Chapter 4

"Wife? Are you kidding me?" Michael's eyes widened in disbelief, like someone had just punched him straight in the chest. It hurt. Bad. He stared dazedly at Emma, who had been standing close to him just a second ago until Ethan stepped in and yanked her away, jaw tight, tension written all over his face. "What, do we need your permission to get married now?" Ethan shot him a sarcastic smirk, not even bothering to check Michael's reaction before turning on his heel, dragging Emma along. Emma barely had time to react when she felt a strong grip on her wrist, and the next second, she was being pulled out, stumbling as she tried to keep up. Once they were outside the main hall, Ethan finally snapped. The anger he'd been holding in erupted, his voice sharp and laced with mockery. "Seriously, did Matthew never teach you manners? You're my wife now. Start acting like it. Don't embarrass the Hunt family." Emma slowly lifted her head, only to meet a cold, disdainful glare from him. She laughed bitterly to herself. Emma, are you really still holding onto the hope that you matter to this man? She forced a smile, nodded lightly, and said, "Fine," her tone empty and weightless. She didn't spare him another glance, missing the brief flicker of conflict in his eyes when he caught her smile. That one word made Ethan oddly uncomfortable, especially seeing how calm and unfazed she looked while he was an emotional mess. Something about that bothered him more than it should have. "I don't care how you wormed your way in here, but don't show your face at places like this again." He tossed the words at her like they were nothing, straightening his cuffs and turning to leave. "Why?" Emma blurted out, unable to stop herself. She looked up at his sharp profile, needing an answer. Like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard, Ethan turned back, stared at her face for a solid second, then said, slowly and deliberately, "Because you. Don't. Deserve to be." And just like that, he was gone. "I don't deserve to be?" Emma echoed the words under her breath, her heart sinking like a stone. It hadn't even been a week since she last heard those same, crushing words from him. Big, silent tears rolled down her cheeks and hit the polished floor with soft little splashes. She covered her chest with one hand, mouth parted as memories of everything she'd ever shared with Ethan started playing on a loop in her mind. And she realized, painfully, it had always been one-sided. When she finally looked up again, her tears had dried. Sometimes, when the hurt runs deep enough, you can't cry anymore, even if you wanted to. ... Three days later, in the Hunts' mansion—second floor bedroom. "Bzz—bzz—" The soft buzz of a text woke Emma up from her sleep. Rubbing her temples to ease the dull ache, she glanced at the bedside clock. It was already 8:30 AM. Emma casually glanced at her phone—it was just another boring weather alert. She sat up from bed, tossed the phone aside, and slowly made her way downstairs, feet dragging. Ethan hadn't been back home these past few days—not surprising. Honestly, Emma thought it might be better this way, less awkward for both of them. She yawned and didn't notice the floor was still damp from the cleaning. As her soft slippers slid to one side, a sharp pain shot up from her ankle the next second. "Ow—" She gasped, leaning against the wall, carefully lifting her foot without daring to move it again. She tried rotating her ankle just a little, but the searing pain nearly made her stop breathing. Left with no choice, she gritted her teeth, clung to the wall, and slowly shuffled toward the nearest room, the study. At the top of the stairs, a set of steady footsteps echoed, and a tall figure appeared on the second floor. Emma didn't notice. ... 9 a.m. At the corporate tower's top floor, inside the CEO's office of Hunt Group. There was a meeting at 10. Ethan flipped through the folders on the desk and suddenly realized a document he needed was still at the house. He rubbed his temples, then picked up the phone. He was about to ask Andy to grab the missing file from home, but for some reason, before his finger hit the call button, a face flashed in his mind—that woman, with tear-filled eyes after he'd spoken those cutting words to her. The phone never got dialed. Instead, as if on impulse, Ethan drove back to the house himself. When he walked through the door and saw how empty the place was, that strange flicker of anticipation in his heart vanished instantly. She should've gone to work by now. With that thought, he tossed his keys on the shoe cabinet and headed upstairs straight to the study. But once at the door, he noticed it was halfway open—his brows immediately furrowed. Didn't he tell the staff not to enter the study when he wasn't home? Someone clearly didn't listen. Hand on the handle, Ethan pushed the door open, only to find Emma sitting on the sofa, her back to him. "What are you doing here?" He realized the moment he said it—that came out all wrong. "Sorry," Emma said softly, knowing he hated people being in his study without permission. She hadn't expected him to suddenly come back, and now with her messy hair and no makeup, she quickly dropped her gaze and tried to stand. But she completely forgot about her ankle. The second she put weight on it, her leg gave out, and she collapsed back onto the sofa. "Ah—" The sound of pain made Ethan freeze. When he glanced down, his eyes locked onto the red, swollen ankle and her tightly drawn brows. "You twisted it? Why didn't you call a doctor?" His brows drew in sharply as he set his phone aside and strode over, suddenly scooping her up in his arms. Emma let out a startled yelp, instinctively grabbing his neck for balance. "What are you doing?"