Chapter 25 The One Who Got Away
As he held her cheek with his strong hand while kissing her, Ezra Queen felt a strange sense of déjà vu, as if he had experienced this moment before and would again. He was losing control. She was the same woman he had tried so hard to ignore that afternoon on their way to the mansion; now, he was lost in her lips, relishing the kiss like it was a fine wine. It felt like a precious treasure he couldn't bear to set aside. It needed to be cherished, and that was exactly what he was doing. Treating it with the care it deserved. Like it was meant to be a part of him.
He pushed his tongue into hers, embracing the beast he was or was about to become, his hand tangled in her hair. He tried to keep his composure, but it was slipping away. Maybe it was the taste of her or the alluring scent of her perfume that anchored him in place, but he just didn’t want to let go. Not yet.
Whenever he looked at her, she radiated innocence, and he had always tried to protect that innocence. But how could he resist? Just with a kiss tonight, she transformed him into someone he couldn't recognize. He used to be the type of guy who wouldn’t linger on a kiss, but now, with her, everything was different.
“Mr. Queen?” Emma’s voice was muffled as she attempted to break free. “Mr. Queen?” she called out again and he released her as if awakening from a trance.
Ezra opened his eyes and met her gaze. “I’m really sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what came over me.” He looked at her; her eyes were still shut, but her lips were swollen from his kiss. He wanted to lean in again, but he held back. He had already crossed a line; he didn’t want to think about taking her to his bed. His childhood bed, no less. He was an adult now, and he hadn’t slept in that bed for three years. Damn it! Ezra, what are you even thinking? He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them wide. “I’m really sorry.”
"No." Emma shook her head. "I’m the one who should be apologizing, Mr. Queen. I really am sorry."
"No. I kissed you back when I shouldn’t have. I should be the one saying sorry."
"Mr. Queen. I’m the one who should feel regret."
Ezra stopped arguing. She felt bad, but for what? It didn’t seem to connect to the kiss anymore.
"What are you feeling sorry for?" he asked, waiting for her response. People often confess things when they were drunk, and they might not even remember it the next day.
Emma started to cry. She covered her face with her hands. Then she looked up at him. Her mascara was already ruined. "I shouldn’t have done that."
"Done what? What did you do?" He was still holding her to keep her steady. Ezra searched her eyes. Even though they were stained and red from tears, they were still very beautiful. He snapped himself back to reality. "What did you do?" He asked softly this time.
Emma went on. "I’m Emma." She tapped her chest.
"I know that, Miss Facer."
"No. You don’t."
"Trust me. I do.”
“No. You don’t.”
“You are Emmaline Facer and you are not yourself right now."
Emma sighed. "I shouldn’t have just walked away like that." She took a breath. "I should have stayed, and maybe things could have turned out differently three years ago, and—"
"Wait a second!" He interrupted, pulling his head back and then leaning in again. "Three years ago?” His brows lifted. “What are you talking about?" Emma stared at him closely. Her eyes started to droop after that. "Miss Facer." Ezra shook her gently. "Miss Facer." Suddenly, she fell asleep on him. "Great. Now she’s out cold." He adjusted her in the chair, stood up, and started to think. He couldn’t take her upstairs to his room, and the paparazzi would stop him from taking her out the front gate.
A thought hit him immediately. He dug into his pocket and took out his phone. He asked for a different driver to come in through the back gate so that no one would notice him arriving. While waiting for the driver, Ezra glanced at her, hoping she wasn't what he feared. Wishing she wasn’t the girl who had left him after that night. Wishing she wasn’t the one who had captured his heart. If she turned out to be that girl, then maybe that was why he felt such a pull towards her the moment he saw her resume.
The driver arrived, and Ezra carried her and got into the car. He instructed the driver to go. He didn’t want his family, especially his sister, to see him leaving with her. During the ride home, Ezra watched her as she slept, her head resting against the chair.
“Should I take you to your house first, Sir?” the driver asked, glancing at him through the mirror. “Or is there another address for the Missy?”
Ezra shook his head. She would definitely wake up with a hangover and would need someone to look after her. He also didn’t want this precious piece of his company to get sick or have anything happen to her. Or was that the real reason? He was unsure. But one thing was clear—he wasn’t ready to let her go home. “Take me to my place. The Missy will stay with me.”
“Understood, sir.” The driver adjusted his cap, made a U-turn, and drove towards Ezra's house. Once they reached the estate, he parked the car in the garage. “We’ve arrived,” he announced.
“Thanks, Louise.” Ezra opened the door and helped her out.
“Do you need any help?” Louise asked in his German accent.
