Chapter 3: Emma Clark is Dead

I Ran from the hotel, my heels clicking loudly on the sidewalk as I thought about how embarrassed I felt. Tears kept stinging my eyes, but I wouldn't let them fall. I waved my arms wildly until a taxi finally pulled over. I jumped in and slammed the door shut. “Midtown. Just drive,” I whispered, my voice shaking. 

The taxi ride home felt like traveling through a dream—or maybe a nightmare I couldn't wake up from. The city lights blurred past the window as we drove through the streets, each turn bringing me closer to the mansion that had been my home for two years. My home with Allen.

“Here we are, miss,” the driver said gently, looking at me in the rearview mirror with worried eyes. I must have looked as broken as I felt.

I handed him the money with shaky hands and stepped out onto the circular driveway. The mansion sat in front of me, its windows dark except for the automatic security lights that lit up the entrance. It looked different somehow—colder, more unwelcoming. Like a fortress, I wasn't allowed in anymore.

My heels clicked against the marble steps as I walked to the front door. The sound echoed in the silence, each step reminding me how alone I was. I fumbled with my keys, my hands trembling so badly, it took three tries to unlock the door.

Inside, the house felt empty. I kicked off my heels and left them by the door, not caring about the mess. What did it matter now?

I climbed the curved staircase slowly, my hand sliding along the banister we'd picked out together. Every step felt like walking through mud. At the top, I stopped outside our bedroom door. The room where I'd spent countless nights lying awake, waiting for Allen to come home from late meetings. The room where I'd dreamed about our future, about the kids we'd have, about growing old together.

I pushed open the door and stepped inside. The king-sized bed sat perfectly made, the silk sheets I'd chosen still neat and untouched. Everything was exactly like I'd left it tonight when I was getting ready for what, I thought, would be one of the best nights of my life.

I sank onto the edge of the bed and stared at myself in the dresser mirror. The woman looking back at me seemed like a stranger—pale, hollow-eyed, wearing a dress that suddenly felt like a costume for a play I'd never wanted to be in.

I changed out of my dress and put on pajamas, then sat in the chair by the window to wait. The minutes crawled by like hours. Every car that passed made my heart jump, thinking it might be him. But it never was.

At 12:23 AM, I heard the front door open. But there were voices—two voices. My blood went ice-cold as I recognized the second one. Rachel's laugh drifted up the stairs, sharp and victorious.

“This place is amazing, darling,” she said, her voice carrying clearly through the house. “I can't wait to redecorate. That awful wallpaper in the dining room has to go.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” Allen replied, and I heard the sound of glasses clinking. They were having drinks. In our house. Like I didn't exist.

I crept to the bedroom door and opened it just a crack. Their voices were clearer now.

“Where is she?” Rachel asked.

“Upstairs, probably crying,” Allen said dismissively. “Don't worry about her. She'll be gone soon enough.”

I couldn't hide anymore. I opened the door and walked to the top of the stairs. They were in the living room below, Allen pouring champagne while Rachel looked at the art on the walls like she was checking out her new stuff.

“Allen,” I called down, my voice echoing in the big entrance hall.

He looked up, his face showing mild annoyance, like I was interrupting something important. “Emma. You're still awake.”

“We need to talk,” I said, walking down the stairs. My legs felt weak, but I forced myself to keep moving. “Alone.”

Rachel turned to face me, her red dress now replaced by a designer cocktail dress that probably cost a fortune. “Actually, I think I should stay,” she said smoothly. “After all, this affects all of us.”

“No,” I said firmly, finding some strength I didn't know I still had. “This is between Allen and me.”

Allen set down his champagne glass and sighed. “Five minutes, Rachel. Go wait in the car.”

“But Allen—”

“Five minutes.”

Rachel's smile got tight, but she nodded. She grabbed her purse and coat, stopping at the door to look back at us. “Don't be long, darling. We have so much to celebrate.”

The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving us alone in the living room where we'd spent so many evenings together. Where we'd watched movies and made plans and talked about our dreams.

“What happened tonight?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Allen poured himself another glass of champagne, not offering me one. “I told you what happened. I made a choice.”

“But why? After everything we've built together—”

“Everything I've built,” he cut me off sharply. “With your help, yes. But let's not pretend you were an equal partner. You were an employee. A very dedicated employee, but still an employee.”

