Chapter 3

Emerson Caldwell POV:

The heavy door swung open and struck the brass stopper with a dull thud.

The three people in the study looked up simultaneously.

Hudson stood by the large mahogany desk, his hand still wrapped in white gauze. The moment he saw me, his body stiffened, and his first instinct was to take a step back, angling his broad frame slightly in front of Fiona, who was seated on the leather sofa holding a handkerchief.

It was an automatic protective gesture. He truly believed I was a violent threat.

Seeing me, Fiona let out a soft gasp, stood up quickly, and dropped to her knees on the Persian rug. Tears spilled over her pale cheeks in an instant.

"Emerson! Please, I beg you, don't be angry with Hudson!" Fiona cried, reaching out to grab the hem of my coat with trembling fingers. "I know you hate me. I know you think I stole him from you last night. If you want to punish someone, punish me! Ruin my reputation, tell the newspapers whatever you want, but please don't ruin Hudson's position at the firm! He worked so hard for ten years to become CEO!"

I looked down at her. Her makeup was meticulously smudged, giving her the appearance of a delicate, mistreated victim.

In my past life, I would have yanked my coat away, slapped her hands off, and screamed at her to stop acting. And Hudson would have immediately grabbed my wrist, pushed me away, and accused me of being a monster.

This time, I didn't move. I didn't pull my coat back. I simply looked at her with an expression of mild curiosity.

"Fiona," Hudson snapped, his face darkening as he walked over to pull her up from the floor. He turned to me, his eyes blazing with cold reprimand. "Are you proud of yourself, Emerson? Look at what you've reduced her to. Threatening the firm? Spreading lies to the board? Have you completely lost your mind?"

His words were sharp, heavy, and full of assumptions. For three years, this was his method of handling our disputes: judge first, convict immediately, and demand my obedience.

Slap!

A sharp crack echoed through the room.

Ernesto Aguilar had slammed his open palm onto the solid oak desk. The seventy-year-old patriarch stood up, his face flushed with anger, his gray hair trembling as he pointed a finger directly at his son.

"Shut your mouth, Hudson!" Ernesto roared, his deep voice shaking the glass display cabinets. "How dare you speak to Emerson like that! In this house, she is your fiancée and the daughter of the man who saved my life! You let this outsider slander her right in front of you, and you take her side without a shred of proof?"

Ernesto stepped around the desk, his gait slightly unsteady due to his old knee injuries from the fire. He walked straight to me, his rough, scarred hands reaching out to gently touch my shoulder.

"Emerson, my child," Ernesto' s voice softened instantly, thick with protective affection. "Don't listen to them. I built this company, and nobody can take Hudson's position unless I allow it. If he treats you poorly, I will strip him of his titles tomorrow. Tell me what happened. Did he hurt you?"

I looked at Ernesto' s weathered face. The lines around his eyes were etched deep with genuine worry.

Memories rushed back to me. When I was eight years old and lost both my parents, Ernesto carried me on his shoulders through the cemetery. When I had nightmares, he sat by my bed reading fairy tales until I fell asleep. When Hudson and I were teenagers, Ernesto would always save the largest portion of dessert for me, telling Hudson, "A man's greatest duty is to protect the girl who has no one else."

I had clung to that duty for fifteen years. I had mistaken Ernesto's love for Hudson's love, believing that because the father owed my family everything, the son would eventually learn to cherish me.

That was my greatest mistake. Gratitude cannot be inherited, and love cannot be enforced by a moral debt.

I reached up and gently placed my hand over Ernesto' s trembling fingers.

"Uncle Ernesto," I said softly, my voice clear and calm. "I didn't come here to complain about Hudson. And I didn't speak to any reporters or board members."

Fiona sniffled from behind Hudson, her voice small. "Then why did Director Vance ask Hudson about the wedding registry this morning..."

I ignored her completely, keeping my eyes fixed on Ernesto.

"I came here today to officially return the engagement ring and cancel the wedding," I said.

The room went dead silent.

Hudson' s eyes widened in genuine disbelief. He stepped forward, his brow furrowed in irritation. "Emerson, enough! Stop using the engagement as a bargaining chip every time you don't get your way!"

"I am not bargaining, Hudson," I said, turning my head to look at him calmly. "I am releasing you. We are done."

"Emerson!" Ernesto gasped, his eyes filling with sudden tears. He grabbed both of my hands, his grip tight and desperate. "No, child, you can't! Is it because of this woman? I will ban her from New York! I will send Hudson to the London branch until he learns how to treat his wife! Don't throw away your future over his stupidity!"

"Uncle Ernesto, it has nothing to do with Fiona," I said, looking into the old man's eyes with absolute sincerity. "A marriage built on obligation is a prison for both people. My father died to give you a full life, not to turn your son into a hostage. Hudson does not love me. He has never loved me. Forcing him to marry me will only make us hate each other until we destroy ourselves."

I had lived that destruction once. I would not live it again.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Fiona lower her head, a tiny, triumphant smirk flickering across the corner of her lips before she quickly hid it behind her handkerchief.

Ernesto stared at me, his shoulders slumping as if he had aged ten years in ten seconds. He heard the finality in my voice. It wasn't the screaming of an angry girl; it was the quiet verdict of a woman who had completely given up.

He closed his eyes, a heavy, ragged sigh escaping his chest.

"Give me one week, Emerson," Ernesto whispered, his voice cracking with sorrow. "Give an old man seven days. If, after seven days, you still want to leave... I will sign whatever papers you want, and I will set up an independent trust for you so you never have to work a day in your life. Just give me seven days to fix this."

I looked at the frail old man who had raised me. I could not break his heart all at once.

"All right, Uncle Ernesto," I agreed quietly. "Seven days."

I gave him a gentle nod, turned on my heel, and walked out of the study without sparing Hudson a single glance.