Chapter 11

Emily's POV

I spent the entire morning perfecting every last detail of my jewelry designs, fingers tracing delicate lines on paper as I imagined how the gems would catch the light. The collection balanced modern aesthetic with classical elements—stunning enough to impress judges yet not so revolutionary that Kate couldn't conceivably claim them as her own.

"This is my bargaining chip with Kate," I whispered to my empty room, reminding myself of the strategic importance. "I need her completely satisfied so she'll help me move out of the Summers house."

I dressed deliberately in my most unassuming clothes—plain jeans and a loose gray sweater that hung from my slight frame, paired with non-prescription glasses. This outfit reinforced my carefully crafted image as harmless and controllable.

When the taxi dropped me at the Summers estate, Kate was waiting on the porch, fingers impatiently drumming against the railing.

"Finally," she said, eyes scanning my modest appearance with familiar contempt. "I hope your designs won't disappoint me."

"I did my best," I replied softly, retrieving the carefully preserved designs from my bag and handing them over.

Kate flipped through the pages quickly, and I caught the flash of genuine amazement in her eyes before she masked it with practiced indifference. "They're... adequate," she said, though her voice had softened slightly.

"According to our agreement, you'll now help me convince Uncle Richard to let me move out," I gently reminded her, watching her reaction from beneath lowered lashes.

Kate shrugged. "Yeah, whatever. I'll talk to Dad." She carefully folded the designs and placed them in her folder, her careful handling contradicting her dismissive tone. "They're in the living room. Let's go now."

My heart quickened as we walked inside. This was a crucial step in my plan—gaining independence and escaping the Summers' direct control.

In the living room, Uncle Richard was reading his newspaper while Aunt Helen sat knitting what seemed like an endless scarf. I knocked softly on the doorframe, and Helen's eyebrows immediately furrowed at the sight of me.

"Uncle Richard, Aunt Helen, I'd like to discuss something with you," I said, my voice soft but firm.

"What strange idea do you have now?" Aunt Helen interrupted before I could continue, her knitting needles never pausing.

I carefully regulated my breathing, calculating each expression and tone: "I'd like to move out and rent a small apartment in the city. It would be more convenient for my work."

Uncle Richard lowered his newspaper, his sharp gaze examining me. "Are you sure about that?"

To my surprise, Kate spoke up from behind me: "Just let her move out, Dad. She needs independence eventually, and it'll save us money anyway."

I felt a flicker of surprise at Kate's prompt support, though I quickly realized her eagerness stemmed from wanting more jewelry designs.

"Save what money? She barely costs us anything," Aunt Helen scoffed, though her tone had already softened slightly.

I kept my head lowered. "I have my own savings. I won't trouble you anymore. The doctor says my condition is stable as long as I take my medication regularly."

After a brief silence, Uncle Richard nodded. "Alright, you can move out. But come back at least once a week so we know how you're doing."

"Thank you, Uncle," I responded, feeling nothing but cold calculation inside. Their concern wasn't for my welfare but for maintaining control. Still, this was exactly what I needed—apparent freedom without completely severing ties.

As I headed upstairs to pack my belongings, voices drifted from the living room. I slowed my steps, listening.

"I told you that paper plagiarism thing was someone framing me!" Kate's voice rang out, high and defensive.

I carefully positioned myself at the stairs' corner, holding my breath to hear better.

"You'd better be telling the truth. This scandal has already damaged our family reputation," Uncle Richard reprimanded, his voice unusually severe.

My lips curved slightly upward. My plan was working. Then I heard Kate mention my name.

"It doesn't matter anyway. Emily won't live past thirty, and after I graduate in June, you're planning to marry her off to that nouveau riche guy, right?"

My pupils contracted as I gripped the banister, forcing myself to remain calm. Though I'd suspected as much, hearing confirmation sent a sharp pain through my chest. "They've been planning my marriage all along," I silently repeated, trying to steady myself.

Uncle Richard's response stunned me further: "I'm just worried she'll seek revenge if she learns the truth..."

