From the moment Emmie Stewart received Finley Thomas's call, she couldn't shake a sense of unease. Claiming fatigue, she politely excused herself from the Hamilton family's first dinner together.

Luckily, her room was on the ground floor. Carefully, she opened the window and climbed out, relieved that her departure went unnoticed. Passing by the living room window, she overheard Scarlett Hamilton grumbling, "That Emmie girl is getting way too bold, no respect for me as the lady of the house. Honestly, if it weren’t for you, I wouldn't put up with this."

Kairi Hamilton joined in, equally frustrated, "Exactly! I don't believe she's truly tired. Dad, Emmie doesn't respect us at all."

"Alright, alright, let's not get worked up about an outsider. She’s not dining with us, so you don't have to see her. Calm down, my dear wife and daughter," soothed Arthur Hamilton.

Emmie, crouching beneath the window, felt a sharp pang at Arthur's words. Her eyes moistened, her brow creased, and she bit her lip until it blanched. It took her a moment to pull herself together and dash off, finally relaxing once she was in a cab. She asked the driver to keep the backseat dark, unafraid to let her vulnerability show in the shadows.

Arriving at O'Malley’s Pub—the place Finley had mentioned—she masked her sadness with a bright smile. In the dim light, she searched for the man whose actions had left her feeling unguarded. His sudden closeness caught her off guard; his words echoed in her mind: what did he mean by risking his relationship with his brother Kolson? Was he trying to take advantage of her?

Trying to read his expression, she only saw his relaxed, handsome features. His loose shirt hung off one shoulder, revealing a glimpse of pale skin that briefly captivated her.

Noticing her gaze on his exposed shoulder, Finley understood her bewilderment and stood still, letting her look. With a teasing smile, he said, "What's wrong? Can't wait any longer? Care to change the scenery?" His words snapped her back to reality, making her blush and frantically wave her hands, "No need, this is fine."

"Wasting no time, are you? Eager to see me again after sharing my bed?"

As Finley leaned closer, wrapping an arm around her, Emmie felt a shiver of discomfort. She stood up and moved to a different seat, giving him a cold stare. "How do you know I used to dance at a club?"

"A friend who apparently admires you has photos of your performances," Finley said, his eyes appraising her with interest. "Who knew you had such talent?"

"Planning to tell Kolson or Martin?" Emmie smirked, sensing no compliment in his words.

“No, no, no,” he replied.

His repeated denials only heightened her curiosity about his true intentions. Did he plan to use this against her? She knew better than to trust anyone who seemed benign.

"So... what's your game plan?"

Instead of answering, Finley adjusted his clothes, took her hand, and led her outside the bar. To her surprise, he hopped onto a sleek motorcycle parked outside, motioning for her to join him. Reluctantly, she gripped the back handles tightly.

Seeing her tense expression in the mirror, Finley smirked mischievously. He revved the engine, and before she could brace herself, the motorcycle sped off like a bullet.

The wind whipped against her face, forcing her eyes shut. Clinging on, she tried not to lose her balance as the motorcycle hurtled onward.

After what felt like an eternity, they finally came to a stop. Emmie opened her eyes, tried to speak, but instead succumbed to nausea. She hurried to the roadside, leaning over the railing to calm her unsettled stomach.

Once she regained her composure, she wiped her mouth and asked, "Where are we? What's the plan here?"

Finley, unfazed by the biting air, looked at her with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “You’re the most boring woman I’ve ever met!”

What? Had she heard him correctly? He called her boring—meanwhile, he was the one dragging her to this desolate spot. Determined to steer clear of him after marrying Kolson, Emmie resolved to avoid this troublesome future brother-in-law.

"Fine, I admit I'm boring. I'm heading back."

His expression softened unexpectedly, his smile reappearing as he adjusted his tousled hair. “Ask me nicely to take you back.”

Emmie shot him a glare, stepping onto the road to flag down a passing car. She'd had enough of talking to him. Finley was nothing but an irrational troublemaker!

“Come on, beg me! Otherwise, I’ll leave you here,” he taunted, arms crossed, watching with amusement as she tried to catch a ride. His chest burned with inexplicable anger as she ignored him, so he revved up the bike and drove off.

Emmie stomped in frustration. No cars stopped, and she had no idea which direction to go, let alone how to get back to the Hamiltons.

