Her father's house had not changed.
Same sprawling estate. Same manicured hedges. The same marble fountain that had never worked properly, no matter how many times her mother had begged to have it fixed.
Emma stood at the entrance, Nicholas beside her, and felt sixteen years of rage settle in her chest.
"You okay?" he murmured.
"I'm perfect."
They walked inside.
The house was full of people, old money, new money, the kind of social climbers who would sell their own mothers for an invitation to a party that mattered. Heads turned when Emma entered. Whispers followed.
"Is that Emma? She looks different."
"Nicholas White never attends these things. What's he doing here?"
"Someone told me she threatened Marcus Webb at the last party. Can you imagine?"
Emma smiled and nodded and let them talk. Let them wonder. Let them fear.
Juliette was waiting in the center of the room, dressed in white like a bride who had forgotten she wasn't the one getting married. Her smile was glass-shatter sharp.
"Emma." She kissed the air beside Emma's cheek. "You look... striking."
"Juliette." Emma's voice was ice. "You look like you're trying too hard."
Juliette's smile faltered. Just for a second. But Emma saw it.
Nicholas stepped forward, his hand finding the small of Emma's back. "Mrs. Rhodes. Thank you for the invitation."
"Mr. White." Juliette's eyes slid to him, calculating. "I was so pleased when you agreed to come. We have so much to discuss."
"Actually," Nicholas said, "we have nothing to discuss. I'm here because my fiancée wanted to see her father."
He guided Emma away before Juliette could respond, steering her through the crowd toward the back of the house.
Her father was in the study.
He was sitting behind his desk, a glass of whiskey in his hand, staring at nothing. He looked older than Emma remembered… grayer, thinner, smaller somehow. Juliette had been eating him alive for years, and he had been too blind to notice.
"Dad."
He looked up. His eyes widened.
"Emma." He stood, knocking over the whiskey. "I didn't… Juliette said you wouldn't come… "
"I'm here to see you." Emma walked into the room, Nicholas close behind. "Not her. Not Evelyn. You."
Her father's hands were shaking. "I know I've made mistakes. I know I've…"
"…You sold me."
The words hung in the air.
Harold Rhodes's face crumpled. "I didn't have a choice. The debt…Juliette said… "
"Juliette said." Emma's voice was cold. "Juliette said a lot of things. She said you needed to sign the contract. She said it was the only way to save the family. She said I would be fine."
She stepped closer.
"Did you ask me? Did you ask what I wanted? Did you ask if I was afraid?"
Her father stared at her, tears sliding down his cheeks.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry, Emma."
"Sorry isn't enough." She reached into her clutch and pulled out a photograph… her mother, smiling, alive. She set it on his desk. "This is what you lost. This is what you let Juliette take from you."
Her father looked at the photograph. His hands trembled.
"I loved her," he said. "I loved your mother."
"Then why did you let her die? Because of her? Juliette?"
The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.
Nicholas stepped forward. "We should go."
Emma nodded. She looked at her father one last time, at the broken man who had chosen his wife over his daughter, his money over his soul.
"I'm not going to forgive you," she said. "Not today. Not tomorrow. Maybe never. But I'm going to make sure Juliette pays for what she did."
She turned and walked out of the study, Nicholas at her side.
Behind her, her father began to cry.