Emma

With a long day ahead, I knew I couldn't go back to sleep after Asher left. So, I took a quick shower and came back to my place to gather a few things.

Now, as I apply some makeup, my thoughts keep going back to him and our upcoming wedding. Last night definitely helped me gain some perspective, but we still have a long road ahead of us.

Surveying my reflection in the mirror, I consider shooting a text to my old therapist. Dr. Terrance helped me a lot during some of the most difficult moments of my life,  so I make a mental note to call him later.

Just as I'm done with my makeup, the doorbell rings, jolting me from my thoughts.

Without thinking much of it, I head to the living room and open the door.

"Emma," my father greets. "Mind if I come in?"

I hesitate, my gaze locked with his. "What are you doing here?"

Ignoring my question, he strides into my living room without an invitation. Panic sets in, and I fumble for my phone on the coffee table, only to realize my battery is dead.

"You and your young man seem quite the happy couple, don't you?" he says, throwing some magazines in front of me.

"What do you want?" I ask, hating that my voice quivering.

"I'm planning to run for governor in New York, and I need your help."

My eyes widen. "What does that have to do with me?"

He takes a step closer, invading all my personal space. "You see, my dear, politics is all about image, and your image as the loving daughter of James Cavendish, a successful businessman, and philanthropist, could do wonders for my campaign. And let's not forget your fiancé, Asher Sullivan, from one of the most influential families in the state. His support could be invaluable."

My heart sinks. I know what my father is getting at. Of course, he would turn my marriage to Asher in his favor. He wants to exploit my marriage to Asher for his political gain, using me as a pawn to project an image of familial virtue and integrity.

"I won't do it," I say, my voice filled with determination.

"You know, my dear Emma." He looms over me, his eyes cold and calculating. "It's a shame those compromising photos from your past can resurface when you least expect it."

My heart sinks as his words hang in the air. He's talking about the photos my abusive ex had taken of me, photos that had haunted my nightmares for years. He had somehow made them disappear, but now he's using them as a weapon against me.

I swallow hard, struggling to find the words to respond.

"And in this digital age, my dear," he continues, "the internet is a treacherous place. One moment, your image and Asher's image are pristine, and the next, they're tarnished beyond repair."

Horror washes over me as I grasp the depth of my father's manipulation. It's not a mere request for cooperation; it's outright blackmail, with those horrifying photos dangling over me like a sword poised to strike.

He leans in closer, his cold breath brushing against my ear. "You wouldn't want those pictures to find their way onto the internet, would you, Emma? I heard Asher just become CEO."

Tears well up in my eyes as I realize I have no choice. My father has trapped me in a web of his making. The weight of his control presses down on me, and I can only manage a choked whisper, "What do you need from me?"

He straightens up, his eyes gleaming with triumph as he senses my vulnerability.

"I knew you'd see reason, my dear," he says, his tone dripping with satisfaction. "You'll attend events with me, give interviews about our close-knit family, and use that newfound relationship with the Sullivans to our advantage. The public loves a perfect family, and we're going to give them exactly what they want."

I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I fight back the surge of anger and frustration washing over me. The room feels like it's closing in on me, and I take a step back, attempting to put some distance between us.

"I won't be a part of your twisted games," I spit out, my voice edged with defiance.

He chuckles, a sound that sends shivers down my spine. "Oh, my dear Emma, but you have no choice. The alternative is far less appealing, don't you think? A tarnished reputation, a scandal that could ruin not only your life but Asher's and his family's as well."

I glare at him, my eyes burning with resentment. "You're using me, just like you always have."

He smirks, unapologetic. "It's a give-and-take world, my dear. You get to keep those compromising photos from resurfacing, and I get to fulfill my political ambitions. A fair trade, wouldn't you say?"

He takes my silence as a positive sign. "Good girl," he says, patting my cheek condescendingly. "I'm glad you see reason, my dear. I'll be in touch with more details."

"Oh, and I almost forgot" he continues, taking a step back and retrieving a brown envelope from his suit jacket. "Here's a reminder of what bad choices could do to a person."

