Chapter 14 Found At The Orphanage Doorsteps Three Years Ago
As Ezra shut the file before him, he sighed heavily. He lifted his gaze to the door, pondering whether he had been unfairly antagonistic towards her. Deep down, he knew she hadn’t made the mistake in question; rather, it seemed that someone within the company was scheming to have her fired, likely out of jealousy for her quick rise to a level six duty since she just arrived. With urgency, he picked up the landline on his desk and called Milan to his office. She came in quickly, her expression curious but professional.
Ezra put the phone down, clasped his hands together, and asked about the duchess's arrival.
Milan shrugged. "No, sir, not at all. Is there an issue?”
He took a moment to collect his thoughts. “The level six office has a rat who doesn't want Miss Facer here. I want to find her since she ruined the dress that Miss Facer made.”
"I thought Miss Facer ruined the dress. Why are you protecting her so much?”
Ezra raised his eyebrows, a hint of frustration in his voice. "I'm not here to protect her; I have no personal stake in Miss Facer's matters. The damaged fabric cost me a lot, and I’ve taken a hit because of it. You know how I react to financial losses, Milan. This person ruined something valuable for me, knowing the consequences. I need you to find her and make sure she leaves—just don’t tell me who she is, because I won’t let it go once I find out."
Milan nodded. "Alright sir, I’ll check the CCTV footage to track her down."
As she turned to leave, Ezra stopped her. "I need a cup of coffee, and I’ll be stepping out soon to meet Scott." He guessed she would offer to come along, so he added quickly, "Before you say anything, I’m going alone."
"Understood, sir," she said, then left the office.
Once the door closed, Ezra stood, then walked to the window, looking outside. He thrived on busy days like this, which always lifted his spirits. But his thoughts drifted back to Heather. Ever since she arrived, clarity had left him, and his motivation to work had dropped. He felt a strange numbness inside, hiding his vulnerability, but seeing her had stripped that away, leaving him exposed and weak.
Ezra set his glass down, grabbed his coat from the rack, and put it on. He noticed Milan trying to enter, but he brushed past her without a word, leaving her confused.
She took a deep breath, lifted the cup to her lips, sipped the coffee, and exhaled slowly, a quiet surrender in the motion.
Ezra drove to the hotel and called Scott, who told him to go to the room. When he arrived at Scott's suite, he was shocked to find Heather sitting on the sofa. "What’s going on here?" he asked, clearly surprised. The last person he expected was her, and irritation flared as he turned to Scott. "Is this why you called me?"
Heather quickly spoke up. She had only come at Scott's invitation and didn’t mean to cause trouble.
Ezra’s annoyance stayed under the surface as he listened.
"Just relax," Scott said, getting three glasses of Macallan whisky. He handed one to Ezra.
Heather took her glass with a warm smile and asked, "So, what are we celebrating?"
"I know having her here angers you, Ezra, and I get it, but we’re not kids anymore. We’ve grown," Scott said.
“Hmm.” Ezra made a thoughtful sound.
"Ezra, it's been three years. Why not just move on?" Scott asked gently.
Ezra gave him a quick look, breathed deeply, and downed his whisky in one shot. "I’m leaving.” He put the cup on the table. “Call me when you’re ready for a real conversation," he said curtly, then walked out. Scott called after him, but Ezra ignored him, slamming the door loudly.
Scott turned to Heather. "He’ll come around. Just give him some time."
Emma left her workspace just before six o'clock. Most of the day, she had stayed in the bathroom after Ezra had abruptly asked her to leave his office. On the crowded bus home, her mind focused only on the design book she held tightly. Gia had mentioned the Duchess’s visit to the level six office for a fitting, but Emma couldn’t tell what the Duchess thought. “It was hard to tell if she liked it or not,” Gia had said.
Emma entered her bedroom, shut the door, and flopped onto the bed, too tired to change out of her clothes. Her phone chimed, showing a message from Phoebe. She called her. "What do you mean, tomorrow? I have work then."
Phoebe’s answer was simple: "Just take a day off. The sooner the adoption happens, the better."
Emma sat up, crossed her legs, and leaned against the headboard. "I just made Mr. Queen furious today. I really don’t want to make him angrier, do I?"
“We don't care about how he feels right now. We are focusing on ourselves. We must go to the orphanage tomorrow and finish what’s needed.”
Emma was silent for almost a minute. Phoebe was right—she had no right to worry about Ezra’s feelings. He didn’t worry about hers. She decided to save herself by adopting a three-year-old child. She spoke again. "I think I should draft my letter in advance for tomorrow."
The next morning, she reread her letter and sent it to Milan, then shut her laptop and got ready for the day. Emma was clear: she wanted to adopt not because she longed for a child, but to escape her own problems. She worried about how to explain having a child to her mother since the child couldn’t live with her family.
She slung her bag over her shoulder and stepped out of the house, having arranged to meet Phoebe at the bus stop. The journey from her home to the bus stop was straightforward, but instead of calling a taxi as she sometimes would from her house entrance, she opted for discretion, aware that her destination required a level of secrecy.
When she arrived, she saw Phoebe sitting there and felt her breath catch. “Did you run?” Phoebe asked, noticing her heavy breathing.
“I had to,” Emma said.
Phoebe smiled and put a comforting hand on Emma’s shoulder. “You made the right choice about doing this. Don’t feel guilty.” Emma pushed away doubts about Ezra as the bus pulled up. “Let’s go,” Phoebe said, and they got on together.
After a short ride, they reached the orphanage. Emma reminded herself this was for her own benefit.
The sounds of children playing filled the air. She spotted a boy who looked about nine and called to him with a smile. When he came over, she knelt. “How are you?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” he said. When she asked about the matron, he nodded and said, “Follow me.” He led her into the building and they met a woman who worked there. The boy ran off.
Emma spoke to the woman about meeting with the matron and the woman led them to the matron’s office and said, “She’s in there.”
Emma exchanged a glance with Phoebe, took a deep breath, and knocked. She stepped in after she was asked to come inside.
The matron, buried in paperwork, looked up, adjusted her glasses, and greeted her with a smile. “Good morning.”
Emma approached her table.
"Please have a seat," the matron said. "How can I help you?"
After Emma explained her intentions, the matron asked, "Are you married?"
Emma shook her head. "No, I’m not."
"So you want to raise a child by yourself?"
"Something like that. I tried, but I couldn’t conceive," Emma said, faking emotion.
The matron looked sorry. She set her papers aside and focused on Emma. "What are you looking for? An infant?"
Emma shook her head. "A three-year-old girl."
“That’s specific. Please wait a moment." The matron went to a cupboard, searched through files, and pulled out four.
"I think you’ll find one here. They all have stories, but,” she tapped a file, “you’ll like this one. She was found at our doorstep three years ago. She’s bright and well-behaved. I’m sure you’ll love her. Take a look."
Emma opened the file and saw the little girl. Her eyes widened. What were the odds? "She looks like me—the same big eyes and smile. She’s perfect." Her eyes returned to the file. Her joy was obvious. Emma instantly felt a bond when she saw the girl’s name. She traced it with her finger and said aloud, "Zoella."