Emma Thompson, 28, stood alone in the bridal suite, her fingers trembling as she adjusted her grandmother’s pearl earrings, the final gift before the woman who raised her had passed. The ivory wedding gown hugged her curves perfectly, delicate beadwork catching the light with every anxious breath. Through the window, she could see guests filling the church garden, unaware that their presence might soon witness her humiliation rather than her joy.
He’s still not answering, Lily, 25, said, lowering her phone with a worried expression. I’m sure it’s just cold feet, honey. Men get stupid before weddings.
But Emma knew better. The knot in her stomach had been growing for days. Liam Carter, 30, had been distant.
His kisses distracted, his eyes never meeting hers. Still, she dismissed her doubts as pre-wedding nerves. Now, 30 minutes before walking down the aisle, those doubts screamed in her head.
Something’s wrong, Lily, she whispered, her dark eyes reflecting fear in the mirror. This isn’t just lateness. The door opened and both women turned, hoping to see the missing groom.
Instead, a tall figure filled the doorway, broad-shouldered, imposing, and unmistakably a Carter with those piercing blue eyes. But not the Carter she was meant to marry today. Ethan Carter, 35, Liam’s older brother, the billionaire art collector who’d barely acknowledged her existence during family gatherings, who seemed to view her as an inconvenience at best.
Now, he stood before her, his expression unreadable as those intense eyes swept over her wedding dress. Ethan… Emma’s voice broke slightly. Where’s Liam? He stepped into the room and closed the door, his movements deliberate and controlled.
Unlike his charming younger brother, Ethan radiated a contained power that made the spacious bridal suite feel suddenly small. Liam isn’t coming. Three words, delivered without emotion.
Yet they shattered the world around her. Emma felt her knees weaken. Lily quickly moved to support her, shooting a venomous glare at Ethan.
What do you mean he isn’t coming? Where the hell is he? Lily demanded. Ethan’s jaw tightened. He left the city this morning.
He sent me this. He held out his phone, displaying a text message. I can’t do this.
Tell Emma I’m sorry. I just need time to think. The room spun around Emma.
He left me, she whispered, the words burning her throat at her wedding. Yes. Ethan’s bluntness was almost cruel.
My brother has always been a coward. A tear slipped down Emma’s cheek, leaving a trail in her carefully applied makeup. All those months of planning, of believing Liam when he said she was different from the others, special enough to make him settle down.
All a lie. I need to tell everyone to go home, she said. Her artist’s hands, hands that brought beauty to life on canvas and curated masterpieces and galleries, now clutching helplessly at her wedding dress.
You don’t have to, Ethan said, his deep voice sending an unexpected shiver down her spine. What? You don’t have to tell them anything. He stepped closer, his expensive cologne mingling with the scent of her bridal bouquet.
There’s another option. Lily moved protectively closer to Emma. This isn’t the time for whatever you’re about to suggest.
Ethan’s eyes never left Emma’s face. I’ll marry you instead. The words hung in the air, absurd and impossible.
Emma stared at him, certain she’d misheard. That’s not funny, she finally managed. It’s not meant to be.
His expression remained serious, those blue eyes boring into hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. The guests are seated, the minister is ready, everything is arranged. You’re insane, Lily interjected.
Emma, don’t listen to him. But Emma couldn’t look away from Ethan’s face, searching for the joke, the mockery she expected to find there. Instead, she saw something else, determination, calculation, and something deeper she couldn’t identify.
Why would you do that? She asked, her voice barely audible. The Carter name means something, he replied, but something flickered in his eyes that suggested there was more. My brother has disgraced our family by abandoning you.
I’m offering a solution that saves you from humiliation and preserves what little dignity our family has left. That’s your reason? Family honor? Emma asked incredulously, anger beginning to replace her shock. I’m not a business transaction, Ethan.
Something dangerous flashed across his features. Everyone in this church thinks you’re about to join the Carter family. I’m simply making that true.
This is ridiculous, Lily interrupted. Emma, tell him to leave. But Emma found herself unable to dismiss the idea completely, her mind racing through the implications.
Two hundred guests waiting, her empty apartment she’d already moved out of, expecting to return from her honeymoon to Liam’s home. The pity she would face explaining to everyone what had happened. It would be temporary, Ethan continued, his voice lowering as he stepped closer.
A marriage on paper, you’d want for nothing financially. When enough time has passed, we’d divorce quietly. You barely know me, Em challenged.
You’ve hardly spoken ten words to me at family dinners. Something shifted in his expression, so quickly she almost missed it. I know enough.
For the first time, Emma noticed the tension in his shoulders, the slight irregularity in his breathing. This wasn’t just about family honor for him. There was something more, something he wasn’t saying.
I need a moment, she said suddenly. Lily, can you give us the room? Emma, you can’t, seriously. Please, Lily, just a minute.
Reluctantly, her friend left, throwing one last suspicious glance at Ethan before closing the door. Alone with him, Emma felt a strange electricity in the air. She had always been aware of Ethan’s presence at family gatherings.
It was impossible not to be. Where Liam was golden California sunshine, Ethan was a midnight thunderstorm, powerful and distant. She’d caught him watching her sometimes, his expression inscrutable.
Why are you really doing this, she asked again, moving closer to him, determined to see past his mask. Ethan’s eyes darkened as she approached. Does it matter? I’m offering you a way out of public humiliation, a comfortable life, freedom to pursue your art career without worrying about money.
It matters to me, she insisted, standing her ground. Something changed in his face then, a moment of vulnerability so brief she might have imagined it. Maybe I’m tired of watching my brother throw away things of value.
The word sent an unexpected warmth through her chest. Before she could analyze it, he continued, his voice hardening again. This is a one-time offer, Emma.
The guests are seated, people are getting restless. Your choice. She studied him, this man she barely knew, yet was somehow considering marrying.
Tall, powerful, mysterious, nothing like his charming, easygoing brother. There were depths to Ethan Carter that Liam would never possess. If I agree to this insanity, she said slowly, there would be conditions.
A slight smile touched his lips, transforming his severe features. I expected nothing less. This would be temporary, she stated.
One year, then a quiet divorce with a generous settlement, he nodded. Acceptable, we would live together for appearances’ sake. But she hesitated, suddenly aware of the intimacy they were discussing.
Separate bedrooms, he finished for her, unless you decide otherwise. The implication sent heat rushing to her cheeks. There was something in his voice, in those intense blue eyes, that made her suddenly acutely aware of him as a man.
She pushed the thought away. And I maintain my independence, my career, my friends, of course. He extended his hand to her.
Do we have an agreement, Emma Thompson? She stared at his offered hand, knowing this decision would change everything. This morning, she had been certain of her future with Liam. Now she was considering binding herself to his enigmatic older brother, a man whose true motivations remained a mystery.
Just as she reached to take his hand, a knock came at the door, followed by the wedding planner’s anxious voice. Miss Thompson, the guests are getting concerned. Is everything all right? Time had run out.
Decision time. Emma took a deep breath and placed her hand in Ethan’s. His fingers closed around hers, warm and strong, sending an unexpected current of electricity up her arm that made her breath catch.
Yes, she said. The word both an answer to the wedding planner and to Ethan’s proposition. Tell them the wedding will proceed shortly.
As the footsteps retreated, Ethan’s eyes held hers, something primal and possessive, flaring in their blue depths. You won’t regret this, he said quietly. But as he raised her hand to his lips in a gesture that seemed both old-fashioned and intensely intimate, Emma wondered if she already did.
Not because she feared what lay ahead, but because of the inexplicable flutter in her stomach when his lips brushed against her skin, a sensation she had never once felt with Liam. Outside, the string quartet began playing the wedding march. In minutes, she would walk down the aisle toward a different Carter than the one she’d expected.
And despite everything, a part of her, a part she wasn’t ready to acknowledge, whispered that perhaps fate had intervened to give her the brother she was truly meant to have. Chapter 2. Dangerous Propositions. The wedding ceremony passed in a blur of unreality for Emma.
She walked down the aisle in a daze, aware of the murmurs rippling through the crowd when they saw Ethan standing at the altar instead of Liam. Her eyes locked with his, intense unwavering blue against her warm brown, and something primitive passed between them, steadying her when she thought she might collapse. Who gives this woman? the minister asked, following the script that now seemed like some bizarre play.
She gives herself, Emma answered before her uncle could speak, her voice stronger than she expected. A flash of admiration crossed Ethan’s face, there and gone in an instant. The vows they exchanged were traditional words about love and devotion that felt hollow on her lips, but somehow sounded sincere in Ethan’s deep baritone.
When he slid the ring onto her finger, not the one Liam had chosen, but a platinum band with a stunning black diamond that Ethan had produced from nowhere, his touch lingered, sending warmth cascading through her veins. You may kiss the bride, the minister announced. Emma froze.
They hadn’t discussed this part. Ethan stepped closer, his scent enveloping her, sandalwood and something distinctly male. He cupped her face with unexpected gentleness, his thumb caressing her cheekbone.
May I? he whispered, his breath warm against her lips. A question, so unexpected from this commanding man, made her heart flutter. She gave a slight nod and his mouth descended on hers.
It was meant to be brief, perfunctory. It became anything but. The moment their lips touched, something electric sparked between them.
What started as a chaste press of lips transformed when Emma gasped involuntarily, and Ethan took advantage, deepening the kiss with a hunger that shocked them both. His arms slid around her waist, pulling her against the hard planes of his body, as her hands found their way to his chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath her palm. They broke apart to scattered applause and knowing looks that assumed this passion was why the groom had changed.
Emma’s cheeks burned as Ethan’s eyes held hers, darkened with something that looked dangerously like desire. Breathe, he murmured, so only she could hear, his hand at the small of her back, guiding her down the aisle. The reception that followed was a masterclass in Ethan’s control.
He never left her side, his hand possessively at her waist as they greeted guests who offered congratulations, laced with curiosity. To each he presented a carefully crafted story. Liam had been called away on urgent business, and rather than disappoint Emma, Ethan had stepped in, their long hidden feelings finally acknowledged.
You’re quite the actor, Emma whispered during a rare moment alone, her smile fixed for the watching guests. Who says I’m acting, he replied, his eyes intense as they swept over her face. Before she could respond, they were interrupted by the arrival of Richard Carter, Ethan’s father, 62.
Well, this is unexpected, the older man said, his patrician features arranged in an expression of polite disbelief. When I received word of the switch, I assumed it was some kind of joke. Father, Ethan acknowledged with a slight nod, I’m glad you could attend on such short notice.
Richard’s cold gaze settled on Emma, Ms. Thompson, or should I say Mrs. Carter now, you’ve managed quite the upgrade today. Emma felt Ethan tense beside her. It’s still Emma, she replied coolly, and I believe I’m the one who’s fortunate, not Ethan.
Something like approval flickered in Richard’s eyes before he turned back to his son. I expect a full explanation tomorrow at the office. We’ll be on our honeymoon, Ethan responded, his tone leaving no room for argument, business can wait.
After Richard walked away, Emma turned to Ethan, honeymoon, that wasn’t part of our agreement. It’s expected, he replied, his hand warm against her back, and necessary for appearances, unless you’d prefer to face everyone’s questions immediately, he had a point. Where are we supposedly going? A ghost of a smile touched his lips.
My island in the Caribbean, private, secluded, separate bedrooms, as promised. The thought of being alone with Ethan on a private island sent a shiver through her that wasn’t entirely fear. The rest of the reception passed in a haze of champagne and forced smiles.