With no choice, I get the envelope from him and he turns and leaves my house. As the door clicks shut behind him, I sink onto the floor and tear the envelope open.

"Jesus," I whisper, my stomach churning at the sight of those haunting images.

Instinctively, I rush to the bathroom. The cool tiles beneath ground me in a way as I lean over the sink, trying to steady my racing thoughts and the churning in my stomach.

But then the wave of nausea hits me hard, and I find myself bending over the toilet, retching as if I can purge not just the contents of my stomach but the suffocating control my father has over my life.

*****

I don't know how long it's been since I found my way to the bathroom, but at some point, a loud noise coming from the living room startles me.

My body starts shaking, and before I can stand up, the bathroom door bursts open, and Asher strides in.

"Emma?" he shouts, surprise and confusion flicker across my face.

"Asher..." I blink as I watch him kneel beside me.

"What happened?" He runs his hands over my arms, his eyes searching mine.

I shake my head. "My father," I manage to choke out. "He came over, trying to mess with my head, but I'm fine."

"What does he want?" he asks with a mixture of anger and concern in his voice.

I hesitate, my eyes filling with tears. "He wants me to attend an event with him. I'm probably just overreacting," I mutter, unable to bring myself to say the truth.

Asher's eyes search mine, and he gently brushes away a stray tear. "Did he hurt you?"

"No..." I shake my head, my eyes moving past him to find two men waiting outside the bathroom. "Ash, what's going on?"

"Let's go to the living room," he says, gently helping me off the floor. Once I'm up, he pulls me into a hug, letting out a deep relieved sigh.

"Ash?" I pull away to look at him, but he turns his attention to the men hovering by the door and asks them to wait for him in the car.

"Come on." He pulls me to his side, guiding me to the living room.

Once we're sitting on the couch, he retrieves a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. My heart sinks as I read the words, knowing exactly who sent it. A nauseating feeling washes over me, and I close my eyes.

"I found this note with the courier messages this morning," he says. "Do you have any idea who could've sent it?"

I hesitate, the weight of the lie heavy on my conscience. "No," I say, trying to mask the unease in my voice. "I have no idea."

Asher's eyes search mine, a mix of concern and skepticism. I look away, the truth burning at the edges of my conscience.

"Em?" He cups my jaw, so I'm looking at him. "What's going on?"

"Nothing is going on, Asher," the lie leaves my lips so easily it scares me. "I don't know who could've sent you this."

His brows furrow as if he senses the unspoken turmoil within me. "I can sense you're not telling me everything. We can't tackle this if you're not honest with me," he says, his voice a gentle yet persistent plea.

I pull away, avoiding his gaze, and feebly attempt a dismissive smile. "It's just some family drama. I'll handle it," I assure him, the lie tasting bitter on my lips.

His eyes, filled with concern and a hint of hurt, search mine. "You'll need bodyguards until we figure out what's going on. I won't let anyone harm you."

The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air and a subtle tension weaves between us. "Bodyguards?" I say, unable to hide the defensiveness in my tone. "I appreciate the concern, Asher, but it's not necessary. I can handle my father."

His jaw tightens, and I can see the frustration in his eyes. "Em, this goes beyond family issues. Your safety is my priority. If you won't tell me the truth, at least give me this."

Closing my eyes, a mixture of anger, frustration, and a profound sense of powerlessness washes over me. I worked so hard to regain my independence after everything I went through with my father and Zack. I can't believe it's all slipping through my fingers again.

"Okay..." I bring my eyes to him "If you're going to feel better, I won't oppose the bodyguards."

"Thanks." Asher nods, unable to hide the hurt in his eyes. "I just... I hate that we're about to get married in a few weeks, and you can't even trust me enough to be honest with me."

I look down, wishing things were that simple.

"Right," he says, walking to the door. "I'll get Lincoln and Jordan so we discuss your security."

_____

A/N: Something I always say is that love is not necessarily simple. Do you agree? What would you do if you were in Emma's shoes?

You guys are the best! 

XOXO

Celeste