Chapter 3; Recognition

EMMA

The room was dark except for the thin line of light under the door. 

I felt the unmistakable warmth of a body beside mine.  Rolling over, I turned to face the man from last night. He was still fast asleep, and I had to leave before that changed. 

His breathing stayed deep and even as I slipped out of the bed, heart slamming so hard I was sure it would wake him. Every small sound felt enormous: the soft rustle of the sheets, the quiet click of my dress zipper, the careful way I picked up my shoes instead of putting them on. I didn’t dare look back at the bed. If I did, I might lose my nerve.

The corridor outside was empty. I kept my head down and walked as fast as I could without running, the heels dangling from my fingers. Only when I pushed through the side exit and the cold morning air hit my face did I let myself breathe and call a cab. 

The whole ride home, my mind kept replaying the way he had looked at me when he said good girl, the weight of his hand at my throat, the heat of him finishing across my skin. I told myself it was just one night.

By the time the car dropped me at my mother’s apartment, the sky was turning grey. I went straight to the bathroom, locked the door, and stood under the shower until the water ran clear of makeup and his scent was gone. I scrubbed hard, as if I could erase the entire night. When I finally looked in the mirror, the girl staring back was the one I knew. She had a clean face with tired eyes and looked ordinary, nothing like the seductress from last night. 

The only thing I couldn’t wash away was the dark mark low on the side of my neck. I covered it with a high-necked sweater and told myself no one would notice.

I went downstairs to look for my mother, but she was already waiting with two suitcases by the door, smiling too brightly.

“There you are. I was starting to worry. Richard’s driver is downstairs. We’re going straight to the house. He’s so excited for you to meet everyone properly.”

I barely had time to register her words and throw the rest of my things into a bag before we were in the back of a black car heading out of the city. My mother talked the entire way about the gardens, the staff, how kind Richard had been, how his son was “a little reserved but brilliant.” I stared out the window and tried not to press my fingers to the mark on my throat.

The estate appeared at the end of a long private road, all pale stone and tall windows; the whole place looked gloomy and lacking warmth.

My mother squeezed my hand as the car stopped.

“Be nice,” she whispered. “Please.”

Richard was waiting at the top of the steps, the same tall man with expensive cufflinks I remembered from the charity event. He kissed my mother’s cheek and then turned to me with a polite smile.

“Emma. Welcome. We’re very glad you’re here.”

I managed a thin smile of my own. “Thank you.”

“And this,” Richard said, stepping slightly aside, “is my son. Rhys.”

Shit. Oh God, just take me.

The ground seemed to disappear beneath my feet.

He stood just behind his father, dressed in a dark sweater and black trousers, his hair still slightly damp. The same sharp jaw. The same mouth. The same eyes that had watched me come apart only hours earlier.

For a second, I forgot how to breathe.

My lungs locked. My stomach dropped so violently I thought I might throw up right there on the steps. A cold rush shot through my body, followed by a wave of heat so intense my skin prickled.

No. No, no, no.

It couldn’t be him. But I knew that face. I knew those eyes.

I knew exactly what those hands felt like.

Recognition slammed into me with such force that my knees nearly buckled. My fingers went numb at my sides, and my heart began pounding so violently it felt like it was trying to break through my ribs.

I had slept with my future stepbrother.

The thought hit again. And again.

I wanted to turn around. Run. Get back into the car. Tell my mother I had changed my mind. Tell Richard I couldn’t stay here. Anything but to remain here..

Instead, I stood there smiling.

Or at least, I hoped I was smiling.

Breathe. Don’t react.

Don’t look at him like you know him.

I swallowed hard and forced my shoulders to relax. My knees were trembling, so I locked them. My hands were shaking, so I curled my fingers into my palms until my nails bit into my skin.

I could feel my pulse everywhere: my throat, my wrists, even behind my eyes.

Surely everyone could see it. Surely he could.

I forced myself to look at him.

There was no recognition on his face. Nothing. No widening of his eyes. No hesitation. No flicker of shock.

Just a cold, indifferent stare.

Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe the darkness, the makeup, the dress had been enough.

The relief was almost as dizzying as the panic.