When midnight approached, they made their exit amid suggestive cheers and knowing winks. Instead of the honeymoon suite Liam had booked, Ethan drove them to his penthouse overlooking Central Park, the city lights glittering below like fallen stars. Home, sweet home, he said dryly, ushering her into a foyer larger than her entire former apartment.
The penthouse was exactly what she’d expected from him. Sleek, modern, masculinely elegant, yet with surprising touches that spoke of genuine artistic appreciation. Original paintings hung on the walls, not the safe, investmentally classic she’d anticipated, but bold, challenging works from emerging artists.
Her artist’s eye recognized talent in every piece. Your room is this way, Ethan said, leading her down a hallway. I had your things brought over from Liam’s place while we were at the reception.
The guest suite he showed her to was beautiful, done in soothing creams and blues, with a wall of windows overlooking the park. On the bed lay her suitcases, the ones she’d packed for her honeymoon with Liam. The sight of them, a jarring reminder of how drastically her life had changed in 12 hours.
We should discuss terms, Ethan said, remaining in the doorway as if reluctant to breach her space. Gone was the man who had kissed her with such passion at the altar, replaced by the cool businessman she’d glimpsed at family gatherings. Now, Emma asked, exhaustion suddenly washing over her, it’s been a long day.
Something softened in his expression. Tomorrow then, I have contracts prepared. Of course you do.
Contracts, how romantic. A dangerous smile curved his lips. I think we established at the altar that romance might be problematic between us.
Heat rushed to her face at the memory of that kiss. That was for show, was it? His voice lowered, sending illicious shivers down her spine. Interesting how your body contradicted that theory.
You’re not him, she said suddenly, needing to establish this boundary. I won’t be a replacement for your brother’s discarded toy. In an instant, Ethan crossed the room, stopping inches from her.
This close she could see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes, smell the intoxicating scent of his skin. Let me be perfectly clear, he said, his voice a low rumble that she felt rather than heard. I have never, not for one second, seen you as Liam’s anything.
You were always too extraordinary for him. The words hung between them, charged with implications neither was ready to explore. Emma’s heart hammered against her ribs as his gaze dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes.
For one breathless moment, she thought he might kiss her again. Instead, he stepped back, control reasserting itself. Get some rest, Emma.
Tomorrow we discuss our arrangement in detail. He turned to leave, but she called after him. Why did you really do this, Ethan? The truth this time? He paused in the doorway, his broad shoulders tense.
For a moment, she thought he might ignore the question. Then, without turning, perhaps I’ve been watching you longer than you realize. The door closed behind him, leaving Emma alone with the cryptic statement that sent equal parts fear and excitement coursing through her veins.
She’d changed out of her wedding dress, carefully hanging the gown that had been meant for a different Carter brother. As she slipped into bed, her mind whirled with the day’s events. Abandoned by one brother, married to another, bound now in a contract whose terms remained as mysterious as the man who had offered it.
Sleep eluded her. Through the night, she paced the luxurious guest room, occasionally pausing at the window to watch the city below. Was Ethan sleeping or was he too lying awake, separated from her by walls and unspoken boundaries? The thought of him, perhaps shirtless in bed, those intense eyes staring at the ceiling, sent unwelcome heat through her body.
Around 3 o’clock a.m., she ventured out, thirst driving her to find the kitchen. The penthouse was silent as she padded barefoot through the dim hallways, following the subtle lighting along the baseboards. She found the kitchen, all gleaming marble and stainless steel, and had just located a glass when a voice spoke from the darkness.
Couldn’t sleep either? Emma whirled to find Ethan sitting at the kitchen island, illuminated only by the city lights filtering through the floor to ceiling windows. He wore black pajama pants and nothing else, his sculpted chest bare in the moonlight. Her mouth went dry at the sight.
I was thirsty, she managed, clutching the empty glass like a shield. He rose and approached, taking the glass from her hand, their fingers brushed, and that same electricity crackled between them. Allow me, he said, filling it with filtered water from the refrigerator.
When he handed it back, his eyes caught hers. In the dim light, his expression was softer, the rigid control he maintained slipping just slightly. Today must have been difficult for you, he said quietly.
I apologize for adding to your distress. The unexpected gentleness in his voice touched something inside her. You saved me from public humiliation, that counts for something.
Is that what I did? A shadow crossed his features, perhaps I only served my own interests. Which are what, exactly? She asked, holding his gaze. Ethan stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his bare skin.
I think you already know, Emma. You’re too intelligent not to have figured it out. Her heart pounded as he reached out slowly, deliberately, giving her time to retreat.
When she didn’t, his fingers brushed a loose curl from her face, tucking it behind her ear in a gesture so tender it made her breath catch. This arrangement between us, he continued, his voice low and hypnotic. It has rules, boundaries, but don’t mistake that for indifference.
Ethan, she began, uncertain what she even wanted to say. He stepped back, the moment breaking. Go back to bed, Emma.
Tomorrow will bring enough complications without adding sleep deprivation. She returned to her room, but sleep remained elusive. Their conversation played on repeat in her mind, along with the memory of his fingers against her skin, the glimpse of vulnerability in those usually guarded eyes.
What had he meant? What were these interests of his that she was supposedly intelligent enough to have figured out? As dawn broke over the city, Emma came to one certainty amidst her confusion. The contract they would discuss today might stipulate separate bedrooms and a temporary arrangement, but the chemistry between them threatened to burn those carefully constructed boundaries to ash. Across the penthouse, separated by walls and unspoken desires, Ethan Carter also watched the sun rise, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand and the image of Emma in her wedding dress seared into his mind.
The woman he had coveted from afar for so long was now under his roof, wearing his ring, bearing his name. The irony was not lost on him. He had finally claimed what his brother had carelessly discarded, yet the victory felt hollow when she still believed herself in love with Liam.
But he was a patient man, and now he had a full year to make her see what he had known from the first moment he laid eyes on her at that gallery opening three years ago. Emma Thompson, now Carter, belonged with him. She just didn’t know it yet.
Chapter 3. Beneath One Roof Morning arrived with golden sunlight streaming through unfamiliar curtains. Emma blinked awake, momentarily disoriented by the luxurious surroundings before reality crashed back. She was in Ethan Carter’s penthouse.
As his wife, the enormous guest room suddenly felt suffocating. She threw off the silken sheets and padded to the floor-to-ceiling windows, pulling the curtains fully open to reveal a breathtaking panorama of Central Park. Sixty floors up, the world below seemed like a miniature playset.
Tiny yellow cabs, aunt-size pedestrians, all moving through the morning rush with purpose, while her own life had been turned upside down. I’m married to Ethan Carter, she whispered, twisting the black diamond ring on her finger. The weight of it still felt foreign, a constant reminder of yesterday’s madness.
A gentle knock interrupted her thoughts. Come in, she called. Wrapping her arms around herself, suddenly conscious she wore only a thin nightgown, another item meant for a honeymoon with a different man.
The door opened to reveal not Ethan, but a middle-aged woman, fifty, in crisp black attire. Good morning, Mrs. Carter. I’m Mrs. Garcia, the housekeeper.
Mr. Carter asked me to inform you breakfast will be served on the terrace in thirty minutes. Thank you, Emma replied, thrown by the formal address. Mrs. Carter, that would take getting used to.
Your clothes have been unpacked in the dressing room, Mrs. Garcia continued, gesturing to a door Emma hadn’t noticed the night before. Mr. Carter also arranged for additional items. Will you require assistance? No, I can manage, Emma answered, wondering exactly what additional items meant.
After Mrs. Garcia departed, Emma discovered the answer. The walk-in dressing room was filled with clothing in her size, tags still attached, designer dresses, casual wear, shoes, even lingerie, all arranged by color and type, a complete wardrobe that must have cost a small fortune, acquired overnight while she slept. Running her fingers along a silk blouse that probably cost more than her monthly rent had been, Emma felt a flash of indignation.
Had Ethan assumed her own clothes weren’t good enough? Was this another way to mold her into his version of a suitable wife? Pride made her bypass the new items, choosing instead a simple yellow sundress from her own suitcase. It had been packed for her honeymoon with Liam, but now it would serve as armor, a reminder that she remained Emma Thompson beneath the Carter name. When she emerged onto the terrace 30 minutes later, Ethan was already seated at a glass table laden with breakfast foods.
He rose when he saw her, those penetrating blue eyes taking in her appearance with an intensity that made her skin flush. Gone was the formal suit from yesterday’s wedding, replaced by dark jeans and a crisp white button-down with sleeves rolled to reveal powerful forearms. Good morning, he said, his deep voice doing unreasonable things to her pulse.
I trust you slept well. As well as can be expected after being abandoned at the altar and marrying a stranger, she replied, taking the seat he pulled out for her. A hint of a smile touched his lips.
Hardly strangers, Emma. We’ve known each other for over a year. Knowing of someone isn’t them, she countered, helping herself to coffee from a silver pot.
I could count our actual conversations on one hand. Something flickered in his eyes. A challenge, perhaps.
Then this arrangement presents an opportunity to remedy that, doesn’t it? A server appeared, presenting a plate of French toast with fresh berries before disappearing again. Emma raised an eyebrow. Do you always have staff serving breakfast? Only when I want to impress my new wife, Ethan replied, his intense gaze never leaving her face.
The directness of his stare unsettled her. I noticed the wardrobe in my room. That wasn’t necessary.
You’re a carter now, at least for the year we agreed upon. Certain appearances must be maintained. He sipped his coffee, watching her over the rim.
Consider it part of our arrangement. I have perfectly adequate clothes of my own. Of course you do.
His eyes dropped briefly to her yellow dress before returning to her face. But our social calendar requires variety, unless you’d prefer to shop yourself. Social calendar? Emma set down her fork.
I thought this was just a paper marriage. Ethan’s expression remained unreadable. People would question a reclusive newlywed couple.
We’ll need to make occasional public appearances to maintain the illusion. You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you? She couldn’t keep the edge from her voice. I try to.
He set aside his coffee and leaned forward, his expression suddenly serious. Emma, I know this isn’t what you planned for your life, but for the next year we’re bound together. We can spend that time in conflict, or we can find a way to coexist peacefully, perhaps even… He paused, something warming in his gaze.
Pleasantly. The suggestion in his tone sent an unexpected heat through her body. She looked away, unsettled by her reaction.
I should probably learn more about you if we’re going to convince people this marriage is real. What would you like to know, he asked, leaning back in his chair. Everything, she challenged.
Start with why the mysterious Ethan Carter needs a wife for appearances when half the socialites in Manhattan would kill for the position. A shadow crossed his face. My father is retiring.
The board is detoxification voting next month on who will take control of Carter Holdings. My father believes a settled family man would inspire more confidence than a bachelor with a reputation for… He paused. Intensity.
So I’m a prop in a corporate power play, Emma concluded, trying to ignore the sting of disappointment. Ethan’s jaw tightened. You’re much more than that, am I? She met his gaze directly.
Then what am I to you, Ethan? The question hung between them, charged with unspoken possibilities. For a moment, something raw and honest threatened to break through his controlled facade. Then his phone buzzed with an incoming message, breaking the spell.
He glanced at it, his expression hardening. Business demands attention, even on my supposed honeymoon. Rising, he added, I have a proposition for you.
Something more interesting than sitting alone in this penthouse while I attend to unavoidable matters. I’m listening, Emma said cautiously. I have a private collection.
Art pieces not displayed publicly. I’d value your professional opinion on them. Interest sparked despite her determination to remain aloof.
What kind of collection? Emerging artists, primarily those without the connections to break into traditional galleries. A hint of vulnerability crept into his expression. It’s a personal passion, not a business investment.
