The New Emily Hills

Chapter 11

NORA

Our eyes collided, and I immediately noticed how fast Asher was walking toward me—too fast, as if the world around him had stopped mattering. Corrine trailed behind him, clearly struggling to keep up with the length and urgency of his strides.

A smirk curved my lips.

My brow lifted when I saw how he was almost dragging her along, holding onto him like an accessory she refused to let go of—yet one that clearly got in the way.

So this is how you play now, Asher.

“Emily—”

I raised my hand instantly, my palm facing him—a clear, unmistakable command to stop. I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t need to.

“Are you going to talk about our divorce?” I asked calmly, my tone bordering on bored indifference.

“No.”

“Then stay out of my sight.”

Simple. Clean. Emotionless.

I turned away, fully prepared to walk off—but before I could even take a single step, his hand closed around my arm, stopping me cold and forcing me to face him again.

My brow furrowed.

If I were still in my old body—if I were still Nora Dumont in flesh and bone—this man would already be on the floor. But Emily’s body? Still weak. Still recovering. I was only beginning to train again, to rebuild muscle memory, to follow a controlled diet.

Self-control, Nora.

“Emily, you’re my wife,” he said firmly. “We will never get a divorce. I won’t agree to it.”

The restraint was obvious. A vein stood out along his neck. His jaw was locked so tight it looked like one wrong word from me would unleash something ugly.

I smiled.

Slow. Dangerous.

“Watch me make you.”

Then I struck his hand away from my arm—not hard, not violent, just precise. Enough to make him let go.

I turned fully and walked away, heading straight toward the direction my feet had been itching to take from the very beginning.

I crossed the opposite side of the function hall, deliberately passing the exact spot where Asher and Corrine had been standing before they approached me. I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to. I could feel the weight of their gazes burning into my back.

My eyes were locked onto the man sitting quietly in the corner.

Tsk.

He was far too obvious.

Relaxed posture, but sharp eyes. Minimal movement, perfect timing. Clearly trained.

I was close when he suddenly looked my way.

Our gazes met.

Casually, I lifted my hand toward my chest and made a subtle gesture with my fingers—small, almost imperceptible to anyone else.

To my two o’clock. Enemy.

That's what the sign means.

His brows furrowed.

I could tell he was confused. Naturally. As Nora Dumont, only two people knew that signal—me and my right-hand man.

Him.

Dante Montecarlo.

He stood up, intending to approach me—but before he could take even a single step, someone grabbed me and twisted me back around.

“Damn it!” I cursed when I found myself face-to-face with Asher again.

Perfect timing. As always.

“We need to talk,” he said, his tone firm and unyielding.

From the corner of my vision, I saw Dante stop. He didn’t move closer—not while Asher was here. Smart. He knew when to pull back.

“Why don’t you try talking to Asher properly so you can clear up this misunderstanding between you?” a soft voice suggested.

My eyes narrowed.

That line came from Corrine.

Her voice was low. Gentle. The kind that sounded harmless, almost fragile. But I knew her type far too well.

Was this her way of staying relevant? Of making Asher feel like she was the “understanding” one, while I played the role of the problem?

“Oh, spare me your unsolicited advice,” I said coldly, raising a brow. “I don’t need it from someone who wants my company.”

“What do you mean?” Asher asked, genuinely confused, completely missing the subtext.

I smirked.

“Why don’t you ask her?” I replied before turning away again.

Damn it. When will these two finally leave me alone?

“Emily,” Corrine called—and before I could evade her completely, she grabbed my arm.

I reacted instinctively, jerking my arm free.

Not forcefully.

Not intentionally.

But in the very next second—

She was on the floor.

Crying.

The room reacted instantly. Sharp gasps. Murmurs are spreading like wildfire. I could feel the air tighten, thicken with tension.

I looked down at her—sitting on the floor, clutching her arm, tears streaming freely, the picture of a helpless victim.

…Interesting.

It was my first time seeing just how skilled she really was.

If this was the game they wanted to play, then they had chosen the wrong opponent.

“Emily, you don’t need to push me…” Corrine sobbed as Asher helped her up.

“Why did you have to do that? She just wanted to talk to you,” Asher said. There was no anger in his voice—but the discomfort was unmistakable. Like words he didn’t truly want to say, yet felt forced to.

“What did I do to her?” I asked, looking straight at both of them.

“You pushed me,” Corrine said, now standing upright again, her hands once more wrapped around Asher’s arm.

I smiled and stepped slightly closer to her.

“I pushed you?” I repeated.

I noticed the fear flicker across Corrine’s face at my question—brief, but unmistakable. She was suddenly scared.

“I just want to talk,” she said quickly. “I just want to clear a few things up between Ash and me so you won’t misunderstand.”

Around us, the whispers grew louder. Eyes turned accusatory, judgmental—people looking at me as if they already knew the whole story.

As if they had already decided who the villain was.

But I chuckled softly, a sound laced with mockery rather than amusement.

“You didn’t want me to misunderstand,” I said calmly, my gaze flicking pointedly to her hands, “yet there you are—clinging to my husband.”

At that, Asher immediately pulled Corrine’s hands away from him, as if the contact had suddenly burned.

