Edinburgh to NYC

"Dad! Don’t worry, your little girl can manage everything," Emma whispered, her voice barely a thread in the damp Scottish air. A single tear traced a path down her cheek, shimmering like a lost diamond before falling into the grass of the Edinburgh cemetery. Her hazel-green eyes, framed by impossibly long, dark lashes, remained fixed on the name carved in stone: David Howard. Against the backdrop of grey cathedrals and moss-covered tombs, Emma looked like a displaced princess. Her white silk frock billowed in the wind, contrasting sharply with the midnight-black of her hair—hair that held hidden glints of mahogany when the light hit it just right. Her ruby-red lips trembled, but her stance was firm. "Emma! We’re getting late, we gotta go!" Elena’s shout broke the silence, echoing off the ancient headstones. "Coming!" Emma called back, the strength returning to her voice. She leaned down, fingers brushing the cold granite one last time. "Bye, Dad," she breathed. As she turned toward the car, the silk of her dress snapped in the wind like a white flag of surrender to the new life awaiting her across the ocean. --- The black sedan didn't just stop in front of the New York skyscraper; it claimed the pavement. When the door opened, Jayden Morgan stepped out, a man who seemed to command the very air around him. Standing 6'4", he was a study in monochromatic power: polished black leather, sharp formal trousers, and a coat that seemed to absorb the city’s light. Underneath, a slate-grey shirt and a slim black tie anchored his formidable silhouette. He moved through the lobby with a predatory grace. Employees lowered their heads, their gazes hitting the floor as if looking at him directly might burn. He didn't offer a smile; he didn't offer acknowledgment. Inside the meeting room, the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. Jayden pulled off his sunglasses, revealing piercing crystal-blue eyes that held the warmth of an iceberg. "The deal, sir," one of the three men at the table stammered, sliding a folder forward with trembling hands. "I agree," Jayden said, his voice a deep, resonant rumble. "On two conditions. First, I want fifty percent of the equity, not forty." "But sir—" Mr. Park started. Jayden’s gaze shifted, sharp as a glass shard. "I said two conditions. I’ve only stated one, yet you are already interrupting. Impatience is a trait I don't fund." "No, Mr. Morgan, please understand..." Jayden ignored the plea. He reached for the silver cigarette holder. Without a word, one of his men stepped forward to light it. He took a slow, deliberate drag, the smoke curling around his cold features. "Are you really trying to convince me? Or are you just fond of the sound of your own voice?" "Sir, actually—" "QUIET." The word wasn't a shout; it was a finality. "I get what I want. And if I don't, I snatch it from the ruins of those who stood in my way. Mr. Park, you’ve been a partner since my father’s time. For that reason alone, I won't crush you today. I’ll simply cancel. I won't invest, and I’ll ensure no one else touches this project. We're done." --- "The deal was incinerated," Daniel Howard said, pacing the study with a glass of scotch in his hand. The frustration in his voice was jagged. Emma looked up from her desk, her brow furrowed. "Why, Uncle? I thought the Sinclair group was interested." "Apparently, we didn't meet their 'standard,'" Daniel spat. "Is the idea not strong enough?" "It’s not about the idea, Emma. It’s about power," Daniel replied, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her. "Anyway, are the legal documents ready? Tomorrow, the company finally becomes yours. All my years of hard work, keeping your father's legacy alive... it all lands on your shoulders." "It’s done, Uncle. Everything is signed," Emma said softly. Daniel leaned against the doorframe, a sharp, unreadable smirk playing on his lips. "You seem more interested in the walls of the company than the blood and sweat of the business, Emma. Just joking, of course." He turned and left, his footsteps heavy in the hallway. ---------- By midnight, the Howard estate was silent. Emma’s room on the third floor felt more like a glass cage than a sanctuary. After a long shower, she stood in the center of the room, the scent of vanilla and damp cedar lingering in the air. She moved toward the balcony’s glass doors. Outside, Edinburgh was being washed clean by a sudden, violent downpour. She stepped out. There was no awning, no protection. Within seconds, the rain soaked through her clothes, clinging to her skin like a second layer. She didn't flinch. She tilted her head back, letting the freezing drops wash over her face, mixing with the phantom salt of her tears from earlier that day. "I miss you, Mumma. I miss you, Dad," she whispered into the thunder an she closed her eyes.