The admission surprised her. The Ethan Carter she thought she knew seemed too calculating for passion projects. I’d like to see that, she admitted.
Relief flickered across his features. Good. We’ll go when I return this afternoon.
He hesitated, then added, the studio on the lower level is fully equipped if you’d like to work while I’m gone, through the private elevator in the hall. Full access is coded to your fingerprint now. Before she could respond, he was gone, leaving Emma to wonder just how many more surprises Ethan Carter had in store.
The private elevator opened onto a space that made Emma’s heart stop. A vast studio with soaring ceilings and perfect natural light. Walls lined with empty canvases of every size.
Shelves stocked with paints, brushes, charcoals, every supply an artist could dream of. A small sitting area in one corner held a vintage leather couch and a gourmet coffee station. When did you do this? She whispered to the empty room, running her fingers over a set of brushes that cost more than her monthly rent had been.
The answer came from behind her. Two weeks ago. Emma whirled to find Ethan stepping from the elevator, his expression impossible to read.
But that was before, she started, confused. Before Liam left you at the altar. Yes.
He moved past her to open the blinds further, flooding the space with afternoon light. Before our arrangement? Also yes. I don’t understand.
Her voice faltered as implications swirled through her mind. Why would you create a studio for me before any of this happened? Ethan turned to face her, his usual mask of control slipping just enough to reveal something vulnerable beneath. Because I’ve seen your work, Emma.
The pieces you showed at the Thompson Gallery last spring. You have extraordinary talent that deserves nurturing. She stared at him, struggling to reconcile this revelation with the man she thought she knew.
How did you even know those were mine? They were displayed under a pseudonym. A smile touched his lips. I pay attention to things that interest me.
The intensity of his gaze made her pulse quicken. And I interest you more than you know. The words hung between them, charged with meaning.
Before she could respond, he gestured toward a door at the far end of the studio. My collection is through there. When you’re ready.
Emma followed him, mind racing. The Ethan Carter who created an artist’s dream studio for a woman he barely spoke to, who recognized her anonymous work, who married her when his brother fled. This was a man she didn’t know at all.
The temperature dropped noticeably as they entered a climate-controlled gallery space. Emma stopped in the doorway, stunned by what she saw. Not the investment-grade masterpiece as she’d expected from a billionaire’s collection, but raw, passionate works from artists she recognized as emerging talents, many from underprivileged backgrounds.
Voices the mainstream art world often overlooked. These are… She moved toward a powerful piece by a Dominican artist she’d been following. Incredible, you approve.
Something almost anxious colored his tone. This isn’t just money thrown at famous names, she said, moving from piece to piece with growing excitement. This is a real collection.
Thoughtful, cohesive, but with risks. You actually understand art. When she turned back to him, the naked vulnerability in his expression took her breath away.
For the first time, she was seeing behind the mask of Ethan Carter, catching a glimpse of the man beneath the power and control. Most people assume I buy what my advisors tell me will appreciate in value, he said quietly. This isn’t about investment, she gestured to the collection.
This is about passion, about seeing beauty and truth in unexpected places. He stepped closer, close enough that she could smell his cologne, something woodsy and exclusive. Few people understand that about me.
I’m beginning to think I don’t understand much about you at all, she admitted. A sudden thunderclap shook the windows, making Emma jump. Outside, the clear day had transformed, dark storm clouds rolling in with remarkable speed.
New York’s summer storms, Ethan commented. They arrive without warning. As if on cue, rain began lashing against the windows, the sky darkening to premature twilight.
Lightning flashed, illuminating Ethan’s face in stark relief. All sharp angles and intensity. We should head upstairs, he suggested, but neither moved, caught in the strange intimacy of the moment, surrounded by art that revealed more about Ethan Carter than words ever could.
Another flash of lightning followed by darkness as the power failed. Emergency lights activated seconds later, bathing them in soft blue illumination. Backup generator, Ethan explained, his voice sounding deeper in the dim light.
The main system will restart momentarily. Emma became acutely aware of how close they stood, of the electric tension between them that matched the storm outside. In the muted emergency lighting, his eyes appeared darker, more mysterious.
You haven’t asked about Liam, he said, unexpectedly, watching her face. The mention of her former fiancé should have hurt, but Emma realized with surprise that she’d barely thought of him all day. No, I haven’t.
Why not? She considered the question honestly. Because yesterday I thought I knew exactly what my life would be, and today nothing is as I expected. I’m still trying to understand the present before I look back at the past.
Ethan stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. And what do you understand about the present, Emma? Her heart hammered against her ribs. That there’s more to you than I ever realized.
That this arrangement between us might be more complicated than a simple business transaction. His gaze dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes. Much more complicated.
Lightning flashed again, followed immediately by a deafening crack of thunder that made Emma gasp and instinctively step forward. Her hands landed on Ethan’s chest, solid and warm beneath the fine fabric of his shirt. Instead of stepping away, his arms came around her, steadying her.
Time seemed suspended as they stood there, her hands splayed against his chest, his arms encircling her. She could feel his heartbeat beneath her palm, accelerating to match her own. The scent of him, sandalwood, cedar, something uniquely male, enveloped her.
Emma, he murmured, her name a question and a plea. She looked up, meeting eyes dark with an emotion she wasn’t ready to name. The air between them seemed charged with the same electricity as the storm outside.
She should step away. She should remember this was a temporary arrangement, a marriage of convenience. She should remember she’d been about to marry his brother just yesterday.
Instead, she found herself rising on tiptoes, drawn to him like a magnet finding its pair. The lights flared back to life just as their lips were about to meet, breaking the spell. Emma stepped back, her cheeks burning with embarrassment at how easily she’d been swept away by the moment.
I should, she began, not quite meeting his eyes. Stay, Ethan interrupted, something raw in his voice. Please.
The plea, so unexpected from this commanding man, made her look up. What she saw in his face, desire mixed with vulnerability, hope edged with fear of rejection, stole her breath. Why did you really marry me, Ethan, she whispered.
The truth this time. He reached out slowly, giving her time to retreat, and brushed his fingers against her cheek. Because from the moment I saw your work at that small gallery in Brooklyn three years ago, I knew there was something extraordinary about Emma Thompson.
And when I finally met you, what, she pressed when he hesitated. His eyes held hers, all pretense falling away. I recognized something in you that matched something in me, something no one else has ever seen.
The honesty of the admission cracked something open inside her. Without overthinking, she stepped forward again, closing the distance between them. This time, when their lips met, there was no interruption.
The kiss began gently, a question being asked and answered, before deepening into something hungry and primal. His arms tightened around her, pulling her against the hard planes of his body as her hands slid up to tangle in his dark hair. She gasped when he backed her against the wall, his body pressing into hers, his mouth trailing fire down her neck.
This wasn’t the hesitant affection she’d known with Liam, but something altogether more powerful, consuming, demanding, exhilarating. We should stop, he murmured against her skin, even as his hands tightened on her waist. Should we? She challenged, pulling back to meet his gaze, finding his eyes dark with desire.
Before he could answer, his phone rang, the specific tone that made him tense immediately. Reluctantly, he stepped back, pulling the device from his pocket. I have to take this, he said, genuine regret in his voice.
It’s the Tokyo office. Emma nodded, using the moment to collect herself, to calm her racing heart and cool her flushed skin. What had just happened? How had she gone from resenting this arranged marriage to melting in Ethan’s arms in the span of a day? As he stepped away to take the call, speaking rabid-fire Japanese into the phone, Emma studied him with new eyes, the controlled power in his stance, the intensity of his focus, the unexpected passion beneath his cool exterior, all pieces of a man far more complex than she’d imagined, a man she was beginning to think she might not mind being married to, even if only for a year.
Outside, the storm began to abate, sunlight breaking through the clouds in golden shafts. Inside, Emma Thompson Carter wondered if the real storm was just beginning, not between the skies and the earth, but between her heart and her head. Chapter 4. Hidden Depths Pack for the weekend, Ethan said over breakfast three days later.
My lake house. We’ve been cooped up here long enough. Emma looked up from her coffee, feeling that familiar flutter in her stomach.
Since their near kiss in the art gallery, they’d circled each other cautiously, sharing meals but retreating to separate bedrooms, where Emma would lie awake, remembering the feel of his body pressed against hers. When do we leave, she asked, trying to sound casual. In an hour, the helicopter will take us.
Of course you have a helicopter, she teased. Do you have any transportation methods that don’t scream billionaire? A rare smile curved his lips. I have a 67 Mustang at the lake house.
A vintage Mustang is hardly normal, she laughed. His expression softened. You have a beautiful laugh.
You should use it more often. The compliment warmed her. You should give me more reasons to laugh then.
Something heated in his gaze. I’ll work on that. Two hours later, they soared above Manhattan in his sleek private helicopter.
Emma gripped the armrest tightly as they flew over forests and glittering lakes below. Nervous, Ethan asked, noticing her white knuckles. Just not used to helicopters, she admitted.
Without hesitation, he reached across and covered her hand with his. The simple touch sent warmth radiating up her arm. We’ll be on solid ground soon.
When they landed, Emma gasped at the sight. The lake house was a stunning modern structure of glass and stone that seemed to emerge organically from the hillside, overlooking a pristine lake that sparkled in the afternoon sun. You like it, Ethan asked, his hand lingering at the small of her back.
It’s incredible, she answered honestly. Did you design it? Yes, this is the one property I built entirely to my own taste. Inside was even more revealing.
Where the Manhattan penthouse was impeccably designed but somewhat impersonal, this space was unmistakably Ethan. Worn woods contrasted with cool stone. Art pieces were arranged not for show but for obvious pleasure.
No staff here, Ethan explained. Just us. The implications of those two simple words, just us, hung in the air between them.
After a lunch, Ethan prepared himself, surprising Emma with his culinary skills. He showed her the property, including a small artist’s studio nestled among the trees. Another she asked.
This one’s been here for years, he admitted. I come here sometimes to attempt my own artistic efforts. The confession stunned her.
You paint? Badly, he shrugged. But I find it freeing. Show me, she requested softly.
Hesitation crossed his face before he turned one canvas toward her. Emma caught her breath, not because the technique was perfect but because of the raw emotion captured in the abstract landscape. Bold slashes of midnight blue and black, shot through with unexpected veins of gold.
This is honest, powerful, she said, looking up at him with new understanding. You feel things deeply, don’t you? Behind that controlled exterior, something shifted in his eyes. Too deeply, some would say.
I don’t think that’s possible, she countered. Depth of feeling is what makes us human. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
Storm coming, Ethan noted. We should head back. As if on cue, fat raindrops began pattering on the roof, quickly intensifying to a downpour.
Ethan grabbed a jacket hanging by the door and held it over them both. Ready to run, he asked, a boyish grin transforming his features. They raced through the deluge, laughing as they became soaked despite the jacket.
By the time they reached the house, they were both drenched, clothes clinging to their bodies. In the shelter of the covered porch, Emma couldn’t stop laughing at the absurdity of it. The powerful, controlled Ethan Carter looking like a drowned rat.
Is this funny to you? He asked, amusement dancing in his eyes. You look like you fell in the lake, she gasped between laughs. Do I? Something playful entered his expression, and you look perfectly presentable, I suppose.
Before she could react, he shook his head vigorously, spraying her with water. She shrieked in surprise, then retaliated by flicking water from her fingers at his face. Ethan caught her wrist, his laughter fading as their eyes locked.
The atmosphere shifted instantly from playful to charged. Water droplets clung to his dark eyelashes, his white shirt nearly transparent, molding to the muscled contours of his chest. We should go inside, he said, his voice rough, before you catch cold.