A full-body shiver ran through me, but I quickly disguised it as a reaction to the cold. I rubbed my arms lightly and gave what I hoped looked like an embarrassed little smile.

Richard frowned slightly. “Are you alright?”

My mouth felt dry.

“I’m fine,” I said, forcing a small laugh. “Just the wind. It’s colder out here than I expected.”

My voice sounded almost normal. Almost.

Richard accepted the excuse with a nod, and my mother immediately filled the silence with bright chatter.

I barely heard her.

I was too busy concentrating on every tiny movement of my own body. Don’t shake. Don’t stare. Don’t look guilty. Don’t touch your neck. Don’t run.

And, most importantly, don’t let him know.

Rhys looked at me the way you look at a stranger forced into your home. His expression held a clear hint of distaste, as if my presence already irritated him.

There was still no flicker of recognition.

Nothing.

He didn’t know.

I clung to that thought like a lifeline.

“Emma,” he said evenly.

My voice came out barely above a whisper.

“Hi.”

Neither of us looked away.

Richard and my mother continued with bright, overlapping chatter about the drive, the weather, and how lovely it was that we were all finally under one roof.

I felt sweat gathering at the small of my back.

Every place he had touched last night seemed to burn beneath my clothes.

I kept my face composed. I kept my breathing slow. And most importantly I kept smiling.

Because somehow, standing there in front of the man I’d slept with hours ago, pretending I had never seen him before, felt like the most terrifying performance of my life.

We were led inside, and Richard gave us a tour. He led the way through high-ceilinged rooms filled with art and quiet wealth. My mother stayed close to his side, asking questions about the house's history. I followed, but I took in almost nothing of the layout. The only impression that stayed with me was that the house was as magnificent as a castle, vast, beautiful, and completely cold. Luxury couldn’t hide how impersonal it felt. Rhys walked somewhere behind us. I didn’t look back.I was too busy forcing my breathing to stay even and my face to stay calm.

My new bedroom was large and completely impersonal. Richard said something about giving me time to settle in before dinner. My mother kissed my cheek and left with him, leaving me alone. 

The second they were gone, the tension drained out of me so fast my legs felt weak. I was safe. He hadn’t recognised me. The darkness of the club, the makeup, the dress it had been enough. I let out a long, shaky breath and only then realised my shirt was damp with sweat from the stress of standing in front of him. I pulled it over my head, used it to wipe my face and neck, then walked slowly toward the full-length mirror.

The girl staring back was the real me. Glasses. Bare face. The quiet book-loving nerd who had never done anything reckless in her life. There was no trace of the girl who had walked into that club last night. Relief flooded through me so strongly I almost smiled.

Surely he would never recognise me like this.

I had just started to believe it when the door was pushed open without a knock.

Rhys walked in.

He didn’t knock. He didn’t look surprised to find me standing there in only my bra and jeans. He advanced toward me, step by step, eyes steady and unreadable. I hastily crossed my arms over my chest.

“Stop,” I said, voice higher than I wanted. “What are you doing? Get out.”

He didn’t stop. He kept coming until my back hit the wall and there was nowhere left to go. He stared at me, his eyes taking in my flustered state and heaving breasts. 

 My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. Had he realised? Was he here to confront me? Under his gaze, my body reacted in a way that made me want to disappear. My nipples tightened against the thin fabric of my bra, and heat flooded between my legs until my panties felt damp. 

I was trapped between his arms and the wall. He leaned closer to my face, and I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for a kiss. Foolish right? I know. 

The kiss never came.

Instead, his voice reached me, low and mocking.

“Is this what your mother taught you? How to seduce men?”

My eyes flew open. Flustered, furious heat rushed to my face.

“How dare you”, I started, voice shaking with anger and embarrassment. “You don’t get to walk in here and”

He only smiled, completely unmoved by my reaction. The distaste I had seen downstairs was still there, cooler now, almost amused.

“Get dressed and come downstairs for a meal,” he said. “Try not to keep everyone waiting.”

He turned as if to leave. The relief that crashed through me was so intense my shoulders sagged. He hadn’t recognised me. He really hadn’t

Then his voice came from behind me, sharper, edged with something that sounded like angry disbelief.

“What is that mark on your neck?”