Kneeling To My Ruthless Billionaire Ex

Emerson pushed open the heavy door of her Brooklyn apartment. The hinges groaned, a familiar sound after a grueling twelve-hour shift.

She carried a brown paper Trader Joe's bag in her left hand. The paper crinkled against her worn coat.

The living room was completely dark. Emerson reached for the light switch, but her hand froze mid-air.

A dark silhouette sat perfectly straight on her cheap, thrifted sofa.

A sharp flick echoed in the quiet room. A small flame illuminated the space for a second.

Beatrice Schroeder lit a long, thin cigarette. The pungent smell of expensive tobacco immediately filled the cramped apartment.

Emerson coughed. The smoke burned the back of her throat. She set the grocery bag down on the shoe cabinet by the entrance. Her stomach tightened into a hard knot.

"How did you get past the building security?" Emerson asked. Her voice was steady, but her fingertips were ice cold.

Beatrice didn't answer. She wore a pristine Chanel suit that looked completely out of place against the peeling wallpaper.

She reached into her Hermes Birkin bag and pulled out a thick stack of papers.

Beatrice threw the documents onto the IKEA coffee table. The heavy thud made Emerson flinch.

The papers slid across the cheap wood. The top page stopped right under the dim hallway light.

It was a severance agreement. The bold letters of the Schroeder Family Trust header stared back at Emerson.

"Sign it," Beatrice commanded. Her voice was like scraping metal. "Sign it, swear you'll cut all ties with my son, take your sick kid, and get the hell out of Alden's life."

Emerson took a slow, deep breath. She forced her racing heart to slow down. The audacity of the demand echoed in her mind, a harsh reminder of how the wealthy viewed human connection-as a transaction to be terminated. A bitter taste flooded her mouth. She clenched her fists, feeling the crescent moons of her nails digging into her palms, anchoring her to reality.

"My relationship with Alden is our own business," Emerson said. She kept her distance, her muscles tense and ready to fight.

Beatrice's eyes flashed with pure rage. She stood up, the heels of her shoes stabbing into the scattered papers on the floor.

She marched toward Emerson. The smell of smoke and heavy perfume was suffocating.

Beatrice poked Emerson hard in the shoulder with her cigarette-holding hand. The burning ash fell onto Emerson's coat.

"You are a leech," Beatrice spat. "A parasite sucking my son dry."

A cold fire ignited in Emerson's chest. She swatted Beatrice's hand away.

"Get out of my apartment," Emerson said, pointing a shaking finger at the open door. "Now."

Beatrice let out a furious shriek. She raised her hand high and swung it down.

Emerson turned her head to dodge, but she wasn't fast enough.

Beatrice's sharp acrylic nails sliced across Emerson's cheek.

A sharp, burning pain ripped across her skin. Emerson gasped and stumbled backward, her hand flying to her face.

Warm blood seeped through her fingers.

Beatrice lunged forward, her hands reaching out to grab Emerson's hair.

Before she could make contact, the apartment door was slammed open with a deafening crash. The deadbolt ripped right out of the doorframe.

Alden Schroeder stood in the doorway, chest heaving. He didn't even have his suit jacket on. His tie was loose and crooked.

He saw the blood on Emerson's face. His eyes went wide, then turned completely dark.

A guttural yell ripped from his throat. He lunged across the small room.

Alden threw his body in front of Emerson. He shoved his mother backward with brutal force.

Beatrice lost her balance on her high heels. She stumbled backward, her arms flailing.

She crashed hard into the tall glass floor lamp standing in the corner.

The glass shade exploded.

A loud shatter filled the room. Razor-sharp shards of glass flew through the air like shrapnel.

Alden didn't hesitate. He threw his arm up to shield Emerson's face.

A massive, jagged piece of glass sliced deep into Alden's forearm.

Bright red blood instantly soaked through his crisp white dress shirt. It dripped onto the cheap carpet, leaving dark, heavy stains.

Beatrice saw the blood pouring from her son's arm. She let out a blood-curdling scream and collapsed onto her knees, her hands covering her mouth.

Emerson sucked in a sharp breath. Her lungs felt like they were collapsing.

She sprinted into the tiny kitchen, grabbed a clean dish towel, and ran back.

She wrapped the towel tightly around Alden's bleeding arm. Her hands shook so violently she could barely tie the knot.

"Press down," Emerson choked out, her voice trembling. "Keep the pressure on."

Alden ignored the pain. He didn't even look at his arm.

He stared down at his mother. His eyes were completely dead, filled with a dark, obsessive rage.

"If you ever touch her again," Alden whispered, his voice dangerously low. "I will cut you out of my life forever. You will have no son."

Beatrice scrambled backward on her hands and knees. She grabbed her Hermes bag and ran out the broken door, sobbing hysterically.

The apartment fell dead silent, save for Alden's heavy breathing.

He turned to Emerson. He raised his uninjured hand and gently wiped a drop of blood from her cheek.

His eyes were wild, burning with a suffocating, desperate kind of love.

Before Emerson could pull away, a sharp ringing shattered the quiet.

Her cell phone vibrated on the shoe cabinet.