He recognized me too. The flicker in his expression was quick, then carefully smoothed away.

“Emma Winston,” he said, voice low enough that the people around us wouldn’t catch it. “Didn’t expect to see you on the stage. Are you now Mrs. Hammer?”

“Partially, Mr. Reilly.” I kept my own voice even with a malicious grin. At least he’s been against the Hammers for long, there’s no harm in giving him a clue I’ve got my own plans and we could be a team.

“Partially?”

“Yes… well, I read your piece on the capital restructuring last quarter.”

“I’m flattered.” He glanced once toward the cluster of board members, then back to me. “I’m working on something new. Older story. Port side. Larkspur.”

My pulse jumped, but I didn’t let it reach my face. “Interesting timing.”

“Isn’t it.” He slipped a plain white card from his jacket pocket and held it between two fingers, just low enough that only I could see it. “If you ever want to talk off the record about anything, my direct line is on there.”

I took the card without looking down. Our fingers brushed for half a second.

“I’ll keep it,” I said.

“Do.” His eyes flicked past my shoulder. “Your husband’s heading this way. I’m sure he wouldn’t stand this scene.”

I turned the card once between my fingers and slid it into the side of my clutch.

Tom’s eyes flicked past my shoulder. He gave a short, polite nod and stepped away without another word, disappearing into the crowd just as Will approached with Dana a few steps behind him.

His gaze followed Tom’s retreating figure before settling on me. Then his hand found my waist, his touch light and deliberate, perfectly suited to the audience around us.

“What were you discussing with him?” he asked.

I kept my smile in place. “Does it matter?”

His fingers tightened slightly against my waist.

“Considering who he is,” Will murmured, leaning closer, “I’d say it matters more than you realise.”

My smile faltered.

“Who exactly is he to you, Emma?”

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