The Crush List

Chapter Fourteen – Jealous, Vivienne

The heat of Los Angeles wrapped around Emery like a shockwave the moment they stepped off the plane. It wasn’t the weather—it was the flashing lights, the sea of shouting voices, the sudden weight of public curiosity that descended on them the moment they were spotted.

Paparazzi. Everywhere.

She blinked against the strobe of cameras as Cal wrapped an arm protectively around her waist and led her through the terminal with practiced calm. His security detail moved swiftly, flanking them with precision as they wove through the chaos toward the waiting SUV.

Emery’s heart pounded as they ducked into the black car, the doors slamming shut behind them, mercifully muffling the noise.

“I didn’t think it would be that bad,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Cal glanced over, his jaw tight but gaze softening when it landed on her. “It wasn’t supposed to be.” He gave her thigh a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll handle it.”

She nodded, trying to find her breath again as the car pulled through the gates and up the long drive to Cal’s estate. The moment the front door opened, Emery exhaled, grateful for the silence and the cool hush of home.

But that calm shattered just as quickly.

Standing in the center of Cal’s living room—poised like she owned the place—was a woman Emery recognized instantly.

Tall. Blonde. Perfectly composed. Dressed in designer from head to toe.

Cal’s ex-wife.

Emery froze in the doorway, the air rushing out of her lungs in disbelief. The woman’s calculating gaze flicked over her, cool and assessing, before landing on Cal with a knowing smirk.

“Well,” the woman said, her voice smooth and cutting, “looks like the rumors are true.”

Cal didn’t flinch. His entire posture shifted, sharp and cold.

“What the hell are you doing here, Vivienne?”

Emery had never heard that tone from him before. It was pure steel—furious, unyielding. Vivienne didn’t seem fazed by it at all.

“I thought we should talk,” she said, brushing invisible lint from her sleeve. “About your little girlfriend. And the mess you’re about to create.”

Emery felt her stomach drop.

Whatever this was—it wasn’t just jealousy. It was war.

Cal didn’t move from the doorway. He didn’t have to. His silence alone was enough to make Vivienne pause—though only for a breath.

She turned away from Emery without so much as a glance, her perfectly manicured fingers clasping together as she moved further into the room, all graceful confidence and designer arrogance. “Parading around France with a twenty-two-year-old? That’s your big return to headlines?” she said, her tone low and venom-laced. “It’s pathetic, even for you.”

Cal’s jaw clenched. “You’re not here for a conversation. You’re here because you saw a picture you didn’t like.”

Vivienne’s lips curled into a smile that never reached her eyes. “I’m here because your recklessness reflects on me, whether I like it or not. Don’t forget that we were once the power couple, Cal. My name still gets dragged into your messes.”

His eyes narrowed. “This isn’t a mess, Vivienne. And I don’t need your approval—especially not when it comes to who I choose to be with.”

“She’s a child,” Vivienne hissed, stepping closer, her voice sharp and low. “Wide-eyed and soft-spoken. That’s not love, Cal. That’s a midlife crisis with a pretty face.”

Cal moved then. One slow step forward. His voice dropped to something even colder. “You don’t get to come into my home, insult someone I care about, and pretend it’s about reputation. It’s always been about control with you. And I’m done letting you have any.”

Vivienne laughed once, brittle and disbelieving. “You actually care about her?”

“I do,” he said simply.

Behind him, Emery hadn’t said a word—but he could feel her tension. He knew Vivienne’s brand of cruelty, the way she cut with precision, always going for the softest places.

“Leave,” he told her.

Vivienne’s eyes flashed. “This will blow up in your face.”

He didn’t blink. “Not before I throw you out of my house.”

Vivienne stared at him, and for the first time, something faltered in her expression. She hadn’t expected this version of him—not one who stood between her and someone else. Not one who didn’t flinch.

She gave a bitter smile, grabbed her purse from the couch, and turned on her heels.

“I’ll see you in the press,” she warned on her way out.

Cal watched the door close behind her before finally exhaling. He turned to Emery, whose wide eyes met his.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded slowly. “She looked at you like she still owned you.”

“She doesn’t,” he said, walking toward her, “and never will again.”

When he reached her, he pulled her into his arms.

“You’re the only one I see now.”

The tension still lingered in the air, like the echo of a slammed door. Emery stood frozen in the center of the room, her arms loosely folded, her brows drawn tight. Cal approached her slowly, his steps steady and deliberate.

He gently cupped her cheek. “Hey. Look at me.”

She did. And the second her gaze met his, something in her softened.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that,” he murmured. “Vivienne has always known how to make an entrance, but she doesn’t get to make a mess in our space.”

Emery gave a small, tight smile. “She looked at me like I was something disposable.”

Cal’s jaw clenched again, but he kept his voice calm. “She’s a professional manipulator. She treats people like props to rearrange around her image, and I was her favorite centerpiece—for a while. That ended long before the divorce papers were signed.”

He brushed his thumb gently against her cheek. “I should’ve warned you she might try to stir things up. But I want you to know something, Emery... I won’t let her hurt you. Not in public. Not in private. My publicist is already working on a press buffer. If Vivienne says anything, we’ll fire back with the truth.”

Emery raised an eyebrow. “Which is?”

“That I’m in a relationship I actually care about. That I’m finally happy. And that Vivienne’s got no part in my story anymore.”

She hesitated. “You’re not worried she’ll go after your image? That people will think—”

“I don’t care what people think,” Cal interrupted gently. “I care about you. I care about what we’re building here. Vivienne hasn’t mattered to me in a long, long time. You know who I stayed up late texting for the last two months? You. You’re the one I flew across the world with. You’re the one I came home to.”

Her breath hitched, and he took both her hands in his.

“I’m not going back, Emery. She’s the past. You’re where I want to be now. And if we’re moving forward, I need you to believe that.”

Her eyes welled, but she smiled as she leaned into him, pressing her forehead to his.

“I believe you,” she whispered. “I just didn’t expect any of this to feel so real so fast.”

He kissed her softly. “It’s real. And I’m not going anywhere.”

The house had grown still. No more echoes of confrontation. No more sharp, lingering words. Just the quiet murmur of jazz from the sound system and the warm glow of candlelight flickering across the open living room.

Cal reached for Emery’s hand and pulled her close without a word. She melted into him, her cheek pressing against his chest as they swayed gently, the music guiding their rhythm. No dancing, not really—just holding, grounding each other in something soft and real.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his lips brushing the crown of her head.

She nodded. “Now I am.”

He smiled and kissed her temple. “Good. Because I don’t want you carrying any of her cruelty with you.”

Emery looked up at him, her fingers gripping the hem of his shirt. “And I don’t want you holding onto guilt. She was never right for you, Cal.”

“You are,” he murmured, his thumb tracing along her jaw.

The sincerity in his voice made her stomach flip. No teasing. No casual charm. Just truth, laid bare.

Later, upstairs, everything moved slowly. Cal took his time undressing her, kissing every inch of skin he revealed. He whispered to her—soft, sweet nothings that made her heart beat wildly.

“You’re it for me, Emery.”

“You make me want more.”

“I love waking up and knowing you’re here.”

He didn’t rush. His hands explored her gently, reverently. Like he was trying to memorize every curve, every sigh, every part of her that made her uniquely Emery.

She wrapped her arms around him, drawing him in, letting him show her with every kiss just how deeply he felt this—her. Them.

By the time they collapsed back into the pillows, tangled in each other and the softness of the sheets, Emery felt something settle in her chest.

It was quiet. Safe. Certain.

She was his, and he was already hers.

And for the first time since arriving in LA, she didn’t feel like a girl out of place.

She felt like home.