After hot showers and separate bathrooms, Emma found Ethan building a fire in the massive stone fireplace. He’d changed into faded jeans and a soft gray Henley, his dark hair still damp and tousled. He looked younger, more approachable, earthier than usual.
Much, she replied, settling onto the plush rug before the fire. I’m enjoying seeing this side of you. What side is that? The real Ethan Carter, not the billionaire businessman, not the perfect Carter heir.
She met his gaze directly. Just you, he joined her on the rug, firelight casting golden highlights across his strong features. As the storm intensified outside, something shifted between them, walls coming down, truths emerging.
My mother brought me here when I was a child, he confided, before the divorce, before Liam was born. It was the only place where my father’s expectations couldn’t reach us. And after she left, Emma asked softly, pain flickered in his eyes.
My father sold it. The day I made my first million, I bought it back. This personal revelation touched Emma deeply.
They continued talking for hours as night fell, sharing stories and discoveries, wine loosening their usual restraint. I should have known you were different from what Liam described, Emma said suddenly, that night at the gallery opening with my anonymous pieces. You were the only one who asked about the emotion behind the work, not the investment potential.
Ethan’s eyes held hers. I remembered you immediately. You were passionate, brilliant.
When Liam introduced us later, you were already falling for my charming brother. Lightning flashed, illuminating the room before plunging it back into firelit intimacy. Another storm, Ethan observed, his voice low.
Nature seems determined to trap us together. I don’t mind, Emma admitted. I’m enjoying getting to know the you.
His eyes darkened. Be careful what you wish for, Emma. The real me might not be what you expect.
I think that’s exactly what makes you interesting, she leaned forward. You’re deeper than you appear. Something dangerous flashed in his eyes as he set down his wine glass.
And what if that depth contains things that would disturb you? Like what? She challenged. Like the fact that I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you three years ago, he confessed, voice raw with emotion. Like the fact that watching you with my brother was its own special kind of hell? Like the fact that when he abandoned you, part of me, a part I’m not proud of, was glad.
Emma’s heart hammered against her ribs, shock mingling with exhilaration. Why didn’t you ever say anything, she whispered. What would I have said? That my brother had claimed something I wanted before I could act? That I noticed everything about you? How your eyes light up when you talk about art? How you twist your ring when you’re thinking? Then why this arrangement, she asked.
Why the contract, the separate bedrooms, the promise of divorce? Ethan’s expression softened. Because I didn’t want to be your consolation prize. I wanted you to see me, really see me, not as Liam’s replacement.
The honesty stole her breath. I’m seeing you now, she said softly. His voice was barely audible.
Instead of answering with words, Emma moved toward him on the firelit rug. Her fingers traced the strong line of his jaw, feeling the slight roughness of evening stubble. I’m not thinking about Liam, she whispered.
I haven’t been for days. With a groan that seemed torn from somewhere deep inside him, Ethan pulled her into his arms. His mouth found hers in a kiss unlike anything she’d ever experienced.
Raw, real, and devastating in its honesty. His hands framed her face as if she were precious beyond measure, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones with tenderness even as his mouth claimed hers with fierce possession. Emma melted into him, her fingers tangling in his dark hair.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, the world seemed to have shifted on its axis. I don’t want to rush you, he said, his voice rough. We have time.
What if I don’t want to wait, she asked, something warm and certain unfurling in her chest. What if I want to know now what it feels like to be truly desired by you? His eyes flared with heat. Be certain, Emma, because if you invite me to your bed, there’s no going back.
No pretending this is just an arrangement anymore. In answer, she rose to her feet, extending her hand to him. When he took it, the simple touch felt like a vow more binding than any words they’d exchanged at the altar.
As the storm raged outside, they discovered each other with passionate intensity. Ethan worshipped her body with a thoroughness that left her gasping, patient, and attentive, where Liam had been rushed and selfish. Look at me, he commanded softly as she approached the edge.
I want to see you. Their eyes locked as pleasure overtook her, wave after wave washing through her body. Ethan followed, moments later, her name a prayer on his lips.
Afterward, he held her close, his heartbeat gradually slowing beneath her cheek. Outside, the storm continued to rage, but within their sanctuary, a different kind of storm had passed, leaving clarity in its wake. This changes everything, Ethan murmured against her hair.
Emma smiled, realizing that for the first time since the altar she felt no regret, no doubt, only certainty that sometimes fate took unexpected turns for the best possible reasons. Chapter 5 First Bloom Morning light filtered through the lake house windows, casting golden patterns across the tangled sheets. Emma awakened slowly, momentarily disoriented, before feeling the weight of Ethan’s arm draped possessively across her waist, his warm breath against her neck.
Memory of the night before flooded back, his touch, his taste, the way he’d whispered her name like a prayer. She turned carefully to face him, studying the man who had so thoroughly claimed her body and was making alarming inroads to her heart. In sleep, his features softened, the intensity that usually marked his expression replaced by a vulnerability that tugged at something deep inside her, as if sensing her gaze, Ethan’s eyes opened, immediately focusing on her face with startling clarity.
You’re still here? He murmured, voice rough with sleep. Did you think I wouldn’t be? She asked, her fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw. I half expected to wake and find last night was a dream.
His hand slid up her bare back, pulling her closer. One I’ve had many times before. The confession sent warmth blooming through her chest.
How long, she whispered, how long have you wanted this? From the first moment I saw you, his eyes never left hers, honesty raw in his voice. You were explaining color theory to an unappreciative collector, your passion, your intelligence, you were magnificent. But you never approached me, not until Liam.
I was about to, he interrupted, a shadow crossing his face. That night at the gallery, I finally worked up the courage to ask you to dinner. Then Liam walked in and introduced you as his date.
Emma finished, the missing pieces falling into place. She remembered that night clearly now, how Ethan’s expression had shuddered at Liam’s proprietary arm around her waist, how he’d withdrawn into formality. My brother always did have impeccable timing, Ethan said dryly.
Emma laid her palm against his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath her fingers. And now, now I have you in my arms, he said, his hand threading through her hair. Even if it’s just for this year, the reminder of their agreement jarred her.
Last night had shifted something fundamental between them, yet their marriage remained a contracted arrangement with an expiration date. Before she could respond, he captured her mouth in a kiss that swept away all thought of time limits and agreements. His hands traced the curves of her body with reverent possession, relearning what he’d discovered the night before.
Ethan, she gasped as his lips found the sensitive spot below her ear. Tell me what you want, Emma, he demanded softly, his body moving over hers. You, she answered without hesitation, just you.
Their lovemaking was different in the morning light, slower, deeper, more deliberate than the passionate urgency of the night before. When they finally lay spent in each other’s arms, the sun had risen fully above the lake, painting the room in brilliant light. I could get used to mornings like this, Ethan murmured against her hair.
Same, she replied, feeling oddly shy despite their intimacy. Though I’d never peg you for a late riser, he chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest against her cheek. I’m usually up before dawn, but I’ve never had such compelling reasons to stay in bed.
The casual comment shouldn’t have affected her so strongly, yet Emma felt something unfurl inside her, a dangerous tendril of hope. They eventually emerged from the bedroom, sharing breakfast on the sunlit deck overlooking the lake. Ethan moved around the kitchen with surprising domestic ease, preparing fresh coffee and perfectly fluffy omelets.
You’re full of surprises, Emma commented, watching him work. Billionaire, art collector, chef, is there anything you don’t excel at? A shadow crossed his face. Relationships? I’ve never been good at them.
I find that hard to believe, she said lightly. It’s true. He placed a steaming mug before her.
I’m too intense, too demanding, at least that’s what I’ve been told. The vulnerability in his admission touched her. Maybe you’ve just never found someone who matches your intensity.
His eyes met hers, something profound passing between them. Maybe I haven’t, until now. The rest of the day unfolded in perfect harmony.
They swam in the crystal clear lake, hiked forest trails, and Ethan taught her to drive his precious Mustang along winding country roads. By unspoken agreement, they avoided discussion of New York, of Liam, of their arrangement, living instead in a bubble of newfound intimacy. As sunset painted the sky in spectacular oranges and pinks, they sat together on the dock, feet dangling in the cool water, Ethan’s arm resting around her shoulders, his fingers absently tracing patterns on her skin.
Tell me something real, Emma said suddenly. Something no one else knows about you. He was quiet for so long she thought he might not answer.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low, contemplative. I almost walked away from the family business once, he admitted. After college, I wanted to open a gallery for unknown artists, people with talent but without connections.
What stopped you? His expression darkened. My father had a heart attack. Liam was too young, too irresponsible to take over.
The responsibility fell to me. Do you regret it, she asked gently. Sometimes, he acknowledged, but the position gave me power to help artists in different ways.
Funding scholarships, anonymous donations to community arts programs. Emma tilted her head to study him. You’re a better man than most people realize, Ethan Carter.
He gave a self-deprecating smile. Don’t be too sure. I’ve done things I’m not proud of.
We all have, she said softly. It’s part of being human. He turned to face her fully, his expression suddenly serious.
Emma, I need you to know something. What happened between us last night? What’s happening now? It wasn’t part of my plan. No, this was supposed to be an arrangement, clean, simple.
His fingers traced the curve of her cheek, but there’s nothing simple about how I feel when I’m with you. The raw honesty in his voice stole her breath. How do you feel? His eyes held hers, midnight blue in the fading light, alive for the first time in years, maybe ever.
Like the walls I’ve built are crumbling, and I should be terrified, but instead, instead, she prompted when he fell silent. Instead, I only want to build something new with you. The words hung between them, charged with meaning.
This was no longer a marriage of convenience, no longer a business arrangement. Something profound had shifted, something neither had anticipated. I’m scared, Emma admitted, allowing herself a moment of complete honesty.
Everything’s happening so fast. Two weeks ago, I was about to marry your brother. Now I’m feeling things for you I never felt for him.
Instead of responding with words, Ethan drew her into his arms, his kiss tender, yet possessive. Against her lips, he whispered, we don’t need to define this yet. We have time.
But as they walked hand in hand back to the house, Emma wondered if time was their ally or their enemy. Their agreement specified one year, what would happen when that year ended. Could she give her heart completely, knowing there was an expiration date? As if reading her thoughts, Ethan pulled her close when they reached the porch, his arms encircling her from behind as they gazed at the stars emerging above the lake.
I don’t want to return to New York, he murmured against her hair. To reality. We have to eventually, she reminded him.
I know, his arms tightened slightly. But when we do, promise me one thing. What? He turned her to face him, his expression more vulnerable than she’d ever seen it.
Promise you won’t regret this. Us. The question beneath his words was clear.
When their bubble burst, when the real world intruded, would she retreat from the intimacy they’d found? Rising on tiptoes, Emma pressed her lips to his. I promise. Later, as moonlight spilled across the bed where they lay entwined, Ethan traced lazy patterns on her bare shoulder.
What are you thinking? He asked. Emma hesitated, then decided on complete honesty that this wasn’t how I expected my honeymoon to be. His body tense slightly.
It’s better, she added softly. So much better than I imagined. The tension drained from him as he pulled her closer.
I want to give you everything, Emma. Everything you deserve. As she drifted towards sleep in his arms, Emma realized with startling clarity that this arrangement had evolved into something neither of them had anticipated.
Something that felt dangerously like love. What she didn’t know was that even as they created their private paradise, forces were gathering back in New York that would test this fragile new bond to its breaking point. Chapter Six.
Shadows Return. Their idyllic retreat at the lake house ended all too soon. The helicopter ride back to Manhattan felt like a descent from a dream world into harsh reality.