“Finley Thomas, you jerk! No, king of the idiots!” she fumed.

Before she could finish her rant, a voice came from behind. "You dare insult me! Do you really think I won't tell Kolson that you danced at a club, provocative enough to catch any man's eye?"

“Where did you come from?” Emmie clutched her chest, startled. She’d seen him leave, yet here he was, sneaking up on her.

“Right behind you!” Finley grumbled, pulling her back onto the flashy yet breezy motorcycle, insisting she hold onto his waist this time.

“I can hold onto the back,” Emmie protested, feeling awkward, considering he was her soon-to-be brother-in-law.

“With all your secrets, you don’t want Kolson finding out, so you better listen to me.”

“I danced in a club; Kolson could find that out himself,” Emmie worried about her future. Would Martin and Kolson still accept her if they knew she had danced in clubs?

Seeing her anxiety, Finley lightly patted her shoulder, "You've done more than just dance. You’ve also been in my bed, met me at night, and now you’re riding my bike, holding me."

“You forced me to!”

Emmie shouted at the back of his head, incredulous at how this mischievous brother-in-law managed to ensnare her. Despite considering herself clever, she couldn’t believe her run of bad luck.

Finley Thomas dropped Emmie Stewart off at the Hamilton residence, and it was already 8 PM. Emmie crept up to the room's window, carefully opened it, and quickly climbed inside. She finally breathed a sigh of relief in the dimly lit room.

"Gurgle, gurgle."

Her stomach growled, reminding her just how hungry she was. She couldn't simply march into the kitchen to raid the fridge, could she? The idea of running into any of the Hamiltons and having to explain herself was mortifying.

After much internal debate, she decided that satisfying her hunger was more important than any embarrassment she might face. She opened the door to check the hallway. The light was on in the living room, but it was empty. She cautiously headed toward the kitchen. Halfway there, she noticed an aloof figure watching her with a look of condescension, as if... as if waiting for her.

Ugh.

Emmie inwardly groaned at her bad luck. Of all people, she had to run into Kairi Hamilton, who seemed ready to give her a hard time.

"Were you waiting just for me, Kairi?" Emmie asked, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

"That's right," Kairi said instantly, much to Emmie's surprise. It left her wondering what Kairi was up to; she couldn’t imagine it was anything good.

"Oh? Well, thank you," Emmie replied dryly.

Kairi smirked and stepped closer, pretending to brush some imaginary lint off Emmie's jacket before stepping back as though she might catch something. Emmie was left puzzled but didn’t bother to engage further because her growling stomach demanded her attention.

Just as her hand touched the refrigerator door, she heard Kairi’s mocking laughter from the staircase. "Haha, bad news for you—the stuff in the fridge is almost expired. I wasn't about to eat that dodgy food, so I tossed it."

"You!"

Emmie was fuming, but she knew getting into a verbal spat with Kairi was pointless. She forced a bright smile. "Thanks for the heads-up. I just need some water. The Hamiltons aren't running low on that, I hope?"

As Kairi's face twisted in annoyance, Emmie opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and patted her stomach, silently resigning herself to the fact that water would have to suffice.

Kairi scoffed and retreated to her room. Emmie, worn out, lay on her bed, sipping water until she drifted into a restless sleep.

The next morning, as the first rays of sunlight snuck through the window, Emmie stretched and inhaled the fresh air, letting her worries dissolve in the morning calm.

Aunt Lizzy, the housekeeper, greeted her warmly, inviting her to breakfast. After getting ready, Emmie joined the table, noticing Kairi was absent, Mr. Hamilton was engrossed in his newspaper, and Mrs. Hamilton was slowly eating toast, occasionally chatting with her husband. They paused when Emmie arrived.

"Good morning, Aunt Lizzy," Emmie greeted, eager to dive into the breakfast spread.

Mrs. Hamilton did not acknowledge her greeting and continued with her meal. Emmie didn’t mind; she had been polite, and it was up to them how they responded.

Kairi was still absent during breakfast, which puzzled Emmie, but Aunt Lizzy whispered that Kairi usually slept late and ate breakfast whenever she woke up.

