Chapter 29
Emily
After returning from the Black mansion, I stormed across my bedroom like a caged animal, my breathing ragged and my vision blurred with rage.
I hurled the jar of La Mer cream at the wall, where it smashed and left a white smear across the expensive wallpaper. Next, I grabbed my limited-edition Chanel perfume and flung it down, the bottle shattering on the marble floor and splashing amber liquid all over the Italian rug. Then I snatched up my cherished Hermès scarf—the one Felix gave me for our three-month anniversary—and ripped it apart with shaking hands, the fabric tearing into pieces.
"Fucking Amelia! God damn her to hell!" I screamed, my voice bouncing off the walls of my luxurious prison.
Downstairs, I knew the staff was exchanging nervous glances. Old William the butler was probably staring up at the ceiling, his forehead creased with disapproval. None of them would dare come upstairs. They all knew better than to approach me when I was like this.
The door swung open without a knock, and my mother strode in, still wearing her camel Max Mara coat. She'd clearly just returned from her beauty appointment, her skin glowing with the effects of whatever thousand-dollar treatment she'd indulged in today.
Margaret froze at the threshold, her eyes widening as she surveyed the carnage. Glass shards sparkled under the crystal chandelier, mingling with pools of perfume and scattered cosmetics. The air was thick with conflicting scents—jasmine, rose, sandalwood—all fighting for dominance.
"Emily, what on earth—" she began, carefully stepping over a broken crystal figurine.
I collapsed onto the edge of my bed, shoulders heaving with fury. My meticulously styled blonde hair hung in disarray around my face, and my carefully applied makeup was streaked with tears.
"Mother, you won't believe what I saw today," I choked out, my hands clenched into fists so tight my manicured nails dug painfully into my palms.
Margaret closed the door behind her, ensuring our privacy. "What happened?" she asked, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"That bitch Amelia," I spat the name like poison, "she's married Ethan Black! The Ethan Black—Wall Street's golden boy!"
My mother's face went pale, her perfectly lined lips parting in shock. "What? Are you certain?"
"I saw it with my own eyes!" I leapt to my feet, pacing the room like a tigress.
"No wonder your father was so scared after returning from William's funeral."
I kicked aside a pile of designer clothes that had been thrown to the floor in my rage. "And you know what's worse? Felix was there too! He could barely take his eyes off her!"
Margaret sank slowly onto the chair by my vanity, her calculating mind clearly racing behind her carefully composed expression. "This changes everything," she murmured, almost to herself.
"If Amelia has married into the Black family, the Thompson assets..." Her voice trailed off, but I understood the implications immediately.
"That's not all," I continued, my voice turning shrill. "You should have seen how she looked at me, Mother. Like I was dirt beneath her shoes. In front of everyone! In front of Felix!"
Margaret's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Did Felix know about this beforehand?"
"I don't think so. He looked just as surprised as everyone else." I ran my fingers through my tangled hair, wincing as they caught in the knots. "Mother, I'm scared. What if he leaves me for her? You know how men are—always chasing the next shiny thing."
My mother stood up and crossed the room to my phone, which had miraculously survived my tantrum. "What have you done to secure your position with Felix?" she asked, her tone suddenly businesslike.
I wiped at my smeared mascara with the back of my hand. "I've been posting photos of us on Instagram. I made sure to tag him in all of them and add 'Felix Black's girlfriend' to the captions." I picked up my phone, showing her the screen. "Look, three gossip sites have already picked them up. The posts have over fifty thousand views."
Margaret examined the photos—snapshots of Felix and me at various high-end venues, looking intimate and glamorous.
"This is good," she nodded approvingly, "but it's not enough. We need something stronger, something that will bind him to you so tightly that even if he wanted to leave, he couldn't."
She reached into her handbag and withdrew a small, unmarked vial filled with clear liquid. The glass caught the light as she turned it in her fingers, giving it an almost ethereal glow.
"What is that?" I asked, drawn to the mysterious container.
"Insurance," Mother replied, her voice dropping to a whisper despite our privacy. "A few drops in his drink, and he'll be... more receptive to suggestion. More passionate. The next morning, he won't remember much, but he'll know something significant happened between you."
I took the vial with trembling fingers, a momentary hesitation flickering across my face. "Isn't this... risky?"
"Not as risky as losing him to Amelia," Mother countered, her eyes hard as flint. "Felix is your ticket into the Black family. Without him, you're nothing to them."
The brutal truth of her words stung, but I knew she was right. In this world, alliances were everything. Love was secondary—if it existed at all.
"There's something else we should consider," Mother continued, her voice taking on the plotting tone I'd heard so many times growing up. "I remember Ethan had an ex-girlfriend—Ashley Randal, the model."
My eyes lit up instantly, the possibilities unfolding in my mind.
"Of course! If we could get her involved..."I whispered, clutching the vial like a talisman.