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?"

"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.