Stalking Emily Saving Emily

The Weight of Choices

LEO

Girlfriend.

The word had been a convenient lie thirty seconds earlier. Now it sat on my tongue, dangerously warm and I wasn’t ready to swallow.

I turned to look at her face and remembered the tiny, startled gasp she’d made when I slid my hand off her thigh. Having a girlfriend might not be so bad after all.

Emily shoved herself up from the booth. Her tiny arms shook as she ripped the apron off and slammed it onto the table hard enough that the silverware jumped.

The sharp slap cut straight through the clinking glasses and the half-hearted piano that no one had been listening to anyway.

My eyes refused to leave her retreating back. Her shoulders were locked and fists clenched at her sides. She walked like a queen refusing to give the mob the satisfaction of watching her bleed. Camera flashes chased her like hungry dogs.

The whispers erupted before the employee door even finished swinging.

“Did you see that?”

“Isn’t that the girl who cheated on that influencer guy, huh what's his name again?”

“Oh my God, I got the whole thing. I’m about to be famous.”

My chair scraped loud enough to kill half the murmurs. I zeroed in on the giddy teenage voice.

A girl, maybe fourteen, sat beside her mother, phone already raised like a trophy.

I bent until I was at her eye level.

“Delete it.”

“Huh?” She blinked, confused.

“I said delete it.” I flicked my gaze to the mother. “Or I sue both of you for invasion of privacy and emotional distress. Your choice.”

Around us, the remaining diners suddenly discovered fascinating patterns on their plates. Phones slid under napkins. Voices died.

The mother had the audacity to roll her eyes. “What does it even matter to you? Your face isn’t even in it. Kayla, honey, show the man the video so he can see how ridiculous he’s being.”

I caught Voss in my peripheral, already slinking toward the kitchen exit like a rat smelling cheese.

I snapped my fingers sharply, the way you call a dog that’s earned exactly zero kindness. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

Kayla thrust the phone toward me, smirking. “See? It’s already blowing up.”

I plucked the device from her hand before she could finish. Her mother lunged. Kayla shrieked. I sidestepped both of them, thumb flying across the screen.

Chaos exploded.

“Give that back!”

“That’s theft!”

I finished, wiped the phone clean, and dropped it back into Kayla’s lap like it was contaminated. “Be glad all I did was delete the video.”

“You’re definitely getting in trouble for this!” the girl spat, cheeks flaming.

I smiled, slow and pleasant. “Try your hardest, sweetheart. I’ll be right here waiting with my lawyers and my very expensive boredom.”

Kayla tapped the screen, once, twice, then her face crumpled. “It’s gone, Mom. It’s gone!”

Her mother patted her head like she was five. “It’s just a silly video, Kayla. Stop crying in public.”

“No, you don’t understand!” Kayla’s voice cracked into a full wail that scraped my nerves raw. “Mom, everything is gone! All my pictures, all my TikToks, my notes, everything!”

I leaned down again, voice velvet-soft. “Actually, I formatted the entire phone. Cloud backups included. Consider it a public service. Next time you want to cyberbully someone for clout, pick a target who doesn’t have me.”

Kayla screamed and ran out the restaurant followed by her swearing mother.

I grinned wider. I probably should have felt bad. I didn’t.

Marco materialized at my elbow, voice low and careful. “Sir, should I get you anything? Water? Something stronger?”

“Close the restaurant.”

A stunned beat. “It’s barely nine, Mr. Ashford. We still have full tables.”

“Close it, Marco.” I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t need to. “Every last customer. Comp everything. I want the room to be empty in the next four minutes.”

People have excellent survival instincts. The moment the atmosphere shifted from an expensive evening to something lethal just entered the room, forks froze mid air. Waitstaff moved like ghosts, herding the last guests out with practiced smiles and promises of free desserts next visit. Within minutes the only sounds left were the low hum of cooling kitchen equipment and Voss’s breathing, which had graduated to full on hyperventilation.

I turned.

“My office. Now.”

The door clicked shut behind us like a judge’s gavel.

Voss stood on the Persian rug, hands twitching at his sides, fingers opening and closing as if searching for something to hold on to.

I didn’t offer him a seat.

I walked to the window first, looked down at the now empty dining floor, and let the silence stretch until it screamed.

Then, very quietly: “Tell me, Voss. How exactly did my girlfriend seduce you?”

“Mr. Ashford, I…I can explain.”

“You’ll do better than explain.” I turned slowly. “Because you told Richard Hartwell that Emily walked into your office, sat on your desk, and offered to do anything to keep her job. That she begged. That she was the aggressor. Word for word, Voss. I want to hear you repeat that fairy tale to my face.”

He swallowed so hard I heard the click. “She… she did.”

“Voss.” My voice dropped another octave. “Try again. This time, remember that I personally review every security feed in this building. Every camera and hallway, every blind corner. I know exactly where Emily goes. I know who she speaks to. And I know she has never stepped within ten feet of your office door.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed again. I stepped closer, tone soft, almost maternal. “I already know what happened. I just want to hear you say it out loud. For both of us.”

Voss’s knees buckled. He dropped hard, palms slapping together in desperate prayer. “Ms. Veronica had things on me. Photos and texts. She said if I didn’t back her story, if I didn’t confirm everything she was spreading about Emily, she’d send it all to my wife. To my kids. She swore she’d ruin me, Mr. Ashford. Destroy my entire life.”

“So instead you chose to destroy Emily’s.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The silence did it for him.

I moved to my desk, pulled out the cheque book, and wrote his name in the same precise handwriting I used for million dollar contracts.

I tore the cheque free and held it out. “Your final paycheck. Full benefits through the end of the month. HR will courier the paperwork before breakfast.”

He stared at the slip like it might bite him. “You’re… firing me?”

“Would you prefer I encourage Emily to file a defamation suit against you personally? Because if she does decide to sue, make no mistake, she’ll have my full legal team, my money, and my very personal attention behind her.”

He still didn’t take the cheque.

“I’ve been here four years,” he whispered, as though time served equaled loyalty.

“Four years,” I echoed. “And in those four years you never once grew a spine.” I let the cheque flutter to the floor between us. “Security will escort you out. Do not come back to this property. Do not contact any member of my staff. And if you ever speak Emily’s name again, I will make sure the only job you can get is asking people if they want fries to go. Understood?”

I was out the door before he could find his voice.

I had somewhere far more important to be.

The service hallway was dim and narrow. I found her in the far corner where the walls closed in, back pressed to cold cinderblock, knees hugged tight to her chest.

Her whole body trembled.

Of course she was crying. She’d looked shattered when she left the dining room.

I’d watched her cry through glass and camera feeds before. I hated it then, and I hated it now. Something in my chest twisted every single time, an urge to hunt down whoever put those tears there and make them regret being alive.

I made my footsteps loud on purpose so I wouldn’t startle her. I braced myself for the version of Emily that would collapse against me, for the tears that would soak my shirt.

Then I heard it.

Laughter.

Full, breathless, slightly unhinged laughter. Her shoulders shook with it. Both hands clamped over her mouth like she was trying to stuff a hurricane back inside a matchbox.

She heard me, looked up, wiped her wet face with the back of her wrist, and straightened just enough to meet my eyes.

“My life is over,” she deadpanned, voice completely flat. “The internet is going to eat me alive. My mom is going to call in ten minutes and ask why her daughter is once again trending for being a home-wrecker. I should probably just move to Antarctica and become a penguin. Penguins don’t have ex-boyfriends or viral scandals, right?”

I stared at her.

She stared right back, one eyebrow lifting in challenge.

And then, God help me I started laughing too.