Emma watched the concrete jungle rise to meet them, Ethan’s hand clasped tightly in hers, both knowing that the bubble of their perfect weekend was about to burst. I have meetings this afternoon, Ethan said reluctantly as the helicopter landed on his building’s private pad. The Tokyo acquisition can’t wait.
I understand, Emma replied, though disappointment tugged at her. I have work to do in the studio anyway. His eyes softened as he helped her out of the helicopter.
Dinner tonight, just us. I’d like that. The simple domesticity of the exchange felt both novel and right, as if they were truly husband and wife rather than partners in an elaborate charade.
The penthouse welcomed them with silent efficiency, everything immaculate and controlled, so different from the warmth and spontaneity of the lake house. Mrs. Garcia greeted them formally, her professional mask revealing nothing about what she might think of their supposedly honeymoon interrupted return. There are several messages, Mr. Carter, she said, handing Ethan a stack of papers, and a delivery for Mrs. Carter arrived yesterday.
Emma followed Mrs. Garcia’s gesture to an enormous bouquet of exotic orchids sitting on the entryway table. Their heady fragrance filled the air as she approached, curious about who might be sending her flowers. Ethan stepped behind her as she opened the small envelope nestled among the blooms.
Emma, please, forgive my inexcusable behavior. We need to talk. I can explain everything.
Liam, the name hit her like a physical blow. In the magic of the lake house, she’d almost forgotten about the man who had left her at the altar. Now his presence intruded into the sanctuary she and Ethan had created.
Liam, Ethan said flatly, reading over her shoulder. His body tensed, all the relaxed happiness of their weekend evaporating instantly. Emma turned to face him, alarmed by the cold mask that had descended over his features, the return of the remote, controlled Ethan she’d first known.
I had no idea he would… You don’t owe me explanations, he interrupted, stepping back. He was your fiance. Ethan, she reached for him, but he moved toward his office.
I should prepare for my meetings, he said, his voice neutral. We’ll talk at dinner. The door closed behind him with quiet finality, leaving Emma standing bewildered among the offensive flowers.
How had everything changed so quickly? One moment they had been connected, intimate, the next walls had risen between them at the mere mention of Liam. With a sudden surge of anger, she grabbed the orchids and marched to the kitchen, dumping the entire arrangement into the trash. Mrs. Garcia watched with raised eyebrows but said nothing.
I’ll be in the studio, Emma announced to no one in particular, needing the sanctuary of the one space in the penthouse that felt truly hers. Art had always been her refuge in times of emotional turmoil. Today she attacked a blank canvas with fierce energy, dark colors reflecting her turbulent emotions.
Hours passed unnoticed as she worked, channeling her confusion and hurt into passionate brushstrokes. She was so absorbed that she didn’t hear the elevator until it chimed, announcing an arrival. Assuming it was Ethan, she turned with words of reconciliation on her lips, only to freeze at the sight of the woman stepping into her studio.
Tall, elegant, with sleek dark hair and eyes that assessed Emma with cool calculation, she wore a designer suit that screamed old money and carried herself with the confidence of someone who had never been denied anything she wanted. Mrs. Carter, I presume. The woman’s voice held a hint of an accent.
Italian, perhaps. Sophia Moretti, 34. The name struck a chord of recognition.
Ethan had mentioned her once, briefly, when discussing a charity event, his former girlfriend, the serious one, before he’d adopted his reputation as Manhattan’s most eligible bachelor. Yes, Emma confirmed, suddenly conscious of her paint-splattered appearance and wild curls. And you were here because… Sophia’s perfect smile didn’t reach her eyes.
I was hoping to speak with Ethan, but his assistant said he was unavailable. When I mentioned our history, she suggested I might find you here. The implication was clear.
Sophia had connections that granted her access where others would be turned away. Ethan is in meetings, Emma said, setting down her brush. I can tell him you stopped by.
That’s thoughtful, Sophia replied, moving further into the studio, examining Emma’s work with a practiced eye. But I’m happy to wait. We have so much to catch up on.
Before Emma could formulate a response, the elevator chimed again. This time, it was Ethan who emerged, his expression darkening instantly at the sight of Sophia. Sophia, his voice was cold, controlled.
This is unexpected. Ethan, darling, she moved toward him with practiced grace, kissing both his cheeks in European fashion. I’ve just been getting acquainted with your wife.
The slight pause before wife spoke volumes, as did the way Sophia’s hand lingered on Ethan’s arm. Emma felt a surge of irrational jealousy, followed by anger at herself for the reaction. What are you doing here? Ethan asked, stepping away from Sophia’s touch and moving to Emma’s side.
The possessive hand he placed at the small of her back should have reassured her, but it felt performative rather than genuine. I’m in New York for the Chandler Foundation Gala, Sophia explained. When I heard about your unexpected marriage, I had to see for myself.
After all, we always talked about how you weren’t the marrying type. Her eyes flicked meaningfully to Emma. Things change, Ethan replied curtly.
People change apparently. Sophia’s smile was predatory. The invitations to the gala went out weeks ago, addressed to Ethan Carter and guest.
I assume you’ll both be attending. Ethan tensed beside Emma. We haven’t discussed it.
Oh, but you must come. Sophia’s gaze fixed on Emma. Everyone is dying to meet the woman who finally captured the elusive Ethan Carter.
It’s quite the fairy tale, isn’t it? Left by one brother at the altar, married to the other the very same day. The deliberate cruelty of the words hung in the air. Before either could respond, Sophia continued, speaking of brothers, I ran into Liam yesterday at the Pierre.
He seemed quite distressed about recent events. Emma felt Ethan’s body go rigid beside her. You spoke with Liam? He asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
Briefly, Sophia said with a careless shrug. He was rather drunk. Poor thing kept saying there had been a terrible mistake, that he needed to make things right.
The tension in the studio was suffocating. Emma found herself unable to look at Ethan, afraid of what she might see in his face. Doubt, regret, the assumption that she might still have feelings for Liam.
I think you should leave, Ethan said to Sophia, his tone brooking no argument. Sophia raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. So protective already? How sweet.
She retrieved her purse from where she’d set it on a nearby table. I’ll see you both Saturday at the gala then. Eight o’clock, black tie.
Goodbye, Sophia, Ethan said firmly. With a final calculating look at Emma, Sophia departed. The elevator doors closing behind her with a soft chime that seemed to echo in the sudden silence.
I’m sorry about that, Ethan said after a moment, running a hand through his hair. Sophia can be territorial. Emma supplied, putting distance between them as she moved to clean her brushes.
She clearly still thinks she has some claim on you. She doesn’t, he said flatly. You never mentioned you two were serious, she said, keeping her voice deliberately casual.
Ethan’s expression shuddered. It was a long time ago. Not that long, according to her.
Emma couldn’t keep the edge from her voice. You always talked about not being the marrying type. Emma? Whatever explanation he might have offered was interrupted by the sharp ring of his phone.
Ethan checked the display, his jaw tightening. I need to take this. It’s my father.
As he stepped away to answer, Emma returned to her canvas, adding fierce strokes of crimson that reflected her inner turmoil. Everything had changed so quickly. The open, tender man from the lake house had vanished, replaced by the guarded, distant Ethan she’d first known.
His call ended quickly. That was my father, he said unnecessarily. He’s insisting we join him for dinner tonight.
I thought we were having dinner just us, Emma reminded him, not hiding her disappointment. Ethan’s expression softened slightly. I know, I’m sorry, but this is important.
He’s making some kind of announcement about the company’s future. The reminder of why they’d married in the first place, Ethan’s need to appear settled for the sake of the company’s succession, felt like a bucket of cold water. Of course, she said stiffly, business comes first.
Emma, that’s not fair. Isn’t it? Weren’t those the terms of our arrangement? You needed a proper wife for your corporate image. I was convenient.
The words tasted bitter on her tongue. Is that what you think? Ethan’s voice was dangerously quiet. After everything that happened at the lake house, you still believe this is just about business for me? Before she could answer, his phone rang again.
He glanced at it with obvious frustration. I have to take this. The Tokyo deal is falling apart.
He hesitated, clearly torn. We’ll talk tonight after dinner with my father. As he turned to leave, a notification chimed on Emma’s own phone, a text message from an unknown number.
Emma, please give me a chance to explain. Meet me tomorrow at 1 o’clock PM at our spot in the park. I owe you the truth.
Liam, she stared at the screen, conflicting emotions churning inside her. She had no desire to see Liam, no lingering feelings for the man who had abandoned her. But a part of her needed closure, needed to understand why he had left her at the altar.
When she looked up, Ethan was watching her, his expression unreadable. Liam, he asked, though it wasn’t really a question. Yes, she admitted, not seeing any point in lying.
He wants to meet tomorrow. Something flashed in Ethan’s eyes. Hurt, anger, resignation.
Will you go? The question hung between them, a test, a moment of truth in their evolving relationship. I don’t know, she answered honestly. Ethan nodded once, his face closing off completely.
It’s your decision. You don’t need my permission. As he disappeared into the elevator, Emma felt the walls closing in around her.
Within hours of returning to New York, their fragile connection was fraying, challenged by Liam’s return, Sophia’s appearance, and the harsh realities of the world they’d temporarily escaped. What had felt so real and promising at the lake house now seemed as insubstantial as morning mist, evaporating in the heat of the day. And as the sun set over Manhattan, casting long shadows across her studio, Emma wondered if what they had found had been real at all, or merely a beautiful illusion neither of them could afford to believe in.
Chapter 7. Painful Truths. Dinner with Richard Carter proved every bit as uncomfortable as Emma had anticipated. The Carter patriarch’s Manhattan penthouse practically screamed old money, from the oil portraits of stern-faced ancestors to the hand-carved dining table where they now sat.
I must say, your hasty marriage continues to puzzle me, Richard said, swirling aged scotch in his crystal tumbler, particularly in light of Liam’s return. Liam has returned? Emma couldn’t hide her surprise, shooting a glance at Ethan. His face remained impassive, but the tightening of his jaw suggested this wasn’t news to him.
Yesterday, Richard confirmed, he claims there was a misunderstanding about the wedding, that he never intended to abandon you. A misunderstanding? Emma repeated in disbelief. He left me at the altar without a word.
Richard turned his attention to Ethan. The question remains, what happens now? Nothing happens, Ethan said firmly, his hand finding Emma’s beneath the table. Emma is my wife.
The possessive statement should have reassured her, but instead Emma felt a flicker of doubt. Did Ethan truly want her, or was he simply determined not to relinquish anything to his brother? Of course, Richard conceded. Now, to business.
The board meeting is next Friday. I have decided to announce my retirement. Ethan’s fingers tightened around Emma’s.
That’s sooner than expected? The time is right. Chandler Industries is ripe for acquisition, and I want you at the helm. The implication was clear.
Ethan’s marriage had secured his position as heir. Emma felt like a pawn in a corporate chess game. Her presence valued not for herself, but for what she represented.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of business talk that deliberately excluded her. By the time they returned to Ethan’s penthouse, tension had built between them like an approaching storm. You knew Liam was back, she said the moment they were alone.
Why didn’t you tell me? Ethan loosened his tie, fatigue evident in his face. I only found out this afternoon. I was going to tell you after dinner, like you were going to tell me about Sophia? About how serious you two were? His eyes flashed.
Sophia was my past. It’s irrelevant. Not to her, and apparently not to your father, who mentioned her three times tonight.
My father has always had his own agenda where Sophia is concerned. Her family connections appealed to him, and I don’t, Emma concluded. The hurt she’d been suppressing finally surfacing.
