Chapter 170
Emily's POV
The good mood didn't just flicker—it guttered out completely, replaced by a cold knot of tension that settled in my stomach and refused to budge.
Edward Monroe. Alex's father.
The man who ran Monroe Enterprises with ruthless efficiency and a reputation that made even seasoned executives nervous. The man I'd met exactly twice—once at a charity gala where he'd looked through me like I was part of the furniture, and once at a board meeting where he'd been distantly polite in a way that made it clear he considered me staff and nothing more.
Alex had mentioned his father's disapproval of our relationship more than once, but disapproval from a distance was one thing. Showing up unannounced at my workplace was something else entirely.
"Did he say what he wanted?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
"No. Just that it was important and he'd wait." She shifted her weight, clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation. "Do you want me to tell him you're unavailable?"
I considered it. It would be easy to send him away, to claim I had other meetings or pressing deadlines or any of the dozen excuses people used when they didn't want to deal with something uncomfortable. But Edward Monroe didn't strike me as the kind of man who gave up easily, and putting him off now would probably just mean dealing with him later under worse circumstances.
"No," I said, straightening my shoulders. "I'll see him now. Give me ten minutes."
She nodded and headed back down the hallway, and I used the brief reprieve to duck into the small bathroom attached to my office. I splashed cold water on my face, checked my reflection to make sure I looked calm and professional and not like I'd spent the morning crying, and took three slow breaths to settle the anxiety trying to claw its way up my throat.
I could do this. I'd faced down worse than an intimidating father figure. I'd survived my own father. Edward Monroe might be powerful and wealthy and used to getting his way, but he didn't scare me.
I held onto that thought as I walked down the hallway to the small conference room and pushed open the door.
Edward Monroe was standing by the window with his back to me, his posture rigid and his hands clasped behind him in a way that reminded me of military officers or high-powered lawyers. He turned when I entered, his gaze sweeping over me in a single assessing glance that felt like being scanned by a particularly judgmental piece of diagnostic equipment.
"Miss Grey," he said, his voice clipped and precise. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."
"Mr. Monroe." I closed the door behind me and moved to the opposite side of the conference table, keeping the furniture between us like a barrier. "I have to admit, I wasn't expecting you. Is there something I can help you with?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead he studied me in silence, his expression giving away nothing, and I made myself hold his gaze without flinching or looking away. I'd learned a long time ago that backing down from someone like this only made them push harder.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity but was probably only ten seconds, he spoke.
"I'll be direct, Miss Grey, because I don't believe in wasting time on pleasantries neither of us mean." His voice was cold and measured, each word precisely enunciated. "You are not good enough for my son. You're a whore who's sleeping with three men simultaneously, and you're the daughter of a convicted murderer. You have no place in his life, and I'm here to tell you that to your face because I'm not interested in pretending otherwise."
The words hit like a slap—sharp and vicious and designed to hurt. I felt the blood drain from my face, my hands clenching into fists at my sides as something cold and heavy dropped into my chest. For a moment I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only stand there and absorb the full weight of his contempt.
This was what he thought of me. This was all I was to him—a stain, a problem, an obstacle to be removed. Not even worth the pretense of civility.
I opened my mouth to respond and found my throat had closed up, the words tangling on my tongue. My brain was scrambling for something to say that wouldn't sound defensive or weak or like I was begging him to see me as a person, but everything I came up with felt inadequate.
He took a step closer, his hands bracing on the edge of the table as he leaned forward slightly, and his voice dropped into something even colder. "My son has a reputation to maintain. A legacy to uphold. And you—everything about you—is a threat to that. Your father is a murderer currently sitting in prison. You're involved in what any reasonable person would call a deeply inappropriate relationship with three men, which makes you either a gold-digger looking for financial security or simply a woman with no moral standards. Frankly, I don't care which."
He paused, his gaze boring into mine. "What I care about is that you have inserted yourself into my son's life, into his business, and you've done it with deliberate calculation because you know exactly what kind of access that gives you. But I'm here to tell you it ends now. You will leave him. You will leave this job. And you will disappear from his life quietly and without drama, or I will personally ensure that everyone in this city knows exactly what kind of woman you are."
The cold in my chest was spreading now, creeping up into my throat and making my breath come short and shallow. I felt like I'd been dunked in ice water, every nerve ending screaming at me to run or fight or do something other than just stand here and take this. My vision narrowed slightly at the edges, my pulse thundering in my ears.
He thought I was nothing. Worse than nothing—a parasite, a threat, something to be scraped off and disposed of. And he'd come here to tell me that without even bothering to hide behind polite disapproval or corporate-speak.
For a moment—just a moment—I felt exactly the way he wanted me to feel. Small. Ashamed. Wrong. Like everything I'd built was a lie and I was still just the scared girl from a broken home who'd never deserved any of this in the first place.
But then, slowly, something else started to filter through the cold.
A memory.
Alex's hand cupping my face this morning, his voice low and certain: You don't have to thank us. The weight of his gaze when he looked at me like I was the most important person in his world. Ethan's arms wrapped around me, his voice fierce with conviction: We love you. That's the whole reason. Mason's gentle touch, the way he cradled my face like I was something precious: You're ours, and we protect what's ours.
They didn't see me the way Edward Monroe saw me. They didn't see a whore or a gold-digger or a stain on anyone's reputation. They saw Emily—the woman who ran this restaurant, who'd turned it profitable when it was bleeding money, who loved them and let herself be loved in return. They saw someone worth respecting. Worth cherishing. Worth fighting for.
And that was real. That was mine. Whatever this man thought of me, whatever names he wanted to call me, didn't change the fact that I had built something good. Something I was proud of. Something no one—not him, not anyone—had the right to take away.