“Yes. Who wouldn’t misunderstand that?” an elderly woman to my right spoke up, her voice sharp with disapproval. “She keeps holding onto a man she knows very well is married.”

“What’s worse is Mr. Bennett himself,” another woman added from behind her. “Imagine this—he says he wants to talk to Mrs. Bennett, yet he still needs Ms. Williams standing right beside him? Why? If they are husband and wife, shouldn’t they be the only ones talking, without a third party interfering?”

Corrine glanced around, and I could see it in her eyes—the slow realization that the tide had turned. The whispers surrounding us were no longer in her favor.

“You said I pushed her?” I said coldly, turning my attention back to Asher. “Since you’re so eager to believe her, then sign the divorce papers.”

That was all.

I turned my back on them without another word. I had no more time to waste—because neither of them was my real objective tonight.

My eyes met Dante’s again across the room, just for a moment. But neither of us made a move to approach the other. I knew there would be another chance.

I could only hope that, as my right hand, he already knew what needed to be done in my absence.

I took a seat at an empty table and waited for the party to officially begin. I wasn’t one to attend events like this, but I supposed there was value in showing up every once in a while—especially when observation mattered more than celebration.

From where I sat, I noticed Asher taking a seat at a table next to mine. Corrine was still with him. I dismissed them completely, even when I could feel his gaze lingering on me.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a man’s voice rang out as he stepped onto the stage. Everyone turned toward him—including me. “Let us all welcome Mr. Henry Taylor, our birthday celebrant!”

The hall erupted in applause. I joined them a beat later, standing along with the rest of the guests, but my attention had already drifted elsewhere.

The man who had been positioned on the second floor earlier—the enemy of our organization—was gone.

So was Dante.

Did he take care of it?

My focus was no longer on the celebration. It shifted instead to the people around me, to movements and absences that mattered far more. I clapped when everyone else did, then slowly sat back down in time for Matt to arrive.

"I'm sorry for being late, Ms. Hills. I've caught up on some problems along the way." I raised my hand, making him quiet. He nodded and sat on the chair next to me.

“Is it settled?” I asked. Matt shook his head, lowering his gaze.

“Go and do what you need to do. I can take care of myself now.”

“Are you sure, Ma’am Emily? Sir Rod said,” I didn’t let him finish and spoke again.

“Who’s your boss now?”

“You are,” he replied.

“Then go. I can handle myself.”

He looked at me first, then gave a small nod and a smile. Matt stood up and excused himself. I could tell from his expression that he was still flustered, so it was better for him to sort that out first. Besides, I didn’t really need a guard—Asher and Corrine were the only ones who could truly get on my nerves.

“Emily, did you perhaps prepare a gift for Mr. Taylor?” Corrine asked sweetly.

Damn it. When will this woman finally stop?

I ignored her completely, keeping my eyes fixed on the stage where the birthday celebrant now stood with his family.

“She doesn’t need to bring anything,” Asher said instead. “I brought one. We’re husband and wife—so whatever I give represents both of us.”

My brow arched at his words. When I glanced at Corrine, I almost laughed at the look on her face.

“What?” I asked her coolly. “Did you not expect Asher to say that?”

“Ash, I thought—” she began, but I cut her off.

“You thought you were his date,” I said plainly. “So you didn’t need to prepare anything?”

Corrine’s hand curled into a fist at her side. Then suddenly, she smiled—a smile that immediately set off alarms in my head.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume,” she said softly. “Mrs. Bennett—your mother-in-law—told me not to bring anything. She said Ash already had it covered. She also said that whatever is his, I should consider mine as well.”

She was provoking me.

Deliberately.

She even raised her voice slightly, ensuring nearby guests could hear. Almost instantly, whispers erupted again.

“I see,” I said slowly, my lips curling into a sneer as I watched her cheeks flush red. “So much for wanting to clear things up between Asher and me. You imply ownership over whatever my husband owns. Hypocrite.”

“Emily! I didn’t mean it like that—” And there it was again. The tears. Instant. Like a waterfall on command.

“Stop it, Corrine,” Asher snapped. “You started this. And don’t believe anything my mother told you—she doesn’t get to decide for me.”

I was genuinely surprised when Asher suddenly grabbed my arm.

“Let’s go,” he said, already guiding me toward Mr. Taylor, who had stepped down from the stage and was now accepting gifts from guests.

“Corrine!” a cheerful female voice called out.

I glanced over and noticed the woman standing beside the elderly birthday celebrant. “Come here.”

Corrine quickly approached her and exchanged cheek kisses.

“Oh, let me introduce you,” the woman said enthusiastically. “This is Asher, CEO of the Bennett Group.”

That was all it took.

Corrine immediately pulled my husband—no, Emily’s husband—away.

I rolled my eyes. She made it look so easy.

Not that I expected anything from him anyway.

Just as the woman was about to formally introduce Asher and Corrine to Mr. Taylor, a deep baritone voice cut in.

“Henry.”

I felt a man stand beside me.

I looked up—and my brows furrowed sharply the moment I recognized him.

“Devon!” Mr. Taylor exclaimed, clearly pleased.

What was he doing here?

And why did it feel like this meeting wasn’t a coincidence at all?

Who exactly was he?