When Emerson and Madeline notice me descending the stairs, their reactions couldn’t have been more different. Emerson’s face lights up with a warm, genuine smile, his happiness at seeing me evident. Madeline, on the other hand, visibly frowns, her displeasure practically radiating. I can’t say I blame her. She isn’t exactly thrilled about my presence in this house or Emerson’s sudden attention toward me, as he leaves her mid-sentence.
Emerson strides over to meet me at the bottom of the stairs, gently taking my hand in his. His touch is firm yet soft, an unspoken promise laced in the gesture. He lets me lead him outside, where he opens the front door for me with a flourish. Turning to the chauffeur, he waves him off and opens the car door himself.
“I’ll take care of this,” he says befor
