MARRIED TO THE BILLIONAIRE IN A COMA

Chapter 4

Emily POV

"What do you mean, we will see how long that lasts?" I said. "I have already given her my answer. It is done."

Sandra leaned back in her chair like she had all the time in the world. "Nothing is ever really done with you, Emily. You say no, then you spend three days thinking about it, and eventually the no becomes a yes. It always does."

"Not this time."

"We will see."

I crossed my arms, refusing to let her calm voice make me feel like the unreasonable one in my own kitchen. "Tell me something. This finder's fee you mentioned. How much did she offer you for handing over my name like I was a piece of furniture?"

For the first time, something flickered across Sandra's face. Not shame. Just mild annoyance that I had asked out loud.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes, it matters. I want to know exactly how much I was worth to you."

She sighed, like I was the one being difficult. "Enough to matter. Enough that turning it down would be foolish for both of us."

"Both of us," I repeated. "So this was never about helping me. It was about what you would get out of it."

"Can it not be both?" she said. "You get out of debt. I get something for finally being useful to this family instead of just being tolerated. Everyone wins."

"Everyone except the part where I am being sold to a stranger."

"Nobody said sold," Sandra snapped, finally showing a bit of heat. "It is a business arrangement. Rich people do this sort of thing more than you would think. You would be foolish to act like this is some great tragedy."

I opened my mouth to answer her, but the front door opened before I could, and Vanessa walked in like she owned the place, dropping her bag on my couch without asking.

"Well, this sounds like an interesting conversation," she said, smiling in that way she always did right before saying something designed to hurt.

"This does not concern you," I said.

"Everything in this family concerns me." Vanessa dropped into the chair across from Sandra, crossing her legs like she was settling in for a show. "So. The billionaire thing. Mom told me. Are you seriously turning that down?"

"There is no billionaire thing," I said. "I said no."

"Of course you did." Vanessa's smile widened. "You always say no to anything that requires you to actually be brave for once."

"This has nothing to do with bravery."

"Doesn't it?" She tilted her head, studying me like I was something mildly amusing. "A rich family wants you to marry into money, and you are standing here acting offended, like you have so many better options lined up."

"It is not that simple, Vanessa."

"It really is that simple," she said. "You are just scared."

"I am not scared. I do not know the man. Nobody has even told me what is actually wrong with him."

"Maybe there is nothing wrong with him," Vanessa said, "and you are just looking for reasons to say no because, deep down, you do not think you could handle being married to someone like that."

"That is not..."

"Be honest, Emily." She leaned forward, and for a moment the amusement in her voice sharpened into something closer to real contempt. "You would not even know what to do with a man like that. Someone with real money. Real power. You have spent your whole life folding shoeboxes and paying off Dad's mess. What do you even know about being someone's wife in a world like that?"

Her words landed exactly where she meant them to. I felt my face go hot.

"At least I have not spent my whole life trying to marry my way out of the ordinary," I said.

Vanessa's smile did not waver, but something behind her eyes did. "There is nothing wrong with wanting more than ordinary."

"There is something wrong with wanting it badly enough to be jealous that someone else got offered the chance instead of you."

The silence that followed told me I had hit closer to the truth than I expected. Sandra cleared her throat, glancing between the two of us like she was watching a match she had started but no longer fully controlled.

"That is enough, both of you," she said. "Emily, think about what you are throwing away out of pride. Vanessa, go put your bag somewhere that is not the couch."

Vanessa stood, shooting me one last look on her way toward the hallway. "You will change your mind," she said. "You always do."

"I will not."

"We will see," she said, echoing her mother almost word for word, and disappeared down the hall.

Sandra stood a moment later, smoothing her coat like the whole conversation had barely touched her. "Think about it, Emily. That is all I am asking. Do not let pride make a decision that logic should be making instead."

She let herself out without waiting for me to respond, the same way she had let herself in.

I stood alone in my kitchen for a long time after the door closed behind her. The apartment felt too quiet, the kind of quiet that makes every small sound feel louder than it should. The refrigerator hummed, a car passing outside, my own heartbeat, which felt strangely fast for someone who had already made up her mind.

I told myself I was only calling to end it properly. To make sure Eleanor Cross understood, without any doubt, that my answer was final, and that no one in my family would be calling her again on my behalf.

I picked up my phone and dialed the number from the card before I could think better of it.

She answered on the second ring, exactly like before.

"Emily," she said. "I confess, I did not expect to hear from you again so soon."

"I wanted to be clear," I said. "My stepmother does not speak for me. Whatever she told you, whatever deal she thinks she made, it does not count. I am the one you would need to agree to this, not her."

"I am well aware of that," Eleanor said calmly. "I would never have proceeded without your own consent. I simply appreciated the introduction."

"Well, now I am giving you my answer directly. It is no."

"I understand," she said. "Thank you for calling to tell me yourself. That was considerate."

I expected relief once I said it. I expected the tight feeling in my chest to loosen the moment the word was finally out of my mouth and aimed directly at her, not filtered through Sandra, not softened by hesitation.

Instead, the tightness stayed exactly where it was.

"Wait," I said, before she could hang up.

"Yes?"

I do not know where the question came from. It was not the one I had planned to ask. It was not even a question I had let myself think clearly enough to form until it was already leaving my mouth.

"What would I actually have to do?"

There was a pause at the other end of the line, brief but unmistakable, like she was deciding how much to say now that I had cracked the door open again after slamming it shut twice already.

"That," she said slowly, "is a much better question than no."