Hearing footsteps approach, I quickly ascended the stairs and returned to my room. My fingers trembled slightly as I organized items in my drawer, though my mind raced. "Stay calm," I told myself. "This only confirms what I already suspected. The plan remains unchanged."

But his words about "seeking revenge" if I "learned the truth" echoed in my mind. What exactly were they hiding? Something about my parents' deaths? The collapse of Eugins Enterprises? Whatever it was, I would uncover it all.

After packing essentials, I decided to visit Mr. Wilson. He remained one of the few genuine sources of warmth in my cold world.

When the taxi arrived at Wilson's estate, winter sunlight bathed the courtyard in gentle light. I'd changed into my professional yet compassionate counselor outfit—a light blue blouse with beige pants.

The butler welcomed me: "Mr. Wilson is waiting in the garden, though he's not in the best mood today."

Walking toward the garden, I encountered an expensively dressed middle-aged woman leaving, her expression displeased. "The old man is so stubborn, won't even drink his nutritional supplements!" she complained.

As she passed me, she looked me up and down with disdain. "Another young girl trying to swindle an old man's money."

I smiled silently, though internally analyzing: "Mr. Wilson's daughter—concerned about her father but also about his money." Her hostility was predictable—wealthy heirs always suspicious of young people approaching their elderly parents.

In the garden, Mr. Wilson sat in a wicker chair sunning himself. His serious expression immediately brightened when he saw me.

"How are you feeling today, Mr. Wilson?" I asked gently, taking the seat beside him.

"Much better now that you're here, little Emily," he answered, his voice stronger than during our last meeting. "These doctors and my daughter keep forcing medications on me like I'm some helpless old fool."

I prepared red date tea for him. "This is gentler on your stomach than supplements. Traditional medicine says red dates nourish the blood and calm the spirit."

Mr. Wilson sipped his tea contentedly as we discussed his sleep patterns and recent mood changes. As his counselor, I'd been helping him cope with late-life loneliness and family conflicts.

After our conversation, he suddenly smiled mysteriously. "Emily, I have a gift for you. I specially prepared it last night."

Curious, I followed him into his study, thinking: "Probably books or small trinkets—Mr. Wilson is always generous."

He retrieved an elegant black velvet box from his safe. Opening it revealed a necklace with a deep red gemstone that gleamed with an almost hypnotic crimson light. The main stone was the size of a pigeon's egg, radiating an intense bloody glow under the room's lighting.

I immediately recognized the ruby, my breath catching: "Is that... a pigeon's blood Burmese ruby?" These stones were incredibly rare—perhaps fewer than ten of such quality existed worldwide.

Mr. Wilson nodded with satisfaction. "Good eye, young lady."

I recalled last night's conversation with Jonathan about Stefan's auction plans, feeling a shock of realization: "This can't be coincidence..."

"Mr. Wilson, this is far too valuable. I can't accept it," I said carefully, my heart racing.

"I won it at auction last night after paying a considerable sum, specifically for you," he insisted, his eyes shining with affection. "You're the only person who genuinely cares about this old man."

"There was a young man bidding against me until the end. He seemed quite determined to have it," Mr. Wilson revealed, unaware of my subtle reaction. "Handsome fellow, very resolute, bidding aggressively until he suddenly withdrew."

I instantly realized: "Stefan went to the auction for this exact necklace, but Mr. Wilson outbid him." This meant I now possessed something Stefan truly desired—an unexpected advantage, perhaps a new variable in my calculations.

"Child, let me help you put it on," Mr. Wilson said softly, not knowing he'd just given me something far beyond my expectations—not just the stone's monetary value, but its emotional connection and potential leverage.

I lowered my head, allowing his trembling fingers to fasten the necklace. The cool stone rested against my collarbone, seeming to warm with life.

"Perfect," Mr. Wilson stepped back, admiring the effect. "As if it were made for you."

"Thank you, Mr. Wilson," I answered quietly, my fingertips lightly touching the blood-red stone as Stefan's face flashed in my mind. "I'll treasure it always."