She read the NDA three times.
It was brutal. Every clause was designed to protect Nicholas White's secrets… his business dealings, his personal life, his other activities. The ones that weren't mentioned by name but were implied in every line.
Unauthorized disclosure will result in legal action, financial penalties, and other remedies as determined by Mr. White.
Other remedies. Emma had a feeling those remedies didn't involve courtrooms.
She signed it anyway.
Dinner was served in a dining room that could have seated fifty. A single table stretched the length of the room, polished to a mirror shine. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead, casting prismatic light across the white tablecloth.
Nicholas was already seated at the head of the table. He didn't stand when she entered. He simply gestured to the chair on his right.
Emma sat.
A servant appeared, silent, efficient, and poured wine into her glass. Red. Deep as blood.
"I don't drink," Emma said.
"Neither do I." Nicholas raised his glass. "But tonight is a celebration."
"Of what?"
"Of our engagement."
Emma stared at him. "We're not engaged."
"The contract says otherwise." He took a sip of wine. "In three days, we'll be married in a private ceremony. No press. No guests. Just you, me, and the judge."
"And my family?"
"Your family will be informed after the fact." His voice was flat. "Your stepmother doesn't deserve to stand beside you. Your stepsister doesn't deserve to celebrate. And your father…" He paused. "Your father sold you, Emma. He doesn't get to give you away."
Emma's throat tightened. She had known this was coming. Had prepared for it. But hearing it out loud, hearing the cold, clinical truth of it made her chest ache.
"You don't know my family," she said.
"I know they've been taking your mother's money for fifteen years. I know they've been spending it on parties and clothes and houses they couldn't afford. I know your stepmother has been poisoning your father against you since the day she moved in." He set down his glass. "I know more than you think."
"How?"
"I make it my business to know everything about the people I do business with." His eyes met hers. "You're not just a transaction, Emma. You're an investment."
"Is that what I am? An investment?"
"You're whatever you want to be." He leaned back in his chair. "I'm not going to lock you in a tower. I'm not going to forbid you from seeing your friends or pursuing your interests. You'll have access to my accounts, my properties, my resources. You'll want for nothing."
"And in exchange?"
"You'll stand beside me. At events, at meetings, at every public appearance. You'll smile and shake hands and pretend that we're a happy couple." He paused. "And when I ask you to trust me, you'll trust me."
Emma's hands curled into fists. "Trust is earned."
"I know."
"Then earn it."
Nicholas was quiet for a long moment. Then he reached into his jacket and pulled out a photograph, sliding it across the table.
Emma looked down.
It was a picture of her mother, her real mother, the one who had raised her, taken the day before she died. She was smiling, her hand on Emma's shoulder, her eyes bright with love.
"I didn't just buy your father's debt," Nicholas said. "I bought the evidence that proves Juliette pushed your mother down those stairs."
Emma's heart stopped. "What?"
"Witness statements. Security footage. Medical records that show the fall wasn't an accident." He tapped the photograph. "It's all in a safe place. Waiting for the right moment."
"Why?" Emma's voice cracked. "Why would you do that?"
"Because I know what it's like to lose someone and watch the person responsible walk free." His voice was hard, cold. "Because I've been waiting twenty-two years for justice, and I'm tired of waiting alone."
Emma stared at him. In the photograph. At the proof that everything she had suspected was true.
"What do you want from me?" she whispered.
"Your partnership." He leaned forward. "Not your submission. Not your gratitude. Your partnership. Help me destroy the people who need destroying, and I'll help you destroy yours."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then you walk out that door, and I'll have the annulment papers drawn up by morning. You'll go back to your father's house. You'll marry whatever man Juliette chooses for you. And you'll spend the rest of your life wondering what could have happened if you'd been brave enough to say yes."
Emma looked at the photograph again. At her mother's smile. At the love in her eyes.
She died for you, Emma thought. The least you can do is live for her.
"Okay," she said.
Nicholas's eyes sharpened. "Okay?"
"Okay. I'll be your wife. Your partner. Your investment." She met his gaze. "But I need something from you in return."
"Name it."
"Respect." She stood, picking up the photograph. "I've spent my whole life being treated like property. Like a bargaining chip. Like something to be used and discarded. I won't let you do the same."
Nicholas stood as well. He walked around the table and stopped in front of her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body.
"I don't respect easily," he said.
"Neither do I."
He reached out and took the photograph from her hand, setting it on the table. Then he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up to his.
"You're going to be a problem," he said.
"I know."
"I like problems." He released her chin. "Welcome to Blackwater, Emma. Try not to die." And he walked out of the dining room, leaving her alone with the photograph and the wine and the thousand questions burning in her chest.