Chapter 12 - Emerald

Sleep is impossible after Cohen leaves. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face in the darkness, feel the ghost of his touch on my skin. My body still tingles in places I didn't even know could feel like this.

When morning comes, reality hits me with a cold slap. I can't believe that actually happened. That Cohen snuck into my room, touched me the way he did. That I liked it so much.

And now, the weak winter sun is streaming through my windows, and I have to go downstairs to face my mother. To pretend nothing has changed, even though everything has. How am I supposed to do that? How am I supposed to look her in the eye, knowing what her husband did to me last night?

I dress carefully in one of my mother's approved outfits—a gray shift dress the color of Cohen’s eyes that has pearl buttons down the back—hoping to appease her before whatever lecture she has planned. My hands shake as I try to do up the buttons.

A knock at my door makes me jump so hard I nearly rip one of the stupid buttons off.

"Come in," I call, expecting my mother's assistant Kendra with some new schedule change.

Instead, Cohen steps in, closing the door behind him. The sight of him makes my heart skip a beat. He looks devastatingly handsome in a perfectly tailored navy suit, his hair still damp from a shower. He takes in the sight of me in my dress, his gaze sweeping over my body, and the memory of what he did to me last night has heat creeping up my neck.

"Having trouble?" His voice is soft, and when he touches a finger to the blush on my chest, the heat intensifies.

"I can't get the buttons," I manage to say, and the words are barely out before he's turning me around, his hands working down my spine. His fingers graze my skin with each one, and the blush spreads up to my face.

"My mother's waiting," I whisper, but I don't move away.

"I know." He finishes with the buttons but doesn't step back. Instead, his hands slide down to my hips, holding me steady. "Remember what I said last night. Let me handle everything."

I turn in his arms, looking up at him. "How can you be so calm about this?"

A dark smile curves his lips. “Oh, I’m far from calm, little one. Trust me. But we can’t afford to let your mother know anything. She can never suspect, not until it's too late. Do you understand?”

I nod, even though I don’t. I don’t understand any of this. I don’t understand how he can act like nothing happened, like he didn't have his hands all over my body last night, like he didn't have his tongue in my mouth and his fingers between my legs. I don't understand how he can be so calm and controlled when I'm a mess of emotions. "Yes. I'll be careful."

"You’re exactly what I’ve been waiting for," he says, stroking a finger down my cheek. Then his gaze drops to my lips, and for a moment, I think he's going to kiss me. My heart pounds in anticipation, my breath catching in my throat. But then he steps away, and I have to press a hand to my stomach to quiet the butterflies.

"Now go," he says, stroking a thumb across my bottom lip. "Don't keep her waiting. I'll be close by."

The walk to my mother's office feels like marching to my execution. Each step on the marble floor echoes like a countdown, and by the time I reach her door, my hands are trembling so badly I have to clench them into fists.

I knock softly.

"Come in."

My mother sits behind her massive desk like a queen on her throne, perfect as always in a tailored white suit and pearls. Her makeup is flawless, her hair pulled back in a neat chignon, and she looks like she could step onto the cover of Living Delacroix magazine without needing a single airbrush.

"Sit down," she says, not looking up from her tablet.

I perch on the edge of one of her uncomfortable visitor chairs, crossing my ankles like she taught me and folding my hands in my lap.

"Do you know why I asked you here?" She finally looks up, fixing me with that arctic stare that always makes me feel about two inches tall.

"No, Mother."

She sets her tablet aside and leans back in her chair, studying me with narrowed eyes. "I'm concerned about you, Emerald."

"Concerned?"

"Yes. Your behavior lately has been... disappointing."

"Disappointing? How?" The word slips out before I can stop it, and I brace for her displeasure.

She leans forward slightly. "Those hideous jeans you wore yesterday for one. Your arguments about working with Emmitt for another. You've always been a compliant child, but lately, you've been pushing boundaries. And I can't have that, especially not with the Christmas party coming up."

I swallow hard. "I—"

"Don't interrupt," she snaps. "These changes coincide rather perfectly with Cohen's increased interest in your activities."

