Marble Estate.

Emmie Stewart returned to the Hamilton residence, carrying groceries from the supermarket. As she reached for the door, it swung open, revealing Flora Scott, dressed up for a night out.

"Whoa, you scared me half to death!" Flora exclaimed.

Seeing Emmie holding the two large bags, Flora peeked inside them with curiosity. "What did you buy? Don't tell me you snagged some second-hand stuff."

"No, these are from Marks & Spencer," Emmie said with a tight smile, moving aside to let Flora pass. Conversations with the Hamilton family always left her uneasy.

Flora raised an eyebrow. "Marks & Spencer, huh? I suppose my husband will be glad you paid him back."

Emmie wondered if Marks & Spencer was owned by Russell Hamilton, which would explain Flora's arrogant attitude.

Unhurried, Flora blocked the doorway, allowing Emmie to take in her appearance for the first time. Though Flora wasn't young, she had maintained herself well. Her dark hair cascaded in waves, and her lips, strikingly red, looked as though they had just sipped wine. Her figure remained unchanged, while her air of superiority had only intensified.

"Didn't you have a date with Martin Thomas’s son? Back already?"

"He had to cancel," Flora replied casually. Enough chit-chat; just let me leave!

"He canceled? More like he got bored with you! It's hard to believe, given your looks. Didn't your mom, Felicity Scott, ever pass on any of her tricks to you?"

Flora's disdain for Felicity Scott was deep-rooted, seeing her as a blemish in an otherwise perfect relationship, highlighting the irreparable damage within Flora’s marriage.

Emmie couldn't stand anyone badmouthing Felicity Scott. Her forced smile turned to ice as she looked at Flora. "You have no right to talk about Felicity Scott!"

"Ha!" Flora scoffed. After all, this was her house; she could say whatever she pleased. "Why not? Felicity Scott was a scheming opportunist. Why shouldn’t I talk about her?"

"Don’t assume everyone stoops to your level. If you were so flawless, why did Russell Hamilton choose my mother over you? I didn't inherit my mother’s grace, but Kairi certainly learned your scheming ways. Well done, Aunt Flora!"

Flora's comments reminded Emmie of the woman, once so loving, now lying unconscious in a hospital bed—heartbreakingly beyond Emmie’s reach.

"You... How dare you speak to me like that? Such insolence!"

Flora raised her hand, striking Emmie with a resounding slap that echoed in the yard, leaving a harsh imprint on Emmie's pale cheek—momentary satisfaction for Flora.

"Did I hit a nerve? Why are you so defensive?" Emmie stared coldly at Flora, displaying neither panic nor fear.

"What would I be defensive about? This is my home. You're nothing but a guest here."

Flora’s face twisted with malice, asserting her dominance with a pointed finger. Just then, Kairi Hamilton arrived, seeing her mother locked in a glare with Emmie. Assuming her mother was mistreated, Kairi rushed at Emmie and shoved her forcefully.

Caught off guard, Emmie stumbled, her bags flying, and their contents scattered. Kairi spotted the packaging and yelled, "Where are you taking things from our home?"

"I bought those from Marks & Spencer, you..."

Emmie's voice faded as she spotted a crimson stain seeping through lace trim, intensifying the sharp pain. Rolling up her sleeve, she discovered a cut, blood droplets stark against the green grass, like vivid blooms.

Flora and Kairi exchanged nervous glances. Kairi muttered reassurances to Flora, then sneered at Emmie, "Serves you right, messing with my mom."

"Kai, you must be tired from your day. Come in, I’ve made you some snacks," Flora said, dismissing Emmie as she beckoned her daughter inside, locking the door behind them.

Ignoring the pain, Emmie wiped dirt from her arm, closing tear-filled eyes. Tears fell onto the grass as she steadied herself and stood. Surveying the estate indifferently, she gathered her belongings and left the yard. Unclear where to go, she knew returning to the stone alley was out of the question; if Russell Hamilton discovered it, neither she nor Felicity would be left in peace. Covered in mud, Emmie settled on a bench in a nearby park, setting down her bags and rolling up her sleeve to inspect the wound. Fortunately, it wasn’t deep; she recalled slipping on a stone when Kairi had pushed her, likely causing this mess.

