Chapter 7: The Uninvited Guest

Emily couldn’t sleep.

She lay on her side of the massive bed, staring at the ceiling while Alexander breathed evenly beside her. He’d come to bed after their talk—after the kiss that had turned slow and searching, after his whispered promise that they would face whatever shadows were coming together. He hadn’t pushed for more. Just held her until her breathing evened out, until exhaustion finally claimed him.

But Emily stayed awake.

The anonymous text replayed in her head like a looped warning. Someone knew Alexander had been in the car. Someone knew enough to threaten the fragile peace they’d just begun to build.

Who?

Victoria? She had motive—jealousy, power plays, old wounds. But the message felt too personal, too precise. Victoria would gloat in person, not hide behind a burner number.

A journalist? Possible. But why now? The marriage had barely hit the headlines.

Or someone closer. Someone who’d known Lila.

The thought made her skin crawl.

She slipped out of bed carefully, bare feet silent on the cool floor. Alexander stirred but didn’t wake. She pulled on one of his discarded shirts—too big, sleeves falling past her hands—and padded to the living room.

The city lights painted shifting patterns across the walls. She curled into the corner of the sectional sofa, knees to chest, and opened her laptop again.

This time she searched deeper.

“Lila Moreau accident witness statements”

Nothing new.

“Lila Moreau Alexander Knight fight night of crash”

A few tabloid pieces from years ago—speculation about a public argument at a charity gala two days before the crash. Lila had left early, tears in her eyes. Alexander had stayed, stone-faced, drinking alone at the bar.

One grainy photo showed them outside the venue: Lila turning away, Alexander reaching for her arm. His expression—desperate, almost pleading—made Emily’s chest ache.

She closed the tab.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Then she typed something she hadn’t allowed herself to consider yet.

“Alexander Knight previous relationships”

The results were cleaner than she expected. A handful of high-profile dates over the years—models, actresses, heiresses—but nothing serious after Lila. No scandals. No messy breakups in the press.

Almost too clean.

She was about to close the laptop when the elevator chimed.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

It was past midnight. No one should have access.

The doors slid open.

Victoria stepped out—still in the same cream dress from the wedding, heels clicking like gunshots on marble. She carried a bottle of vintage Bordeaux in one hand, two crystal glasses in the other.

She stopped when she saw Emily on the sofa.

“Well,” Victoria drawled, lips curving. “The new Mrs. Knight. Up late playing house?”

Emily stood slowly, pulling the shirt tighter around herself. “How did you get up here?”

Victoria lifted a sleek black keycard. “Perks of being on the board. And of knowing the override codes haven’t been changed since… well, since Lila used to live here.”

Emily’s blood ran cold. “This was her home?”

“Among others.” Victoria set the bottle and glasses on the coffee table with deliberate care. “Alexander kept the penthouse exactly as it was after she died. Same art on the walls. Same view. Same bed.” Her eyes flicked toward the bedroom hallway. “You’re sleeping in the same sheets she did.”

Emily felt nausea rise. “Get out.”

Victoria ignored her, pouring two glasses of wine. “I’m not here to fight. I’m here to offer you a way out.”

“I don’t need a way out.”

“Don’t you?” Victoria picked up one glass, swirled the deep red liquid. “You think this marriage is about image? It’s about control. Alexander needs the board to see him stable so he can push through the merger with Voss Industries. Once it’s done, he’ll have no use for you. He’ll pay you off—quietly, generously—and you’ll disappear. Just like every woman who’s ever gotten too close.”

Emily crossed her arms. “You sound jealous.”

Victoria laughed—low, bitter. “Jealous? Darling, I was the one who taught him how to survive after Lila. I was the one who held him together when he couldn’t even look at himself in the mirror. And then he threw me away when the grief became inconvenient.”

Emily’s voice dropped. “He told me you left.”

Victoria’s smile faded. “He lies. Beautifully. Effortlessly. Ask him about the night Lila died. Really ask. Not the sanitized version he gave you.”

“I already did.”

“Did he tell you she was pregnant?”

The room tilted.

Emily gripped the back of the sofa to stay upright.

Victoria watched her reaction with clinical interest. “Three months. She told him that night. He didn’t take it well. Told her he wasn’t ready. That the company came first. She drove off crying. And he let her.”

Emily shook her head. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” Victoria sipped her wine. “Check the autopsy report. It’s public record if you know where to look. Or better yet—ask Alexander why he still pays for a private mausoleum in Westchester every year. Not just for Lila. For the child she was carrying.”

Tears stung Emily’s eyes. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you deserve to know what kind of man you married. And because I want you gone before he destroys you too.” Victoria set her glass down. “Take the money and run, Emily. Before the board meeting next month. Before he decides you’re a liability.”

She turned toward the elevator.

At the doors, she paused.

“Oh, and one more thing.” She glanced back over her shoulder. “The text you received earlier? That wasn’t me. But whoever sent it… they’re just getting started.”

The doors closed.

Emily stood frozen.

Pregnant.

A child.

Alexander had never mentioned it.

She looked toward the bedroom.

He was still asleep. Peaceful. Unaware.

She walked back slowly, legs unsteady.

Slid under the covers beside him.

He stirred, arm instinctively reaching for her in sleep.

She let him pull her close.

But her eyes stayed open.

Staring at the ceiling.

Wondering how many more secrets were buried in this bed.

And how long she could pretend she didn’t know.