The words hit me like a slap. “That's not true. I worked eighteen-hour days for you. I gave up my own dreams, my own career—”

“And I appreciate that,” Allen said, his tone talking down to me. “You were very useful during the startup phase. But I'm not a startup anymore, Emma. I'm the CEO of a forty-seven million dollar company. I need someone who can help me reach the next level.”

“I can help you—”

“No, you can't.” He walked to the window, looking out at the city lights. “Rachel has connections I need. Her father owns three major companies. Her social circle includes investors, board members, people who can open doors I can't even see yet.”

I felt like I was drowning, grasping for anything that might save me. “I love you, Allen. Doesn't that count for anything?”

He turned back to me, and for a moment, I saw something in his eyes that might have been regret. But it was gone so fast I might have imagined it.

“Love doesn't pay the bills, Emma. Love doesn't secure merger deals or investment rounds. I need more than love.”

“I gave you everything,” I whispered, tears starting to fall. “I worked nights, weekends, holidays. I turned down job offers to stay with you. I believed in you when no one else did.”

“And I'm grateful,” he said, reaching into his coat and pulling out a folded check. “That's why I'm being generous.”

He held it out to me. I looked at it with blurry eyes: five million dollars.

“This should be enough to get you started somewhere else,” he said. “Buy a house, start your own business, whatever you want. But you have three days to move out.”

I stared at the check, then at him. “You think you can buy me off? You think money makes up for five years of lies?”

“It's not about buying you off. It's about being practical. You need a fresh start, and I need to move forward with my life. This is the cleanest way to handle it.”

“Clean.” I laughed, but it came out as a sob. “You humiliated me in front of everyone tonight. You let them watch while you destroyed me. How is that clean?”

Allen had the decency to look uncomfortable. “That wasn't planned. I just… I needed everyone to understand where things stood.”

“Where things stood?” I crumpled the check in my fist. “I'll tell you where things stand. I'm done. I'm done being your dirty little secret, done being the woman you're ashamed of, done pretending I don't deserve better than this.”

“Emma—”

“No.” I threw the crumpled check at his feet. “Keep your money. I don't want anything from you.”

I turned and walked toward the stairs, my vision blurred with tears. Behind me, I heard him call my name, but I didn't stop. I couldn't. If I looked back, I might fall apart completely.

In the bedroom, I collapsed on the bed and cried until I had no tears left. The sobs came from somewhere deep in my chest, from the place where I'd kept all my dreams and hopes for the future. It felt like something was being ripped out of me, leaving nothing but a raw, bleeding wound.

I must have fallen asleep eventually because I woke to sunlight streaming through the windows. For a moment, I forgot where I was, forgot what had happened. Then reality crashed back over me like a wave.

I checked my phone: 8:15 AM. The house was quiet. Maybe Allen had left for work early, avoiding another fight. Maybe—

I opened the bedroom door and walked quietly down the hall. The door to the guest master bedroom was slightly open, and through the gap, I could see them. Allen and Rachel, tangled in the sheets, her red hair spread across his chest like spilled wine. They were awake, talking in low voices, their bodies pressed together in the morning light.

“When will she be gone?” Rachel asked, tracing circles on Allen's chest.

“Soon,” Allen replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “A few days at most. Then we can start planning the wedding properly.”

“Good,” Rachel murmured. “I can't wait to make this place ours. Really, ours.”

I backed away from the door, my hand pressed to my mouth to keep from making a sound. The sight of them together, so comfortable and casual, hurt worse than anything he'd said last night. This wasn't new. This wasn't a sudden decision. They'd been planning this for months, maybe longer.

I ran back to the bedroom and started throwing clothes into a suitcase. I couldn't stay here another minute. I couldn't breathe in this house, couldn't stand being in the same space as them. My hands shook as I packed, tears streaming down my face.

I grabbed my laptop, my few pieces of jewelry. Everything else could stay. I didn't want anything that reminded me of this life, this lie I'd been living.

Twenty minutes later, I was standing in the driveway with my suitcase, looking back at the mansion one last time. A black Range Rover sat at the curb, its engine running. James rolled down the window.

“Miss Jones?” he said. James had been our family driver for decades.

I nodded and climbed into the back seat.

“Take me home,” I whispered.

As we drove through the city streets, I made a silent declaration to myself. Emma Clark is dead and in her place stood Emelda Jones