"Just great, what rotten luck." Had she returned a minute later, she wouldn’t have crossed paths with Flora, nor would she have gotten hurt. Should she go to the hospital?

"What rotten luck?"

A familiar voice sounded behind her. Startled, Emmie quickly pulled down her sleeve, turning to see Finley Thomas and Asher Olson standing nearby, watching her—who knows for how long.

"What brings you here?" she asked, surprised by how often she seemed to bump into Finley.

"Just passing through. Why?" he replied, stepping closer.

"No reason. Enjoy your day; I'm off."

Determined not to show them her vulnerable side, Emmie hastily grabbed her things, stood, and walked away.

Finley watched her stubborn retreat, ready to dismiss it when Asher suddenly pointed, "Look at her arm!"

"Her arm? What's so special about..." Finley started, then fell silent at the sight of red trailing down Emmie’s arm, staining her sleeve.

"What happened?" Asher pondered aloud, while Finley swiftly ran toward Emmie. Although typically uninvolved, Asher followed suit.

Startled by their sudden approach, Emmie asked warily, "Is there something you need?" Trying to act casual, she hid her arm behind her, offering a strained smile as they noticed her disheveled clothing. "Oh, I tripped, it’s nothing."

Finley fixated on her concealed arm. "Nothing? What's under that sleeve?"

"Just groceries. If there's nothing else, please move aside." Emmie’s strained smile vanished as she tried to bypass them, but Finley unexpectedly grasped her injured arm.

"Ouch!"

Emmie cried out, biting her lips to stifle the pain. Unperturbed by her protest, Finley pulled up her sleeve, revealing the long, jagged cut under the sun. Both Finley and Asher inhaled sharply, puzzled by how such a wound could come from just a stumble.

"Who did this to you?" Finley asked, shifting his gaze from her arm to her cheek, noticing faint fingerprints. "Emmie, who hit you?"

"No, no one."

Emmie Stewart swiftly shook off Finley Thomas's hand and tugged down her sleeve. How had he noticed the slap mark so quickly? Asher Olson, upon hearing Finley's pointed words, moved closer to Emmie, examining her face. Despite her efforts to hide it, the outline of the slap was still visible.

"No one? If you want to keep this under wraps, you might consider staying out of sight until your injury heals. Right now, you look like you've been through quite the ordeal."

Even now, Finley couldn't resist a gentle tease, though his eyes betrayed a tender concern. He softly traced circles on her cheek with his finger, his gaze as soothing as a gentle stream.

Emmie noticed the meaning in Finley's striking eyes, and her heart skipped a beat. This strange emotion surfaced once more; she kept reminding herself that the man in front of her was soon to be her brother-in-law. Yet, a part of her secretly wished to never relinquish this feeling.

No! No! No!

She couldn't entertain such unrealistic thoughts. Her husband would be Martin Thomas's son, and she needed to win his favor, secure his approval, and uphold the Stewart and Thomas family connection. This was how she would continue her mother's legacy.

"It's my face—I can handle it how I see fit. Please, stop interfering."

Emmie brushed away Finley's hand as he tried to comfort her cheek. She built an invisible wall around herself, rejecting the concern of the two men before her. With a firm resolve, she turned and fled; staying any longer would mean giving in to her emotions.

As she sprinted away, Finley's fingers lingered mid-air, frozen in his soft smile. He was taken aback by her abrupt rejection of his care, as if she'd never looked back.

"Fin, what are you daydreaming about?"

Watching Emmie vanish, Asher was at a loss. He couldn't just stand by and do nothing; her arm was still bleeding, and if it wasn't treated soon, it might get infected.

Not hearing Finley's response for a while, Asher turned to see him lost in thought. Finley stared into the distance, then murmured, "You should probably let her be."

The soft words snapped Finley back to the present. He glanced at Asher, "Which way did she go?"

"What are you planning to do?" Asher asked, a hint of worry in his voice. "Don't forget she's your sister-in-law."

