Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Emily's POV

I slipped off my boots at the door of Oak Manor, grateful to be out of the biting winter cold. My fingers felt stiff as I unwrapped the scarf from my neck, still processing the interaction with Kate at the café. The security personnel Stefan had sent nodded respectfully before departing, leaving me alone in the grand foyer.

"Was your meeting successful, Mrs. Ashford?" Jonathan asked, appearing from the hallway to take my coat.

"I think so," I replied softly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Thank you for asking."

Upstairs in my room, I changed into comfortable lounge pants and an oversized sweater that hung loosely on my frame. I checked my phone again, reading Stefan's brief message: "Stay warm. Back tomorrow."

"Stay warm," I muttered to myself, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Short, commanding, and to the point. Does he even know how to phrase something as a question or suggestion?" Yet despite the curtness, I sensed something beneath those four simple words—concern, perhaps? It was strange how he could wrap a caring sentiment in such a cold delivery.

I grabbed my notebook, adding this observation to my growing collection of insights about my temporary husband. Understanding Stefan was crucial to my plans, especially given his resources and connections.

My stomach rumbled, reminding me I'd barely touched my coffee at the café. I made my way down the hallway toward the kitchen, but paused when I noticed Jonathan polishing the antique side table in the corridor.

"Good evening, Jonathan," I said.

"Mrs. Ashford," he responded with a slight bow. "Is there anything you need?"

"Just heading to get a snack," I replied, but my attention had already shifted to the wall behind him.

Among several framed photographs hung a striking portrait that I hadn't noticed before. A beautiful woman with Stefan's same penetrating eyes gazed back from the photograph, her elegant neck adorned with a necklace featuring a deep red gemstone that seemed to capture light from impossible angles.

"That's beautiful," I said, moving closer. "The necklace she's wearing..."

Jonathan turned to look at the portrait, his expression softening. "Ah, the Blood Ruby of Burma. One of the rarest stones in the world."

"Blood Ruby?" I repeated, genuinely fascinated despite myself. The stone was breathtaking—a deep crimson with an inner fire that seemed to pulse even through the photograph.

"Technically, it's called a pigeon's blood Burmese ruby," Jonathan explained, his voice taking on a reverent quality. "Only a handful exist in that size and quality. That one belonged to the late Mrs. Ashford—Mr. Stefan's mother."

I stepped closer to the portrait, drawn by both the magnificent gem and the woman's eyes that so resembled her son's. "It's stunning," I whispered.

"It was a family heirloom," Jonathan continued, seemingly pleased by my interest. "Unfortunately, it had to be sold during the financial crisis when Mr. William faced some... difficulties."

I glanced at him, curious about the hesitation in his voice. "Financial crisis?"

Jonathan looked slightly uncomfortable but continued. "About fifteen years ago. Mr. William made some unwise investments. The family nearly lost everything." His expression darkened slightly. "The ruby was among the last treasures to go. Mrs. Ashford was heartbroken, but insisted it be sold to preserve the company."

"I see," I murmured, studying the woman's serene expression. How painful it must have been to part with such a treasured heirloom.

"That's partly why Mr. Stefan is in New York now," Jonathan added, lowering his voice as though sharing a confidence. "Besides attending his friend James Blake's event, he's participating in an auction. The ruby has resurfaced after all these years."

My heart skipped a beat. "He's trying to buy it back?"

Jonathan nodded. "He's been tracking it for years. This is his first opportunity to reclaim it."

I stared at the portrait again, a new understanding washing over me. Stefan Ashford—supposedly cold, calculating businessman—was crossing the country in winter to reclaim his mother's lost heirloom. The man who barely spoke two sentences to me was secretly sentimental about family treasures.

"He never mentioned it," I said quietly.

"Mr. Stefan is... private about such matters," Jonathan replied. "Especially anything concerning his mother."

I nodded, filing away this new information. Behind his icy exterior and curt text messages was a man who valued family history enough to chase a lost ruby across the country.