Ethan crossed to her, taking her shoulders in his hands. What my father thinks doesn’t matter. This is between us, Emma, is it? Because tonight felt like I was just part of a business strategy.
The convenient wife who helped secure your position. Pain flashed across his features. After everything we shared at the lake house, you still believe that? Before she could answer, his phone rang.
After a brief conversation, he turned to her with regret. The Tokyo deal is imploding. I need to go to the office.
Go, she said, turning away. We can talk tomorrow. Will you be here? The question carried weight.
He was really asking if she planned to meet Liam. I don’t know yet, she answered honestly. After he left, Emma rode the elevator to her studio, seeking solace in the one space that truly felt like hers.
She was surprised to find the lights already on and Liam standing before her unfinished canvas. Liam, he turned, and the sight of him hit her with less impact than she’d expected. Once, those boyish good looks had made her heart race.
Now she felt nothing, just curiosity about why he’d hurt her so thoroughly. How did you get in, she asked coldly. I still had the security code.
Please, just hear me out. I need to explain what happened. Five minutes, then you leave.
What happened at the wedding? It wasn’t what it seemed, he began. The morning of the wedding, I received proof that someone close to you was using you, manipulating the situation. That’s your excuse? Why not just tell me at the church, because of who was behind it? It was Ethan.
Emma, my brother, orchestrated everything. The accusation hung in the air. That’s absurd, she managed.
Is it? Liam pulled up an email dated the morning of their wedding, a message from a private investigator detailing Ethan’s obsessive interest in her career, surveillance photos of her at events. This could be fake, she said, though doubt had begun to creep in. There’s more.
Liam showed financial records of a transfer from Ethan’s account to the investigator. He’s been watching you for years, Emma, long before you and I ever met. A chill ran down her spine as she remembered Ethan’s words at the lake house.
I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you three years ago. Why would he do this, she asked, her voice barely audible. Ethan has always wanted what I have.
He created this elaborate plan to drive us apart and position himself as your savior. Unbidden memories surfaced. The black diamond ring that fit perfectly.
The studio already prepared weeks before their marriage, his detailed knowledge of her preferences. Had it all been part of an scheme? Before she could respond, the elevator chimed and Lily stepped out. What the hell is he doing here? She demanded, moving protectively to Emma’s side.
He was just leaving, Emma said firmly. Liam held her gaze. Think about what I said.
Ask Ethan about the investigator, about his collection of your work from before we met. When you’re ready to hear the rest, call me. After he left, Lily turned to Emma with concern.
Are you okay? What did that bastard want? Ethan has been obsessed with me for years, that he manipulated everything to drive Liam away and marry me himself. That’s insane, Lily scoffed. Liam is obviously jealous.
Is it insane? Ethan had a studio ready for me weeks before our wedding. He knew details about my work that I never shared with him. Lily’s expression grew troubled.
Have you asked him about it? Not yet, but I’m going to. Tonight, it was past midnight when Ethan returned. He stopped short at the sight of her waiting.
We need to talk, she said, her voice steadier than she felt. What’s wrong? Liam came to see me tonight. Ethan went completely still.
And what did my brother have to say? He showed me some disturbing information about your interest in me before we ever met. Is it true? Have you been collecting my work for years? Tracking my career? Hiring investigators to follow me? The silence that followed told her everything. My God, she whispered.
It is true. Not the way Liam presented it, Ethan finally said. Yes, I discovered your work three years ago.
Yes, I followed your career, but not out of obsession, out of genuine admiration for your talent. And the private investigator, he flinched. That was a mistake.
After you became engaged to Liam, I wanted to ensure he wasn’t using you for your connection to certain art collectors. So you had me investigated? How is that not twisted, Ethan? I was trying to protect you. From what? Your brother? Or from making a choice that didn’t include you? Ethan’s expression hardened.
When Liam left you at the altar, did you have anything to do with that? She demanded. No. The denial exploded from him with such force that she believed him.
I would never hurt you that way, Emma. Never. But you’ve been lying to me from the beginning, she said, the pain cutting deep.
All those moments when you pretended we were just getting to know each other, you already knew everything about me. Not everything, he said quietly. I knew your work, your public persona.
I didn’t know the woman who challenges me, who sees through my defenses, who makes me want to be better. His sincerity made her waver, but the hurt ran too deep. I don’t know what’s real anymore, Ethan.
Between us, in this marriage, was any of it genuine? All of it, he said fiercely. Everything I feel for you is real, Emma. More real than anything I’ve ever felt.
How can I believe that? You married me under false pretenses. You’ve been manipulating this situation from the start. That’s not true, isn’t it? This whole arrangement.
Was it ever about family honor or corporate succession? Or was it always about possessing me? The word possessing visibly stung him. Is that what you think of me? That I see you as a possession? I need time, Ethan. Space to sort through all of this.
Something in his expression shuddered. Where will you go? I still have my grandmother’s house in Brooklyn. He nodded once.
I’ll have my driver take you in the morning. Without another word, he turned and walked to his study, closing the door with a soft click that somehow hurt more than if he had slammed it. Alone in the vast penthouse, Emma felt the fragile foundation of her new life crumbling.
As she packed for her departure, tears finally came. Not for Liam and what might have been, but for Ethan and what they had shared at the lake house. Had any of it been real? Or had she been a pawn in a game between brothers that she never understood? Chapter 8. Shattered Pieces.
A small brownstone in Brooklyn felt both familiar and foreign to Emma as she unlocked the door. Dust covers shrouded the furniture and the air held the stillness of a place long abandoned. This had been her grandmother’s home, where Emma had grown up after her parents’ death.
She’d kept it after her grandmother passed, unable to part with the last tangible connection to her family. Now, it represented sanctuary, a place to breathe, to think, far from the emotional chaos of Ethan’s penthouse. She moved through the rooms, pulling sheets from furniture, opening windows to release the musty air.
Her fingers trailed over the worn piano keys, the bookshelf filled with her grandmother’s eclectic collection, the kitchen table where she’d done homework and learned to mix paints. I need your wisdom now, Grandma, she whispered to the empty house. I don’t know what to believe anymore.
Three days passed in solitude. Emma ignored calls from Lily, from gallery owners curious about her sudden marriage, even from Liam. She painted obsessively in the small back room that had been her first studio, channeling her turbulent emotions onto canvas in stark, powerful images that felt more honest than anything she’d created in years.
On the fourth morning, a knock at the door startled her from sleep. Wrapping herself in a robe, she cautiously peered through the peephole, then flung the door open in surprise. Richard! Ethan’s father, 62, stood on her doorstep, impeccably dressed as always, an incongruous figure in the modest Brooklyn neighborhood.
May I come in, Emma? Confusion overrode her instinct to refuse. She stepped back, allowing him to enter the small foyer. Richard surveyed the modest home with undisguised curiosity.
Charming, he said in a tone that suggested the opposite. May we sit? She led him to the living room, painfully aware of the contrast between this humble space and his palatial Manhattan penthouse. Why are you here? My son is destroying himself.
The blunt statement caught her off guard. What do you mean? Ethan hasn’t left his office in three days. He’s making reckless decisions, alienating board members, jeopardizing the Tokyo acquisition.
Richard fixed her with a penetrating stare. Whatever happened between you has compromised his judgment. A pang of concern shot through her, quickly followed by indignation.
And you think that’s my responsibility to fix? I think you need to understand the full picture before you make irreversible decisions, he replied calmly, opening his briefcase. Liam came to see you, I presume. Showed you evidence of Ethan’s supposed obsession? Emma tensed.
How did you know that? Because my youngest son has been attempting to undermine his brother since they were children. He withdrew a folder and placed it on the coffee table between them. What Liam didn’t show you was this.
She hesitated before opening the folder. Inside, she found financial records, emails, hotel receipts, a paper trail documenting Liam’s numerous infidelities during their engagement. It was never faithful to you, Richard said bluntly.
Not once in your entire relationship. The revelation should have hurt, but Emma felt only a distant disappointment, as if hearing about a stranger’s indiscretions. Why show me this now? Because you need to understand what you’re dealing with.
Liam isn’t seeking reconciliation out of love, but out of jealousy. He cannot stand that Ethan has what he discarded. That doesn’t explain Ethan’s behavior, she countered.
The collection of my artwork? The private investigator? My son has never been skilled at expressing emotions, Richard interrupted. When he discovered your work, saw your talent, he did what he always does. Researched thoroughly, invested completely.
He’s built his career on understanding the value of things others overlook. I’m not a corporate acquisition, Emma said sharply. For the first time, something like approval flickered in Richard’s eyes.
No, you’re not, which is precisely why you’ve thrown him so completely off balance. He reached into his briefcase again, withdrawing a small, leather-bound book. Ethan’s mother gave him this journal when he was a boy.
After she left, it became his refuge, the one place he expressed feelings he couldn’t show the world. He placed it on the table. He left it open on his desk yesterday.
I took the liberty of bringing it to you. I can’t read his private journal, Emma protested, though her fingers itched to reach for it. You can, Richard countered, because he wanted you to.
Page 94. Against her better judgment, Emma opened the journal to the indicated page. The handwriting was unmistakably Ethan’s, confident strokes filling the page with raw emotion she’d never expected from the controlled man she’d married.
I saw her work today and felt something I haven’t experienced since mother left, recognition. The Thompson exhibition showcased an anonymous artist whose use of color spoke directly to some forgotten part of me. When I finally saw her across the gallery explaining her technique to that pompous collector, I understood why her work resonated so deeply.
There’s an authenticity to her that matches her art, genuine, uncompromising, luminous. Liam noticed her too. Of course, he always has an eye for beauty, but he’ll never appreciate the depth beneath her surface.
He’ll see the masterpiece, but miss the meaning behind it. The entry was dated three years earlier, exactly when Ethan had claimed to have first discovered her work. Emma turned the page, finding more entries chronicling his growing admiration, his frustration when Liam began pursuing her, his internal struggle to maintain distance when all he wanted was to know her better.
This doesn’t excuse the investigator, she said, though her conviction had weakened. No, Richard agreed unexpectedly, that was a mistake born of desperation. When you became engaged to Liam, Ethan feared you would be hurt.
My younger son has a history of pursuing women for their connections, then discarding them like he did with you. Emma murmured, pieces falling into place. Precisely, Richard leaned forward.
What Ethan did was misguided, but never malicious. He’s loved you from afar for years, not as an obsession, but as a man who recognized something extraordinary and feared losing it forever. The revelation rocked her.
Why are you telling me this? You made it clear at dinner that you don’t approve of me. A shadow crossed Richard’s face. I’ve spent a lifetime steering my sons toward what I thought was best for them.
It’s taken me until now to realize I’ve been wrong. He stood, retrieving his briefcase. Ethan has never defied me the way he has since meeting you, never fought for anything with such conviction.
That alone tells me you’re exactly what he needs. He moved toward the door, then paused. There’s one more thing you should know.
Liam didn’t leave you at the altar of his own accord. Emma stood, her heart pounding. What do you mean? Richard’s expression hardened.
He was paid to disappear that day. Five million dollars deposited in an offshore account. By Ethan, she whispered, dreading the answer.
By me. The admission landed like a physical blow. You? Why would you? Because I believed you were using Liam to access the Carter name and fortune, he said bluntly.
I was wrong. I didn’t realize that until I saw how deeply Ethan loves you, how much he sacrificed to protect you. He opened the door, pausing on the threshold.
My son believes he’s lost you. He thinks you’ve chosen Liam, or worse, that you’ll choose neither of them because of what he did. If that’s your decision, so be it.
