The next morning, Emma woke to an empty room and a note on the nightstand.
Breakfast at 7. Dress warm. We're going outside.
No signature. No explanation.
Emma dressed in black jeans, a thick sweater, and boots she found in the closet… brand new, perfectly sized, as if someone had known exactly what she would need.
She found Nicholas in the kitchen, not the dining room. He was standing at the stove, flipping pancakes, dressed in a worn leather jacket and jeans that looked like they'd seen better days.
He looked almost human.
"You cook?" Emma asked.
"I survive… " He slid a pancake onto a plate and handed it to her. "Eat. We have a long day."
Emma sat at the kitchen island and ate in silence, watching him move around the kitchen. He was different here… softer, somehow. Less like a CEO and more like a man.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"The cliffs." He poured himself a cup of coffee. "I'm going to teach you something."
"Teach me what?"
He looked at her. "How to fight."
Emma's heart skipped. "Why?"
"Because the people who want to hurt you aren't going to wait for permission. Because you need to be able to protect yourself when I'm not there." He set down his coffee. "Because I won't always be there."
The words hung in the air between them.
"Okay," Emma said.
The cliffs were brutal.
Nicholas led her down a path that wound along the edge of the sea, the wind whipping her hair across her face, the spray from the waves cold against her skin. They stopped at a flat expanse of rock, surrounded on three sides by water.
"This is where I come when I need to think," he said. "And when I need to train."
"Train for what?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he turned to face her, his feet planted wide, his hands loose at his sides.
"Hit me," he said.
Emma blinked. "What?"
"Hit me. As hard as you can."
"I'm not going to hit you."
"Then I'm going to hit you." He stepped closer. "Not hard. But enough to hurt. Enough to teach you that hesitation gets people killed."
Emma's blood ran cold. "You wouldn't."
"Wouldn't I?" His voice was hard, cold. "You don't know me, Emma. You don't know what I'm capable of. That's the first lesson."
He swung.
Emma ducked, not because she was trained, but because instinct took over. His fist whistled past her ear, close enough to ruffle her hair.
"Good," he said. "Again."
He swung again. She dodged again.
"Again."
This time, she didn't dodge. She stepped into him, driving her palm into his chest. He stumbled back, surprise flickering across his face.
"Where did you learn that?" he asked.
"I watched a lot of movies." She was breathing hard, her heart pounding. "And I've been running from bullies my whole life."
Nicholas studied her for a long moment. Then he smiled… not the cold, sharp smile from last night, but something real.
"Good," he said. "Let's try again."
They trained for three hours. By the end, Emma was bruised, exhausted, and strangely exhilarated. She had landed exactly one hit, a punch to his shoulder that he probably didn't even feel but she had learned to block, to dodge, to use her smaller size against him.
"You're not terrible," Nicholas said as they walked back to the house.
"High praise."
"Don't let it get to your head."
They stopped at the edge of the cliff, looking out at the sea. The sun was setting, painting the water gold and orange and red.
"Why did you bring me here?" Emma asked.
"Because I needed to see who you really are." He turned to face her. "Without the walls. Without the masks. Just you."
"And what did you see?"
"Someone who's been hurt. Someone who's learned to survive." He paused. "Someone who reminds me of her."
"Of who?"
He didn't answer. He just looked at her for a long, aching moment and then he walked away.
Emma stood alone on the cliff, the wind whipping around her, and wondered if she would ever understand the man she had married.