Emmie offered to help Aunt Lizzy with the dishes, but Aunt Lizzy insisted she didn’t need help, so Emmie stayed and chatted with her. Out of curiosity, she asked Aunt Lizzy how she came to work for the Hamiltons.

Aunt Lizzy sighed, "My kid got into trouble and ended up in jail. Mr. Hamilton was gracious enough to offer me a job here as a housekeeper. It's mostly cooking, not too demanding."

"Mr. Hamilton is kind, then?" Emmie asked, a bit surprised by this charitable side of him.

"You don't know the half of it," Aunt Lizzy started but abruptly stopped, staring past Emmie’s shoulder. Emmie turned to see Kairi standing silently behind her, expressionless.

Aunt Lizzy hastily set down the dishes and retrieved breakfast from the warmer. "Miss Kairi, you're up early today."

With a raised eyebrow, Kairi retorted, "Are you saying I usually sleep in like a sloth?"

"No, no, I meant why not enjoy a little more sleep?" Aunt Lizzy, flustered, retreated to the kitchen.

Emmie watched Kairi eat, noting how much she resembled Mrs. Hamilton in her demeanor, treating breakfast like a drawn-out affair.

Not wanting to linger, Emmie grabbed a glass of water and headed back to her room, closing the door just as Kairi's teasing words reached her, "More water? Didn't you have enough of that last night?"

Refusing to let Kairi get under her skin, Emmie set the glass on the table and lay on the bed, lost in thought. Shortly after, her limited edition phone rang, and she knew exactly who it was.

"Hello?" Emmie answered cautiously.

"Emmie, care to step outside? I'm waiting at your door," Asher Olson's cheerful voice came through.

After breakfast, Asher appeared outside the Hamilton residence. Emmie, dressed and ready, stepped out to see Asher looking sharp in a tailored suit, as steady as an oak next to his car.

As she approached, Asher courteously opened the car door, and Emmie, embracing an elegant demeanor, slipped inside. Once the car started, she broke the silence. "So, where are we heading?"

"Do you enjoy opera?" Asher asked instead. Emmie was amused. Opera? She hadn't even been to a movie theater, let alone an opera.

Emmie didn't reveal the truth. She had promised Mr. Hamilton she'd make Asher fond of her, so she nodded with feigned enthusiasm. "I do."

"Great," Asher beamed. "We're off to see an opera. I was worried you might not enjoy it."

"Oh, I will," Emmie replied, turning to the window to hide her inner turmoil. She had no idea about opera, and now she had to pretend otherwise.

As they walked into the opera house, Emmie felt even more out of her element. Asher had chosen an opulent VIP box with plush red velvet sofas, making her feel awkward.

The opera began, and within minutes Emmie was restless. She reminded herself to endure it, even if she didn't understand it. Yet, glancing at Asher, who seemed enthralled, she hesitated to interrupt him.

Quietly, she got up to leave, seeking a brief escape. Unexpectedly, Asher caught her wrist, whispering, "Where are you going? Is the opera boring?"

"It's not that," Emmie fibbed, "I need to use the restroom."

"Oh, alright," Asher said quickly, freeing her. In the darkened room, she was spared from seeing his blushing cheeks.

Feeling liberated, Emmie rushed out. Passing another VIP box, she paused, spotting a couple in a passionate embrace. The woman had golden hair, her eyes closed in pleasure, while the man... Emmie grinned, quickly taking out her exclusive phone, snapping a photo, and hurrying to the restroom.

Splashing cold water on her face cleared away her drowsiness. Reviewing the phone's screen, she nearly burst out laughing—she finally had some leverage over him.

"What’s got you so amused, Emmie?" asked a voice.

"Ah!" Startled, Emmie nearly dropped the phone but managed to catch it in time. She scanned the room for the source.

Leaning against the restroom entrance was a suave, enigmatic man, his lips curved in a perfect arch. When his fox-like eyes settled on Emmie, she felt as if doused in ice water. It took a moment to gather herself before she exclaimed, "You creep! This is the ladies' room!"

The man, unfazed, stepped back. As Emmie recoiled, she nearly lost her balance. One large hand caught her, pulling her upright. Dazed, Emmie stared into his face.

Momentarily, she was captivated, unable to describe his features. It seemed all the world's beauty was encapsulated there. His dark, glossy hair framed chiseled features, and his soulful eyes held an unreadable depth. His lips, like cherry blossoms, curved into a disarming smile, and his radiant skin gleamed like porcelain.