Seeing Asher's concerned look, Finley replied with a cheeky grin, "Exactly why I should check up on her—we'll be family soon, you know!"

"Fin…" Asher hesitated.

"Alright, Asher, there's no need to fret. I know where the lines are," Finley assured him. He understood Asher's worry—that Martin might misconstrue his intentions towards Emmie. "Do you really think I'd go for someone like Emmie? Relax."

"Just making sure." Seeing Finley's assured demeanor, Asher felt reassured that he wouldn't overstep any boundaries with his future sister-in-law. Pointing in a direction, he said, "Emmie went that way."

The two quickly headed off, hoping Emmie hadn't gone far. When they emerged from the courtyard, they found her encircled by two sleazy-looking men. As they tried to touch her, Emmie skillfully evaded them, her expression icy and determined.

Unable to watch any longer, Finley rushed forward, delivering a swift kick to one of the men, sending him sprawling to the ground. He groaned, pleading with his friend for help.

"Who are you?" the other man stammered, lacking confidence.

Emmie cast a glance at her timely rescuers, briefly meeting Finley's eyes. For a moment, an unspoken understanding passed between them. She quickly looked away. Satisfied she wouldn't bolt, Finley shifted his focus and sharply declared, "She's off-limits to you!"

"What?" Emmie and Asher both exclaimed in surprise.

Ignoring their surprise, Finley turned his attention to the other man, "You—come here…"

"Sorry, sorry, we'll leave her alone! It won't happen again!"

"Get lost!"

The steel in Finley's gaze was enough to make them uneasy, like a dark angel revealing its fearsome wings.

"Y-yes… we're going." The other man hurriedly helped his friend up, and they fled across the street.

Relieved by their retreat, Finley approached Emmie, who appeared slightly stunned. He gently flicked her forehead and lightly scolded, "You're a trouble magnet, aren't you? That's twice now I've saved you. You owe me!"

"Fin." Asher's tone was full of exasperation. He couldn't tell if Finley was serious or merely jesting. Hadn't Finley vowed to steer clear of trouble?

"Got it!" Emmie realized she'd been reading too much into things. She backed away, creating some distance between herself and Finley.

"Come with me."

Finley, unbothered by Emmie's apprehension, led her toward a car parked by the roadside. Asher followed quietly, his unease mounting.

The white BMW pulled into the underground parking of Chicago's finest hospital. Finley held Emmie's wrist steadily as they approached the emergency room entrance. There, Emmie finally wriggled free from his grip and said coolly, "I know where I'm going. No need to drag me."

"Then go on in." Finley opened the door and gently nudged her inside. Emmie shot him a look before disappearing behind the door. The doctor examined her, inquired about her injuries, and after a brief evaluation, handed her a prescription before sending her off for treatment.

Outside, Finley and Asher watched as Emmie exited without a word, heading in a different direction with a slip of paper in hand. Finley called after her, "Did they treat your wound?"

"No!" Emmie waved the paper she was holding. "I have to get the meds first."

"Okay, but hurry back." Finley found a seemingly comfortable chair in the waiting area and sat down, looking as if he intended to remain until her return. Emmie's initial annoyance gave way to a reluctant acceptance—perhaps she'd overreacted to his concern.

Outside the St. Mary's Hospital outpatient wing, Emmie Stewart gazed at the remnants of the setting sun. Dark clouds swallowed the golden hues, and neither moon nor stars were visible. A cold breeze tousled her hair, and the air was thick with the smell of rain on the way.

The day had slipped away like this, and with her captivating almond-shaped eyes, Emmie nodded to both Finley Thomas and Asher Olson, her voice filled with gratitude. "Thanks, both of you, for today."

Asher watched her closely, sensing that beneath Emmie's strong exterior lay a fragile vulnerability. Why hadn't she called Finley's brother when she was in trouble, choosing instead to sit alone in the park, tending to her wounds in solitude?

"No need to thank us. Can I call you Em?" Asher asked, even surprising himself. Typically, women approached him, yet here he was, feeling unexpectedly anxious around Emmie. Yes, she was beautiful, but there was something else—an intriguing aura that drew him in.