My blood runs cold. "I don't understand."

"Don't you?" Her classic French manicured nails tap against her desk. "Men like Cohen are drawn to weakness, Emerald. To naive little girls who they think need saving." Her lips curl into a cruel smile. "Do you really think he cares about you? Do you really think he'd risk his position here for a silly little girl? Please. Don't be stupid."

I try to speak, but my throat is tight. I can only shake my head, a silent plea.

"He's using you, darling. I would have expected you to recognize that. I raised you to be smarter, but apparently, I was wrong. Apparently, you're as foolish and gullible as every other girl your age."

Each word hits like a physical blow, finding all my deepest insecurities and twisting them like knives. "That's not—"

"You have no skills, Emerald. No education beyond what I've allowed. No money of your own." She stands, moving around her desk to tower over me. "Everything you are, everything you have, comes from me. And if you continue down this path of rebellion, I will take it all away. Do you understand?"

Tears burn behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. "Yes, Mother."

"Good." She moves back to her chair. "Now, about the Christmas party. You'll be escorted by James Montgomery's son. He's a suitable match, and the merger with their company would be beneficial."

"But—"

"This isn't a discussion." Her voice turns to ice, and the tears threaten again. "You will be on your best behavior at the party. You will be polite and charming and do everything in your power to secure a future with this boy. Do I make myself clear?"

I can't seem to find my voice, so I just nod. Anything to get out of here, away from her. Anything to end this conversation.

"And Emerald? Stay away from Cohen. He's not as perfect as you seem to think he is. In fact..." She pauses, a small smile playing at her lips. "Did you know he was investigated for the disappearance of his last girlfriend? Nothing was ever proven, of course, but still... interesting, isn't it?"

I feel like I'm going to be sick. "May I be excused?"

She waves a dismissive hand, already turning back to her tablet. "Yes. And remember what I said. Everything you are belongs to me."

I somehow make it back to my room before the tears start falling. I somehow make it back to my room before the tears start falling. I collapse on my bed, sobbing into my pillow, the image of Cohen's face swimming in front of my eyes. Those beautiful gray eyes, that dark hair, those strong, tattooed arms that held me close last night, that made me feel safe. That made me feel like maybe he could actually care about me. That maybe he would be the one to finally, truly love me.

But my mother is right. What do I have to offer someone like Cohen? And what about his last girlfriend? What really happened to her?

I curl up on my window seat, pressing my forehead against the cold glass as snow starts falling outside. Everything feels wrong, twisted, broken. Like someone's taken all my certainties and shattered them into pieces I can't put back together.

"Little one."

I whirl around to find Cohen standing in my doorway, his expression dark as storm clouds. Before I can speak, he's crossing the room in long strides, pulling me into his arms.

"I heard everything," he says against my hair. "Every fucking word she said to you." A shudder runs through him like his body’s struggling to contain his fury. "You can’t even imagine the things I want to do to her for making you cry."

The anger in his voice, the barely contained violence, should frighten me, especially after what my mother told me. But only I cling to him tighter, his words a balm to my wounded soul.

"Is it true?" I whisper. "Am I just... weak to you?"

He pulls back enough to cup my face in his hands, forcing me to meet his hurricane-force gaze. "You are the strongest person I know. Your mother is desperate. She's losing control, and she'll say anything to keep you caged."

"But—"

"No." His thumb brushes away a tear I didn't realize had fallen. "Everything she said was calculated to hurt you. To make you doubt yourself. To make you doubt me."

"What about... what she said about your ex?"

Something dangerous flashes in his eyes. "Ancient history," he says. "And not what you think. I'll tell you everything when the time is right, but for now..." He leans down, pressing his forehead to mine. "For now, just trust me. Can you do that?"

I should say no. Should run far away from whatever darkness lurks behind his eyes.

Instead, I whisper, "Yes."

His kiss tastes like victory and secrets, and I let myself drown in it. Because maybe my mother's right—maybe I am naive and weak. But in Cohen's arms, I feel strong. Feel real.

Feel free.

And that's worth any price.