Emma’s POV:

Blood rushed to my cheeks, my vision blurring at the edges.

I stood frozen outside that door, listening to the boy I thought I loved reveal who he truly was.

Not in a moment of anger or frustration, but in casual conversation with friends. The casual cruelty of it stripped away any remaining illusions

I had sensed for months that Nicholas’s interest was fading—the canceled dates, the shorter phone calls, the distracted conversations—but I never imagined I held such a low place in his esteem.

She’s so boring… If it weren’t for my family’s expectations, I would’ve ended things months ago.

His words replayed in my mind, each syllable a sharp jab to my chest.

The victorious glint in Megan’s eyes as they met mine made my stomach turn.

For a moment—one wild, uncharacteristic moment—I imagined myself pushing through that door, marching across the room, and dumping a full glass of champagne over Nicholas’s perfectly styled hair.

I could almost feel the satisfying splash, hear the shocked gasps, and see the mortification spreading across his face as I announced to everyone present that we were done.

But I couldn’t.

The unwritten agreement between our families hung like a weight around my neck. What would my mother say? What would happen to my grandmother’s hopes?

The practical consequences of such a scene crashed down on me, extinguishing the brief flare of righteous anger.

I backed away from the door, my heart hammering painfully against my ribs.

The muffled sounds of laughter and music faded as I retreated down the hallway, searching for somewhere—anywhere—to collect myself.

I found a small seating area tucked into an alcove away from the private rooms, with plush leather armchairs arranged around low tables.

Sinking into one, I pressed my palms against my eyes, willing the tears not to fall.

Who could I even talk to about this? Olivia would be sympathetic, but her solution would be simple: dump him. She’d never understood the complicated web of expectations that surrounded my relationship with Nicholas.

My mother would be even worse.

I could picture Victoria’s face now—the tight, disapproving frown, the calculating look in her eyes as she assessed the damage to her social aspirations.

“This is exactly why I told you to be more attentive to him, Emma,” she would say. “Men like Nicholas have options. If you can’t keep his interest, someone else will.”

The thought of my mother brought a fresh wave of bitterness.

Since marrying Robert and giving birth to Leo, Victoria had become increasingly distant from my life—except when it came to Nicholas.

The moment she’d learned we were dating, her interest in me had rekindled like a flame, but it was always focused on the same questions: When are you seeing him next? What did his parents say about you? Have you discussed marriage plans?

Our relationship had become transactional, a means for her to vicariously experience the elite social world she’d always aspired to.

The worst part was that I couldn’t even blame her entirely. Our family’s financial stability had been precarious for so long after my father’s death that marrying well had become her only reliable strategy for security.

I need to get out of here, I thought, fumbling for my purse.

I turned to find a man I didn’t recognize standing uncomfortably close.

He was older, perhaps in his mid-thirties, with slicked-back hair and an expensive watch gleaming on his wrist.

“No, thank you,” I said, trying to step around him. “I was just leaving.”

He moved to block my path, his smile widening. “Come on now, why the hurry? Pretty girl like you, sitting alone in a bar… you must be looking for someone to buy you another drink.”

The implications in his tone made my skin crawl. “I’m not. Please excuse me.”

I tried again to move past him, but he placed his hand on my arm. “Don’t be like that. We’re just getting to know each other.”

My heart raced with a different kind of fear now.

The alcohol had dulled my reflexes, and I wasn’t sure I could maneuver away from him without stumbling.

“The lady said she’s leaving.”

The voice was calm but carried an unmistakable note of authority.

I looked up to see Daniel Prescott standing a few feet away, his expression neutral, but his gaze hard as it fixed on the man’s hand still gripping my arm.