“No. I’ll manage just fine, Louise.” Ezra lifted Emma in his arms and made his way to the elevator. He stepped into his home, turned on the lights and carried her straight to his bedroom. He gently laid her on his bed, sat beside her, and watched her sleep.
Emma opened her eyes, everything looked fuzzy and unfamiliar. The moment her brain registered the strangeness of the room, she blinked awake. She laid on her back. "Where am I?" she wondered, glancing around but seeing no one. The early morning sun lit up the room, which was peaceful except for a distant song playing somewhere outside.
It was Sunday morning, and she knew that much, but was she in a hotel or had something worse happened? The last thing she remembered was Ezra's shocked expression in response to something she had said. What had she said? Emma gasped as she sat up, only to be hit by a wave of a hangover. She pressed her hand to her head, groaning in discomfort.
Then, she heard a clicking sound and looked up to see him. She was at a loss for words as he walked toward her. Even in casual clothes, he still looked amazing. The sunlight highlighted his fresh, bright face, and she couldn't help but watch as he set a tray down on the table.
"You're awake," Ezra said, meeting her gaze. "You should drink this. It helps with hangovers," he offered her a cup.
She accepted it and peered inside. "What is this?" she asked, lifting her head to meet his eyes.
"It's warm water with honey. Drink it quickly," he replied, then moved to sit on the couch.
Emma finished everything and glanced at him. "Thank you."
"You should tidy up before we pick up our talk from last night."
"Last night talk..." She trailed off, still staring at him.
He grinned. "I think it’s coming back to you now."
Emma set the cup back on the tray. She let out a soft exhale. "Mr. Queen."
"I have just one question, and I need the truth, nothing but the truth." He rose from the couch. That question had kept him up all night, and he was eager to ask it as soon as she was awake. "Are you her? The one who...?" he swallowed hard, noticing her look of disappointment. "You are her, right?"
Emma nodded slowly. "I’m sorry."
"Why did you do it?" he pressed. "Why did you leave just like that? Why did you hurt me?"
Hurt? How could she hurt him? He had money, so he could afford another car. Had she hurt him in another way she hadn’t realised? It was a one night stand. She opened her mouth to explain. "I thought if I stayed, you’d see me as just a fling and nothing more.” She looked away from him. How dare she look at him? And her eyes landed on her shaky hands. “I—I wanted to feel special, and it all got to my head. I—” She swallowed. “I didn’t mean to take from you either. I am sorry."
He had a disbelief look on his face. If only she knew how much he was hurting. If only she knew how much he looked for her but it felt like she never existed, and like she was just a dream or a thought he had imagined.
"You know, you could have just woken up like a normal girl, and we could have had a conversation."
"A conversation?” She met his eyes. “It was tough for me. I’m really sorry that I stole from you, but—"
He interrupted her immediately. "Stole?” he shook his head. “That was the least of it. You hurt me! Did you have any idea how hard I searched for you? You vanished for three years, and it was incredibly difficult to track you down. Your phone was off, the police couldn’t locate you, and... This isn’t just about the car or the money you took, it’s something deeper."
Emma blinked, her voice trembling. “Something deeper? W—what do you mean?”
Ezra took a slow, shuddering breath, as if trying to steady himself against a tidal wave. “I… I can’t believe you’re actually here after all these years. What’s going on? Is it about money? Was that why you decided to tell me who you were? Did you come to this company on purpose?” Emma shook her head violently, tears already spilling down her cheeks. “Or… or was Scott right when he said that innocent girls aren’t really innocent?”
Her shoulders shook as sobs wracked her. “I’m… I’m so sorry for taking from you. I couldn’t… I couldn’t reach out because I was drowning… in everything.” Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard, choking back another sob. “I found out… I was pregnant two weeks later. I—I couldn’t contact you, so I just… I left for Mexico and—”
“Pregnant?” Ezra’s voice cracked, disbelief slicing through him.
Emma’s tears fell freely now. “Mr. Queen… you can call the cops if you want, but… please… think about my child. Our child.”
Ezra froze, a terrible, cold knot forming in his stomach. “What? Our… child?”
She nodded, grief etched in every line of her face. She hated herself for having to say this, but she couldn’t risk losing them both. “Her name… her name is Zoella. She’s… she’s three years old.” Ezra felt the world tilt beneath him. His knees threatened to buckle. He stared at her, numb, broken. “Mr. Queen…”
He finally blinked, voice hoarse. “Just… go home. Please.”
“Mr. Queen…” Emma whispered, her own heart breaking.
“Go… home!” he shouted, the edge of anguish cutting through his words. He sank onto the couch, burying his face in his hands, trying—and failing—to process the revelation.
A child?
Their child?