Edinburgh to NYC

The Bridge of Broken Promises

The ride back to the hotel was a blur of neon lights and New York City grit, but for Emma, the world had turned monochrome. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her father’s face—not the laughing man from her childhood, but the man falling from the fourteenth floor, discarded like a piece of faulty machinery by the Morgans.

When she burst into the hotel suite, the door slammed against the wall with a violence that made Elena jump from the sofa. Elena’s face was still set in the hard lines of their earlier argument, but the sight of Emma—trembling, tear-stained, and looking like a ghost—softened her expression into one of alarm.

"Emma? What happened? I thought you were with him," Elena said, stepping forward.

Emma collapsed into a chair, her breath coming in ragged hitches. "He’s a murderer, Elena. Not Jayden… his father. Jacob Morgan killed my father. He threw him off a building because of a business deal. And Jayden… Jayden knew. He knew all of it."

The silence that followed was heavy. Emma poured out the story George had told her, the files, the proofs, the cold-blooded calculation of the Morgan empire. Then, a hysterical, broken laugh escaped her lips.

"And do you want to know the best part?" Emma choked out, clutching her stomach. "Before I found out… on the High Bridge… he proposed to me. He got down on one knee on that old, rusted walkway and called it the 'Bridge of Promises.' He promised me forever. He promised to protect me. And I said yes, Elena. I accepted a proposal from the son of the man who slaughtered my father. It’s all rubbish. Every word out of his mouth was a lie meant to keep me quiet, to keep the Howard legacy under his thumb."

Elena sat beside her, her eyes narrowing, a strange, sharp light gleaming in them. She placed a hand on Emma’s shoulder, her voice dropping to a soothing, dangerous pitch. "He used you, Emma. They both did. They think because we’re 'just girls,' we won’t fight back. They think they can kill a Howard and then marry the inheritance to keep it legal."

"I loved him," Emma whispered, the words sounding like ash.

"Love is a weakness they exploited," Elena countered firmly. "But you can’t let this stand. If you let him walk away, my father will never rest. We need to end this where it started. On that 'Bridge of Promises.' If that’s where he gave you a fake life, that’s where you should give him a real ending."

Emma looked up, her eyes red and swollen. "What are you saying?"

"Call him," Elena commanded. "Tell him you’re sorry for running away. Tell him that you want to meet him at the bridge tonight—just the two of you—to seal the promise properly. And when he gets there…" Elena reached into her travel bag and pulled out a small, sleek black handgun. "You finish it."

Emma recoiled. "I can’t shoot him, Elena. I’ve never even held a gun!"

"Think of your father, Emma! Think of him falling, screaming, while Jacob Morgan watched! Jayden is his blood. He is the heir to a murderer’s throne. If you don't do this, you're betraying your Dad."

The image of her father’s broken body flashed in Emma's mind, fueled by Elena’s venomous encouragement. The grief curdled into a cold, hard knot of vengeance. Emma took the gun. Her fingers were ice. "Tonight," she whispered. "On the bridge."

---

The High Bridge stretched across the Harlem River, a lonely span of stone and steel under the pale moonlight. The wind whipped Emma’s hair across her face as she stood near the center of the walkway. Her hand was buried deep in her coat pocket, gripping the cold metal of the pistol.

Footsteps echoed behind her—rhythmic, confident. Jayden.

"Emma," he breathed, his voice filled with a relief that sounded so genuine it almost broke her. "Thank God. When you ran out of the house… you don't know how—"

"I know everything, Jayden,George told me everything about my father's death." Emma said, turning slowly. Her voice was dead, devoid of the warmth he usually sparked.

Jayden stopped, his face paling under the amber glow of the bridge lights. "Emma, listen to me. My father… I didn't want you to know like that. I was going to tell you once we were safe, once we were away from his shadow."

"Safe?" Emma stepped toward him. "You call this safe? You built a 'Bridge of Promises' on a foundation of my father’s blood!This is no the bridge of promises Jayden , it's the bridge of Broken Promises."

In one swift motion, she pulled the gun. Jayden froze, his hands rising instinctively. "Emma, put that down. Please.It wasn't me it was my father and I hate him for this and My father , now he's dead too!"

"You knew," she sobbed, her vision blurring with fresh tears. "You looked me in the eye every day knowing your family destroyed mine. You made me love you so I wouldn't look for the truth."

"I love you, Emma! That was the only thing that wasn't a lie!"

Emma’s finger trembled on the trigger. Rage and love battled in her chest, a violent storm that made her heart feel like it was bursting. She looked at him—the man she had dreamed of a life with—and saw the face of her father’s killer's son. Her eyes were bloodshot, screaming with the agony of the betrayal. She began to squeeze, her breath hitching in a sob.

CRACK.

The sound was deafening, but it didn't come from Emma’s hand.

Emma felt a sudden, searing heat bloom in her back, followed by a coldness that spread with terrifying speed. Her eyes widened, her grip on her own gun loosening as it clattered to the pavement. She didn't understand. She hadn't fired.

She stumbled forward, her legs turning to water. Jayden lunged for her, his face a mask of pure horror.

She fell into his arms, her weight dragging them both toward the ground. Jayden cradled her, his hands frantically searching for the wound. As he pulled his hand away from her back, it was slick with deep, crimson blood. A stray spray of red splattered across Jayden’s face, a gruesome contrast against the stark white of his eyes, which were wide with a shock so profound he couldn't even scream.

"Emma?" Jayden gasped, his voice breaking.

Behind the shadows of the bridge’s stone pillars. Elena held a smoking pistol, her expression cold and devoid of the "supportive cousin" persona she had worn hours ago. Behind her, Nell, was standing, a thin, satisfied smile playing on her lips.

"Sorry, Emma," Elena murmured. "But my father really deserves the company. He was always in your father's shadow, getting the scraps. With you and your father gone, the Howard company finally belongs to us. You were always too weak to do what was necessary."

Nell stepped up beside her daughter, smoothing her coat. "A tragic ending," Nell said softly, looking at Jayden. "A lover’s quarrel on the Bridge of Promises. I find it very poetic."

Emma tried to speak to Jayden, but all that came out was a soft, wet cough. The world was dimming. The last thing she felt was the warmth of Jayden’s tears falling onto her cheek and the frantic, steady beat of his heart against her ear—the heart she had been told to hate, but the only thing that held her.