But make it with all the facts, not just the ones Liam wanted you to see. After Richard left, Emma sat for a long time with Ethan’s journal in her hands, reading entries that spanned years, from his first discovery of her work to their wedding day, when he’d written, I married her today. She believes it’s an arrangement, a solution to an impossible situation.
She doesn’t know that for me, it’s the fulfillment of a dream I never dared voice, even to myself. Tears streamed down her face as the full picture emerged, not of an obsessive stalker, but of a man who had admired her from afar, who had protected her in his own flawed way, who had seized an impossible situation to finally be close to the woman he’d loved for years. A text message interrupted her thoughts.
Lily, checking in. You okay? Everyone’s talking about the Chandler Foundation gala tonight. Is it true you’ve left Ethan for Liam? Emma stared at the message in confusion.
She’d forgotten entirely about the gala Sophia had mentioned. The thought of Ethan attending alone, facing Sophia’s predatory attention and Liam’s smug satisfaction, made something fierce and protective rise within her. Before she could reconsider, she called Lily.
I need a dress, she said without preamble, something unforgettable. I’m on my way, Lily replied, the smile evident in her voice. Hours later, Emma stood outside the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where the Chandler Foundation’s annual gala was in full swing.
Spotlights swept the night sky and limousines lined the street, disgorging Manhattan’s elite onto the red carpet. She’d traveled by taxi rather than calling Ethan’s driver, needing the journey to steal her nerves. Lily had outdone herself.
The sheer dress, a backless column of midnight blue silk that made Emma’s brown skin glow like burnished gold, drew appreciative glances as she climbed the museum steps. Her grandmother’s pearl earrings provided the only adornment she needed, a reminder of the strong woman who had raised her to face difficulties head-on. At the entrance, she presented her invitation, still addressed to Ethan Carter and guest, as Sophia had mentioned.
The security guard nodded her through with a respectful Mrs. Carter. The Great Hall had been transformed into a glittering wonderland for the event. Candles flickered in crystal holders, casting a warm glow over New York’s elite as they mingled beneath soaring ceilings.
Emma scanned the crowd, heart-pounding. She spotted Ethan before he saw her. He stood alone near a Roman sculpture, a glass of untouched scotch in his hand, looking more isolated in the crowded room than she’d ever seen him.
The perfect tailoring of his tuxedo couldn’t disguise the tension in his shoulders or the shadows beneath his eyes. Sophia circled nearby, predatory in crimson silk, clearly waiting for an opportunity to approach. Across the room, Liam held court with a group of socialites, his trademark charm on full display.
Neither of them mattered. Emma moved through the crowd with determination, her eyes fixed on Ethan. He turned as she approached, perhaps sensing her presence.
The naked emotion that flashed across his face, hope, fear, longing, stole her breath. Emma, he said, her name catching in his throat. You came.
I had to, she replied softly. We need to talk. Before he could respond, Liam materialized at her side, his hand possessively touching her elbow.
Emma, you look stunning. His eyes flickered to Ethan with poorly concealed triumph. I wasn’t sure we’d see you tonight.
She removed his hand firmly. I’m here with my husband, Liam. Ethan’s eyes widened slightly at the deliberate emphasis on husband.
Something vulnerable and hopeful flickered in their blue depths. Your temporary husband, you mean? Liam replied, his smile sharpening. Given what you now know about his unusual interest in you.
I know everything now, Emma said evenly, including who really paid you to leave me at the altar. The color drained from Liam’s face. I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Five million dollars, she continued calmly. Your price for breaking my heart publicly. Your father told me everything.
Ethan stiffened beside her. My father did what? Liam recovered quickly, his golden boy charm sliding back into place. Whatever he told you is a lie.
I left because I discovered Ethan had been stalking you for years. I was protecting you while sleeping with at least four other women during our engagement, Emma finished for him. That’s how you protected me.
Shocked murmurs rippled through the nearby guests who’d overheard. Liam’s face flushed with anger as he realized he was losing control of the situation. You’re making a mistake, he hissed.
Ethan isn’t who you think he is. No, she agreed, turning to face her husband fully. He’s more… The nakedly vulnerable expression on Ethan’s face made her heart ache.
He looked at her as if she were a mirage that might vanish if he blinked. We need to talk, she repeated, softly. Somewhere private.
Without a word, he took her hand, leading her away from the crowded hall through a side door that opened onto a small, enclosed courtyard. Stars glittered overhead and the sounds of the gala faded to a distant murmur. They stood facing each other, so much unsaid between them that Emma hardly knew where to begin.
Your father came to see me, she finally said. Ethan’s expression darkened. Whatever he said.
He showed me your journal, she interrupted gently, and told me that he, not you, paid Liam to leave me. Shock registered on his face. My father did that? Why would he? He thought I was after the Carter fortune, she explained.
He was trying to protect the family in his way. God, Emma, I had no idea. Anguish filled his voice.
All this time I thought Liam had just been his usual irresponsible self. I never imagined… I know. She stepped closer, close enough to see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes.
I also know about the private investigator, about your collection of my work. Liam showed me, Ethan’s jaw tightened. I should have told you from the beginning that you’d been admiring me from afar for years, she finished softly.
That you recognized something in my work that spoke to you. That’s not obsession, Ethan. That’s connection.
Hope flickered in his eyes, quickly tempered by caution. The investigator was inexcusable. I was afraid Liam would hurt you, but that doesn’t justify invading your privacy.
No, it doesn’t, she agreed. You made mistakes, serious ones, his shoulders slumped slightly. I know.
When you left, I realized how badly I’d handled everything, how I’d had this image of you for so long that I was afraid to risk it by being completely honest. We both need to be honest now, Emma said, taking his hands in hers. I left because I was scared, not just of what Liam revealed, but of how deeply I was falling for you.
It happened so fast, so intensely. Emma, let me finish, she said gently. At the lake house, I found something with you I never knew was possible.
Something real and powerful. When Liam cast doubt on that, I ran because I was terrified it had all been an illusion. It wasn’t, Ethan said fiercely.
Everything between us has been real for me, from the first moment at the altar to every touch, every conversation since. The only illusion was pretending it was just an arrangement. She reached up to touch his face, feeling the slight stubble on his jawline.
I know that now. I’ve read your words, seen your heart. She took a deep breath.
I love you, Ethan. Not because you rescued me at the altar, or because of what you can give me. I love the man who paints his feelings when he can’t speak them.
Who created spaces for me to flourish. Who looks at me like I’m the answer to a question he’s been asking his whole life. The mask of control that had defined him for so long, crumbled completely.
Ethan pulled her into his arms, his lips finding hers in a kiss that spoke of relief, of homecoming, of promises yet to be made. When they finally broke apart, his forehead rested against hers. I love you, Emma.
I’ve loved you since before I had the right to. I’ll spend the rest of our lives earning your trust if you’ll let me. Our lives? she questioned, her heart pounding.
Not just the year we agreed to. A smile transformed his face. Open, vulnerable, radiant with joy.
I never wanted just a year. I wanted forever. I still do.
As they stood beneath the stars, wrapped in each other’s arms, Emma realized that sometimes life’s greatest devastations, like being left at the altar, could lead to unexpected blessings. What had begun as a desperate arrangement had blossomed into something neither of them had anticipated. A love powerful enough to heal old wounds and forge a future brighter than either had dared to dream.
Chapter 9. The Gallery Opening. Two months after the Chandler Foundation Gala, Emma stood in an empty storefront in Chelsea, morning light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. The space was raw, exposed brick walls, polished concrete floors, soaring industrial ceilings, but perfect for her vision.
What do you think? Ethan asked, watching her with that intense focus she’d come to cherish. It’s perfect, she breathed, turning slowly to absorb every detail. His smile, still rare enough to make her heart skip, transformed his face.
It’s yours then. Ethan, she began, the familiar protest rising to her lips. Before you argue, he interrupted gently, this isn’t charity, it’s an investment in your vision.
The vision I fell in love with years ago. In the weeks since their reconciliation at the Gallow, they’d been rebuilding trust one day at a time. Emma had moved back into the penthouse, but maintained her Brooklyn brownstone as a personal studio.
Ethan had respected her need for independence, never pressuring her. Partners then, she said. I’ll run it, but we’ll share the investment.
The pride in his expression was worth any financial independence she might be sacrificing. Partners, he agreed, sealing the deal with a kiss. As they left the space hand-in-hand, Emma’s phone buzzed with a call from… Lily? Have you seen it? Lily demanded without preamble.
Page six, the article about Ethan. It’s bad. A cold knot formed in Emma’s stomach.
What article? Someone leaked emails between Ethan and that private investigator. They’re making it sound like he’s been stalking you, planning to steal you from Liam all along. Emma’s eyes met Ethan’s as she asked Lily to send the link.
The headline made her blood run cold. Billionaire’s dangerous obsession. Inside Ethan Carter’s years long plot to steal brother’s fiancé, she handed the phone to Ethan, watching his expression darken as he read.
The piece painted him as a calculating predator who had hired investigators to follow her and collected her artwork like trophies. This is Sophia’s doing, he said quietly. These emails are real, but they’ve been edited.
This line here was about ensuring you weren’t being targeted by art thieves after your gallery showing. You’d received threatening notes. You were protecting me even then.
Emma said softly. Yes, but without that context. He handed the phone back.
This makes me look unhinged. We’ll fix this, Emma said firmly. Together? By the time they reached the penthouse, the story had exploded.
Ethan’s phone rang constantly. Board members, lawyers, his father demanding action. Emma watched as Ethan slipped partially back into the controlled persona she’d first known.
But when their eyes met, she saw the fear there. Not of public opinion, but of losing her again. Enough, she said, taking the phone from his hand mid-conversation.
This is about us, not them. Relief flooded his features as she led him to the couch. Thank you, he said softly, for not believing the worst of me again.
I know the truth now, she replied, lacing her fingers with his. I know your heart. What do you want to do, he asked after explaining the various suggestions from lawyers and board members.
Ethan’s eyes held hers. Vulnerability mixing with determination. I want to tell the truth.
All of it. No more secrets. No more hiding.
The decision led them to a local morning show the following day. As they waited to go live, Emma noted the subtle signs of Ethan’s nervousness. Are you sure about this, she asked gently.
Once we do this, everything is public. I’ve spent too long hiding who I am and what I feel, he replied. I’m ready for the world to know how much I love my wife.
The interview began with questions about their unusual wedding. Ethan answered with startling candor, acknowledging his long admiration of Emma’s talent and his impulsive decision to offer marriage. But it became something more, he continued, his voice softening as he looked at Emma.
Something neither of us expected. When pressed about the leaked emails, Ethan explained the threats Emma had received and his concern for her safety. It was misguided, he admitted, but it was never stalking, never obsession.
And what about the allegations that you orchestrated your brother’s disappearance on your wedding day, the host asked Emma. Those are absolutely false, she answered firmly. The truth is that Ethan’s father arranged for Liam to leave me at the altar.
He believed I was marrying into the family for financial gain. The revelation caused a visible stir. When asked about their future plans, Ethan surprised Emma by revealing the gallery project, naming it Thompson Gallery as a tribute to her grandmother.
Ears pricked Emma’s eyes at the unexpected gesture. They hadn’t discussed naming the gallery yet, and this acknowledgement of her roots touched her deeply. The interview ended with their account of their unusual wedding day.
When asked how she felt now, Emma turned to Ethan, the cameras fading away as their eyes met. Now I know it was the beginning of the most authentic love I’ve ever known. Sometimes life’s worst moments lead you exactly where you’re meant to be.
