Three days later, the world found out about Emma.
She was sitting in the library, reading a biography of a silent film star, when her phone exploded. Message after message. Call after call. Her screen wouldn't stop lighting up.
Evelyn: You're engaged? To NICHOLAS WHITE?
Juliette: Call me immediately.
Unknown number: This is Victoria from E! News. Can you confirm…
Emma dropped her phone like it was on fire.
Nicholas walked into the library, already dressed in a charcoal suit, his hair damp from the shower. He looked at her face, then at the phone buzzing on the floor.
"It's out," he said.
"You told people?"
"I told Sloane to leak it to the press." He walked to the window, looking out at the sea. "It was time."
"You could have warned me."
"Would it have helped?"
Emma picked up her phone and silenced it. "My stepmother is going to lose her mind."
"Good."
"My father is going to have a heart attack."
"Also good."
She stood, walking toward him. "And Evelyn is going to make my life a living hell the next time she sees me."
Nicholas turned. "There won't be a next time."
"What do you mean?"
"You're not going back to that house, Emma. You're not going to let them touch you or speak to you or breathe the same air as you." His voice was hard, final. "They sold you. They don't get to see you anymore."
Emma's heart ached. She had dreamed of leaving that house, of escaping Juliette's cruelty and Evelyn's viciousness… for sixteen years. But she had never imagined it would happen like this.
"My things," she said. "My mother's things. They're still there."
"Already taken care of." Nicholas reached into his pocket and pulled out a key, holding it out to her. "Storage unit on Fifth Avenue. Everything your mother owned. I had my people retrieve it two days ago."
Emma stared at the key. At this man who had thought of everything.
"Why?" she asked. "Why are you doing all of this?"
"Because someone should have done it for Celeste." He pressed the key into her palm. "And no one did."
Emma closed her fingers around the key. It was warm from his skin.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Don't thank me." He walked to the door. "Get dressed. We have a press conference in two hours."
"A press conference?"
"You're my fiancée now, Emma. The world needs to see your face."
He left.
Emma stood alone in the library, holding the key to her mother's things, and wondered if she would ever stop being surprised by this Nicholas White.