"Sure, Em is fine," Emmie replied, her cheeks turning pink at the familiar nickname.

"You can call me Ash, like Finley does," Asher chuckled, visibly relaxing. His previous tension melted away, leaving him in high spirits.

Their easy interaction was abruptly interrupted by Finley, who wedged himself between them, speaking with a mock seriousness, "Future sister-in-law, are you already planning to cheat on my brother?"

"What are you talking about!" Emmie retorted, annoyed by Finley's self-centered antics and strange thought process.

"Hmph!" Finley shot her a cold glance before heading towards a white BMW. As he walked, he couldn't shake off the feeling that something had slipped away from him, a sense of emptiness creeping in.

Asher, far more courteous than Finley, reached out to ruffle Emmie's hair. "Don't mind Fin, he's just being his usual quirky self."

Finley was about to argue again, but he stopped himself, watching Asher's gentle gesture towards Emmie. The scene was so serene that he hesitated to disturb it, although a cold determination settled inside him.

"Ash, let's go!" Finley called out, casting a glance at Emmie. "You can find your own way home."

"That's not happening," Asher said firmly, taking Emmie's hand and guiding her towards the car. "We'll drop you off first. It's just a bit more gas."

Finley blocked their path, and Asher looked at him, surprised, feeling pinned by Finley’s steady gaze.

"It's fine. You two go ahead, Ash. I can manage."

Finley wasn't keen on driving her back to the Hamilton household, and Emmie didn't want to impose, especially since she wasn't in the state to face Kairi's father right now. He would be furious, and blaming Kairi would only provoke disbelief.

Finley pursed his lips, addressing Asher with a hint of bitterness, "Your kindness is wasted. She wants to go alone." Asher was supposed to be on his side, but now he seemed ready to fight over a woman they barely knew. Emmie seemed to attract trouble, and maybe it would be better for Asher to steer clear of her.

Asher didn't reply, his grip loosening. He walked around Finley, got into the car, and the soft fringe of his bangs shadowed his mesmerizing eyes as Emmie studied his profile, feeling slightly uneasy.

The silence was broken by a ringtone, drawing all three to Emmie's pocket. She feared it was Kairi's father, calling to demand why she hadn't come home.

Pulling out her outdated phone, she froze at the name on the screen. Her heart sank as she answered shakily, listening to the voice on the other end. Her body trembled involuntarily, the cold wind seeping into her clothes. Her eyes blinked twice, lips parted, but no words came out.

Standing closest, Finley had a clear view, unaware of who was on the line. He only noted Emmie's sudden paleness, her face turning ghostly white. Just as he considered asking her, she dropped her bag and, tears streaming, sprinted toward the inpatient building as if possessed.

"Em, what's wrong?" Asher called out, spotting her distress. Realizing something was up, he unlocked the car quickly, asking Finley for answers. Finley handed him the keys without speaking. "You drive home. I'll check on Emmie."

"I'm coming too..." Asher started, but Finley was already chasing after Emmie, leaving Asher to clutch the keys, sit back inside, and drive into the night. Thunder rumbled as rain pounded the car windows. Asher bit his lip, rubbing his temples to clear his mind.

Outside the VIP ward, Emmie clung to an elderly, gray-haired doctor, her voice tense with anxiety. "Professor Dunham, how is my mom?"

The call had been from Professor Dunham, informing her of her mother's sudden seizure. Emmie feared the worst, her whole body going numb. Even when she tripped at the entrance, she didn't feel the pain.

"Emmie, don't worry. I'll do all I can to help your mother," Professor Dunham assured her before vanishing into the ward.

Emmie watched the door close, leaning against the wall, her teeth chattering. "Nothing will happen, nothing..."

Finley observed from a short distance, his gaze steady. He'd seen her fall but hadn't reached her in time to help. He'd ridden the elevator with her, yet she'd focused solely on the changing numbers, ignoring him entirely.

Inside the ward, Emmie's mother was wheeled out, and Emmie collapsed onto the cold floor, unable to support herself any longer. Her mother lay unconscious, tubes covering her frail body, eyes shut tight as if in an eternal sleep.