---

Back in my room that evening, I spread my jewelry design sketches across the desk. The agreement with Kate required me to produce designs worthy of winning the International Emerging Jewelry Designer competition—not a difficult task, but one requiring careful calculation. The designs needed to be brilliant enough to win, yet not so revolutionary that Kate couldn't conceivably claim them as her own.

I photographed the preliminary sketches with my phone and sent them to Kate with a simple message: "Initial draft complete."

Within minutes, my phone rang.

"These are... actually good," Kate said by way of greeting, her voice betraying reluctant admiration.

"Thank you," I replied, keeping my tone neutral. "I've been working on some concepts for a while."

"When can you get the final designs to me? And I'll need you to come help me get materials tomorrow."

I swallowed my irritation at her demanding tone. "I can come by the house tomorrow to get some of my things. We could discuss the designs then."

"Fine," Kate said. "Just remember our deal. You help me win this competition, and I'll support your move out of my parents' house."

"I remember," I assured her, carefully maintaining my meek demeanor while inwardly celebrating another step forward in my plan.

After hanging up, my phone rang again. The caller ID made me smile—a genuine one this time.

"Mr. Wilson," I answered warmly. "How are you feeling today?"

"Better than yesterday, worse than tomorrow," came the gruff but good-natured reply. Edward Wilson, aged eighty-two, had been my patient at the counseling center for nearly six months. Unlike most of my other patients, he'd become something more—almost like the grandfather I never had.

"I wanted to remind you to stop by next week," he continued. "I have your New Year's gift."

My chest tightened with unexpected emotion. "You didn't need to get me anything, Mr. Wilson."

"Nonsense," he huffed. "You've listened to an old man ramble for half a year. The least I can do is give you something pretty to look at."

I laughed softly. "Thank you for remembering. I'm looking forward to seeing you."

After we said our goodbyes, I walked to the window, gazing out at the snow-covered grounds of Oak Manor. Edward Wilson was among the few people who treated me with genuine kindness, expecting nothing in return. In my world of calculated moves and strategic relationships, such simple human warmth was rare and precious.

A soft knock at my door interrupted my thoughts.

"Come in," I called.

Jonathan entered carrying a tray with a steaming mug. "Hot milk with honey," he explained. "Mr. Ashford specifically instructed me to ensure you had something warm before bed, especially during the cold weather."

I accepted the mug, hiding my surprise. "That's... thoughtful of him."

"Mr. Ashford is quite concerned about your health, Mrs. Ashford," Jonathan said, his expression carefully neutral. "He mentioned the doctor's reports indicated you should avoid getting chilled."

I nodded slowly, taking a sip of the milk. It was the perfect temperature, sweet with a hint of cinnamon. "This is delicious, thank you."

Jonathan turned to leave, but I stopped him with a question that had been forming in my mind since seeing the portrait.

"Jonathan, when is Stefan's—Mr. Ashford's birthday?"

The manager hesitated, clearly surprised by my question. "January 15th, ma'am. Though..." he paused, seeming to debate whether to continue.

"Though?" I prompted.

"He hasn't celebrated it since his mother passed away. That was nearly twelve years ago now."

I digested this information, another piece of the puzzle that was Stefan Ashford. "I see," I said quietly. "What kinds of foods does he like? Maybe I could prepare something..."

Jonathan's eyes widened slightly, but his professional demeanor quickly returned. "Mr. Ashford enjoys simple meals, actually. Despite his wealth, he prefers home-cooked food to elaborate restaurant cuisine."

"Any favorites?" I asked, feigning casual interest while mentally taking notes. Understanding Stefan's preferences could help me navigate our strange relationship.

"His mother used to make a particular beef stew that he favored," Jonathan said, warming to the subject. "And apple tart for dessert. Nothing fancy—just simple comfort food."

"I'm a decent cook," I said, staring into my milk. "Perhaps I could try making those for him."

Jonathan smiled—the first genuine smile I'd seen from him. "He would never admit it, but I believe he would appreciate that very much, Mrs. Ashford."