chapter five
989 Words
Emma could still feel the phantom heat of Ryan’s grip on her wrist, the bruising pressure he had left behind as a silent reminder. The gala had ended hours ago, but the night’s events played over in her mind like a broken record. Jake’s voice still lingered in her ears.
"Then make me understand."
But she couldn’t.
Not when the truth was a cage with no key.
She sat on the edge of the massive bed in Ryan’s penthouse, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The crimson gown her mother had insisted on wearing still clung to her, a suffocating reminder of the role she was supposed to play. Her fingers traced the mark on her wrist, anger and fear warring inside her.
She didn’t hear the door open until it was too late.
Ryan stepped inside, loosening his tie. His sharp blue eyes locked onto her, scanning her with unsettling precision. "You’ve been awfully quiet," he said, his voice deceptively smooth. "Care to explain why?"
Emma forced herself to meet his gaze. "I’m just tired."
Ryan hummed as he stalked closer. "Tired from what? Talking to Sullivan?"
Her stomach twisted. "I told you—it was nothing."
His fingers curled around her chin, tilting her face up. His grip wasn’t as forceful as before, but the control was still there. Always there. "You keep testing my patience, Emma. You know I don’t like that."
She swallowed the retort burning on her tongue. The truth wouldn’t protect her. It never had.
Ryan studied her for a moment before his lips twisted into something resembling a smirk. "I have a meeting in the morning. You’ll be here when I get back."
It wasn’t a question. It was an order.
She nodded stiffly. "Of course."
He released her and stepped away. "Good girl."
Emma watched as he disappeared into the bathroom, her hands curling into fists. She had played this game for too long. But tonight… tonight something had shifted.
Jake had seen through her.
And that terrified her more than Ryan ever could.
The next morning, Emma woke to an empty bed. Ryan was already gone, leaving behind nothing but a note on the nightstand.
"Dinner tonight. Be ready."
She crumpled the paper in her fist before tossing it aside.
By noon, she was at the café near Central Park, nursing a cup of coffee she had no real intention of drinking. She didn’t know why she had come here. Maybe because it was the only place Ryan hadn’t tainted yet.
Or maybe because she was hoping—no, dreading—that Jake would find her again.
And then he did.
"You look like you’re hiding," Jake said as he slid into the seat across from her, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.
Emma sighed, stirring her coffee. "I’m not."
He arched an eyebrow. "Lying doesn’t suit you."
She clenched her jaw. "You don’t know me."
Jake leaned forward, his expression shifting into something more serious. "I know enough. I know that you’re stuck in something you can’t get out of. I know that Ryan has his claws in you. And I know you want out."
Her heart pounded, panic rising in her throat. "You don’t understand."
"Then help me understand," he said, echoing the words from the night before.
Emma hesitated, her pulse drumming in her ears. Could she? Could she risk it?
Before she could decide, her phone buzzed. A message from Ryan.
"Come home. Now."
Her breath caught.
Jake must have seen the change in her expression because his jaw tightened. "It’s him, isn’t it?"
She shoved her phone into her purse and stood. "I have to go."
"Emma—"
"Don’t," she cut him off, her voice barely above a whisper. "Please."
Jake watched her for a long moment before nodding. "This isn’t over."
She didn’t answer. Because they both knew he was right.
Ryan was waiting when she arrived.
He was calm. Too calm.
Emma barely made it inside before he grabbed her wrist—the same wrist he had bruised last night—and pulled her closer. "Where were you?"
She kept her voice steady. "At a café."
His grip tightened. "With Sullivan?"
Emma forced herself not to react. "Alone."
Ryan studied her, his expression unreadable. Then, to her shock, he smiled. "Good."
He released her and stepped back, adjusting his cuffs. "Get dressed. We’re going out."
Emma exhaled slowly, knowing better than to argue.
But as she moved to her closet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong.
The restaurant was upscale, dimly lit, and filled with New York’s elite. Emma barely tasted the expensive food in front of her.
Ryan was different tonight. Polite. Almost… affectionate.
It unsettled her.
And then she saw him.
Jake.
Seated at a table across the room, watching her with an expression she couldn’t decipher.
Her stomach dropped.
Ryan followed her gaze, his lips curling. "Interesting," he mused. "He just happens to be here."
Emma forced herself to look away. "It’s a coincidence."
Ryan chuckled. "Sure it is."
Her hands trembled under the table.
Ryan reached across and placed his hand over hers, his grip just a little too firm. "I told you to stay away from him, Emma."
She swallowed hard. "I have."
His thumb brushed over her knuckles, a silent warning. "Good. Because if you don’t…" He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. Only a promise. "I’d hate for something to happen to him."
Ice flooded her veins.
Ryan leaned back, his expression smug as he picked up his wine glass. "Eat, darling. We wouldn’t want people thinking something’s wrong."
Emma picked up her fork with shaking hands.
Across the room, Jake was still watching.
She knew, in that moment, that there were only two options.
Walk away now.
Or fight.
And for the first time in years, Emma realized she wasn’t sure which one was worse.
- Writer