The man steadied her, his expression warm and gentle as a spring breeze. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, thank you," Emmie murmured, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks, surely bright red from embarrassment.

"No thanks needed. I'm glad you're okay."

His movements had an elegant, artistic grace. Emmie, regaining her composure, offered her hand with a courteous nod. "I'm Emmie Stewart. Sorry for bumping into you earlier."

"No problem. I'm Asher Olson." He shook her hand lightly, his gaze shifting past Emmie.

Following his eyes, Emmie noticed Finley Thomas nearby, and warmth crept into her cheeks again, recalling her earlier mishap.

"Asher? You're late," Finley called.

What was happening? Asher, it turned out, was Finley's acquaintance! What a twist.

"I wanted to be early, but got caught up with work," Asher explained as he walked over to Finley. They exchanged a few words in whispers, leaving Emmie feeling awkward.

Without looking back, Emmie quickened her pace toward the elevator, eager to leave. She anxiously watched the elevator’s floor numbers descending, needing just one more floor to escape.

Behind her, Finley's footsteps drew nearer. His voice echoed as he approached, "Leaving so soon, Emmie?"

"Hehe," Emmie chuckled nervously, "You and your friend must have things to discuss. I really should get going."

"My friend invited you for coffee. Would you refuse him?" Finley gestured toward Asher, who wore a welcoming smile. In truth, it was a trap—Asher hadn’t invited her; it was merely a common courtesy among friends, one Finley intended to exploit.

Unaware of Finley's plan, Emmie glanced at Asher. His perfect smile was hard to resist, but something about Finley’s demeanor seemed off. Better to escape now.

"Sorry, I do have other matters to attend to," Emmie said, approaching Asher. "I'll take a rain check. Another time, perhaps?"

Thinking she was apologizing for their earlier clash, Asher waved it off. "No worries, take care."

Feeling like she'd been granted a reprieve, Emmie reached the elevator and stepped inside just as it arrived.

After Emmie left, Asher looked forward to catching up with Finley over drinks. But Finley’s mood had soured, his usually pale face clouded with dark thoughts. Recognizing this, Asher shifted the conversation.

"Is something bothering you, Finley?"

Asher’s presence reminded Finley of the humiliation from earlier. He had been thwarted in his plans, unable to rile Emmie as he'd hoped. “I'm fine, just delighted,” he replied sarcastically.

"You seem frustrated, Finley. Don't forget I can see through you," Asher teased, tapping his temple.

"You really are the expert," Finley mocked, rubbing his temple in frustration. "You... never mind."

"What is it?" Asher leaned closer, eyebrows raised. "That girl—do you know her well?"

"More than I’d like," Finley responded bitterly.

"Something romantic?" Asher's grin sparkled like a night sky full of stars.

"Don't be ridiculous! I’ve known her less than two days. Even you can be whimsical," Finley scoffed.

Asher's curiosity was piqued. In all their years of friendship, Finley never showed interest in romance, always maintaining a distant, analytical gaze on the world around him.

"Alright, maybe I'm overthinking. Just be careful not to involve anyone else in your plans," Asher warned, his expression somber.

"Don't lecture me, Asher. My mother and I were discarded by Martin Thomas for years—I won't simply forgive that!" Finley’s eyes glinted with icy rage, transforming his once-gentle smile into something menacing, like a winter storm sweeping through.

This was the expression Asher dreaded, the one that suffocated any room, leaving all within it to gasp for air and eventually surrender. "Fine, I won't interfere with your affairs, but that girl..."

"She's already caught in it. Does the name Emmie Stewart sound familiar?" Finley's eyes bore into Asher’s, daring him to deny it.

"Emmie Stewart? Emm... wait," Asher’s eyes widened in realization. "She's... your brother's fiancée, your sister-in-law!"

The revelation left Asher speechless. He’d thought Emmie was just another acquaintance of Finley’s, never expecting such a bombshell.

"Yes, she's destined to be at the center of this hurricane," Finley declared, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "You're not falling for her, are you?"

"Of course not. I just don’t want you to..." Asher trailed off, concerned about Finley's potentially destructive path.

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?"