That night, as they lay tangled in sheets still damp from lovemaking, Ethan traced lazy patterns on her bare shoulder. Any regrets about going public with everything? Emma studied his beloved face in the moonlight. None, she said honestly.
For the first time since this all began, I feel like we’re truly starting fresh. No secrets, no shadows. His eyes darkened as he pulled her closer.
I never thought I’d have this, he confessed. Someone who knows all of me, the mistakes, the flaws, and loves me anyway. Not anyway, she corrected gently.
Because of them. Your flaws and mine. They’re what make us real, as his mouth claimed hers with renewed hunger.
Emma surrendered to the knowledge that their unusual beginning had led to something precious beyond measure. A love forged in fire, tested by trials, and emerging stronger for having faced the truth. Chapter 10.
Two Hearts, One Destiny. The night of the Thompson Gallery opening arrived on a perfect spring evening. Stars glittering above the Manhattan skyline like diamonds scattered across black velvet.
Inside the transformed Chelsea space, excitement pulsed like a living thing. Art critics mingled with celebrities. Established collectors chatted with wide-eyed art students who had received special invitations.
And at the center of it all stood Emma, radiant in a gown the exact shade of midnight blue that Ethan had used in his own painting. Nervous, Ethan murmured, appearing at her side with a glass of champagne. Terrified, she admitted, accepting the drink gratefully.
What if no one understands what we’re trying to do here? His eyes, warm now with the openness that still amazed her, held hers steadily. They will. And if they don’t, it doesn’t matter.
This isn’t about them. It’s about the artists who’ve never had a platform. About the vision you’ve carried since before I knew you.
The gallery had transformed in the six weeks since they’d acquired the space. Under Emma’s direction, the industrial shell had become a stunning showcase for emerging talent. Artists from underserved communities whose voices had gone unheard in the traditional art world.
Every detail reflected her meticulous eye, from the lighting designed to highlight each piece perfectly to the arrangement of works that told a collective story of struggle, resilience, and triumph. What had begun as their joint project had quickly become Emma’s passion, with Ethan stepping back to support her vision rather than imposing his own. His only insistence had been the small room at the rear of the gallery, a special exhibition space he’d kept mysteriously off limits until tonight.
It’s almost time for your speech, he reminded her, his hand warm at the small of her back. Emma nodded, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. The months since their television interview had been a whirlwind.
The public’s fascination with their story had initially threatened to overshadow her professional identity, but Ethan had skillfully redirected media attention to her artistic credentials and vision for the gallery. Sophia had disappeared from their lives after a brief, ugly confrontation, where she’d admitted to leaking the emails in a jealous attempt to destroy their marriage. Liam, remarkably, had reached out with a genuine apology, admitting his own faults and eventually moving to London to manage the European branch of Carter Holdings, a position that kept him far from New York and the temptation to meddle further in their lives.
Most surprisingly, Richard Carter had become an unexpected ally. His initial interference had given way to genuine respect as he witnessed Emma’s business acumen and unwavering commitment to Ethan’s happiness. The old man’s gruff acknowledgement, you’re good for him, better than I expected, had become a tentative bridge toward a real relationship.
As Emma moved to the small podium, the crowd quieted expectantly. Looking out at the sea of faces, she found the ones that mattered most. Lily, beaming with pride, her former gallery mentor who had championed her early work, and Ethan, his eyes never leaving her face, love written plainly in his expression.
Welcome to the Thompson Gallery, she began, her voice steady despite her racing heart. This space represents not just my dream, but the dreams of countless artists whose voices deserve to be heard. Each piece you see tonight tells a story of struggle, of joy, of the complex human experience that connects us all.
As she spoke about the mission of the gallery, Emma felt a profound sense of rightness. This was what she had been working toward her entire career, creating a space where art could build bridges between diverse experiences, where talent mattered more than connections or pedigree. I want to thank my husband, Ethan, whose belief in this vision never wavered, she said, meeting his eyes across the room.
Without his support, his insight, and his unwavering faith in me, this gallery would have remained just a dream. The speech concluded to enthusiastic applause. As conversations resumed and guests moved through the space, examining the artwork with fresh interest, Ethan approached, pride evident in every line of his face.
That was perfect, he said, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. Just like you. Hardly perfect, she laughed, leaning into him slightly.
But lucky, definitely. I never imagined when Liam left me at the altar that I’d end up exactly where I was meant to be. His expression grew serious.
There’s something I want to show you. The back room is ready. Curiosity had been eating at Emma for weeks.
Ethan had been so secretive about this particular space, working with contractors when she wasn’t present, keeping the door locked until tonight. What have you been up to? She asked as he led her through the crowd toward the mysterious room. You’ll see.
The small crowd that had gathered outside the closed door parted for them, anticipation evident in their expressions. Ethan positioned Emma in front of the door, then placed his hands gently over her eyes. Ready? He whispered against her ear, sending a delicious shiver down her spine.
Yes. The door opened and Ethan guided her a few steps forward before removing his hands. Emma blinked, adjusting to the light, then gasped.
The walls held a single continuous installation, her own artwork, arranged chronologically from her earliest student pieces to her most recent creations. In the center stood a glass case containing her grandmother’s ancient paint stained palette and brushes, preserved like precious artifacts. Ethan, she whispered, tears welling in her eyes.
How did you? I’ve been collecting your work for years, remember? He said softly. And your grandmother’s tools were in a box in the Brooklyn house attic. I found them when I went to collect some of your supplies.
Emma moved slowly around the room, overwhelmed by the visual record of her artistic journey. Each piece represented a moment in her development, stepping stones that had led her to this night, this place, this life. This room is called the Art of Thompson Gallery, Ethan explained as guests began to filter in behind them, murmuring appreciatively at the display.
Because your vision, your talent is what makes this place special. I wanted everyone to understand the artist behind the gallery, the thoughtfulness of the gesture, honoring her work, her grandmother’s influence, her creative journey, touched Emma profoundly. This wasn’t just Ethan’s way of showing his support.
It was a public declaration of his pride in her talent, his respect for her independence. There’s one more thing, he said, guiding her to a small alcove partially hidden from the main room. There, displayed with the same care as her professional works, hung the painting she had created in the Lake House studio, the raw emotional piece she’d made after their first night together.
Beside it, in perfect counterpoint, was one of Ethan’s own abstract paintings, the midnight blue canvas shot through with gold that had first revealed his emotional depth to her. Our beginning, he said simply, his arms slipping around her waist. The intimate display, tucked away from the main exhibition, felt like a shared secret, a private acknowledgement of the journey that had brought them here.
Two artists, so different in skill and approach, united by a connection that transcended conventional beginnings. The remainder of the evening passed in a blur of congratulations, sales, and critical acclaim. By the time the last guests departed, Emma’s feet ached from standing in heels for hours, but her heart was so full it felt like it might burst.
Successful night, Ethan observed as they locked the gallery doors behind them. I counted at least 15 sold pieces. 17, she corrected with a grin.
The Dieth sculpture went just before closing, and Amara’s triptych sold to that museum director from Boston. Pride shone in his eyes. See, I told you they’d understand your vision.
Instead of the waiting car, Ethan suggested they walk a while, enjoying the mild spring night. Hand in hand, they strolled through the quiet streets of Chelsea, the urgency of the evening giving way to peaceful contentment. A year ago today, I was supposed to marry Liam, Emma observed suddenly, realizing the date’s significance for the first time.
I was so certain I knew exactly how my life would unfold. Ethan’s hand tightened slightly in hers. Do you ever regret how things turned out? She stopped walking, turning to face him fully in the glow of a streetlight.
Not for a single moment, she said with absolute conviction. Liam leaving me turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me. Relief flickered across his features.
Even now, after everything they’d been through, Ethan sometimes needed reassurance that he wasn’t second choice, that she had chosen him wholly and completely. I have something for you, he said reaching into his pocket. A first anniversary gift.
Our wedding anniversary isn’t for another week, she reminded him with a smile. Not our wedding anniversary, he clarified. The anniversary of the day I finally found the courage to claim what I’d wanted for so long.
He withdrew a small velvet box and Emma’s breath caught. Inside nestled a ring of breathtaking beauty, a black diamond like her wedding band, but this one surrounded by smaller stones in a starburst pattern. The center stone is from your original ring, Ethan explained, but I had it reset.
Our beginning was unusual, built on an arrangement rather than a choice. I thought perhaps you might want a ring you actually helped choose. A symbol of what we’ve built together rather than what we fell into.
Tears filled Emma’s eyes as she understood what he was really offering. Not just a new ring, but a new beginning. A chance to rewrite their story from a place of honest love rather than desperate circumstances.
Are you proposing to me, Ethan Carter? She asked, her voice husky with emotion. His smile, the rare full smile that transformed his serious face, made her heart flutter. I’m asking my wife of one year to marry me again, this time with no secrets between us, no arrangements, no time limits, just two people who found each other against all odds and want to build a future together.
In answer, Emma pulled him into a kiss that caused a passing couple to whistle appreciatively. Against his lips, she whispered, yes, a thousand times, yes. Later that night, in the sanctuary of their bedroom, Ethan traced the curve of Emma’s bare shoulder as she lay in his arms.
I was thinking, he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. The brownstone in Brooklyn? Would you consider living there part-time? I’ve grown fond of it. She raised herself on one elbow, surprised by the suggestion.
You want to leave your perfect penthouse for my grandmother’s creaky old house? His expression softened as he tucked a curl behind her ear. I want us to have a place that’s truly ours, not mine that you moved into, not arranged by decorators or designed to impress, somewhere we can both paint, where we can be just Ethan and Emma, not the Carters of Manhattan society. The suggestion touched her deeply, another example of how Ethan continually sought ways to meet her needs, to blend their lives rather than simply absorbing her into his world.
I’d like that, she admitted, though we’ll need to fix the plumbing. His laugh, still rare enough to delight her, rumbled through his chest. I think I can manage that.
As they lay entwined, making plans for their future, a renovation of the brownstone, a second gallery location in a year or two, perhaps eventually children. Emma marveled at the journey that had brought them here, from a desperate arrangement born of humiliation and opportunity, to this profound partnership that enriched every aspect of her life. What are you thinking? Ethan asked, noticing her contemplative expression, that I never knew love could be like this, she answered honestly, so complete, so transformative.
His eyes darkened as he pulled her closer. I spent years admiring you from afar, wanting what seemed impossible. Now I wake up every morning amazed that you’re actually here, that you chose me.
I’ll keep choosing you, she promised, her fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw, every day for the rest of our lives. As his mouth found hers in a kiss that quickly blazed into something more urgent, Emma surrendered to the knowledge that their unusual beginning had led to a love story more powerful than anything she could have imagined, a story of two wounded souls who found in each other not just passion, but healing, not just companionship, but completion. One year ago, abandoned and humiliated, she had reluctantly accepted a stranger’s hand in marriage, a business arrangement designed to save face and serve mutual interests.
Today, wrapped in her husband’s arms, Emma Thompson Carter understood that sometimes life’s cruelest moments lead to its greatest gifts, and that love, real love, could begin in the most unexpected ways. As dawn broke over Manhattan, painting the sky in shades of gold and promise, she drifted to sleep, secure in the certainty that their story, unusual, complicated, and utterly authentic, was only just beginning. For Ethan and Emma, the impromptu wedding that had started as a desperate solution had become the first chapter in a lifetime of passion, partnership, and purpose.
Two hearts once separate and guarded, now beating as one, not in perfect rhythm, but in perfect harmony.