"This damn Leon Gray..." Emma cursed under her breath, gritting her teeth. She glanced around the room—her room, or at least, it was supposed to be. Leon Gray had tricked her into this. She frowned as her eyes scanned the space. Every corner of the room screamed the life she had once dreamed of, but now? Now it felt like a cruel joke. Why hadn't Whitmore said a word when she stepped into this mansion?
A knock on the door snapped her back to reality. She stood up, but before she could say anything, the door swung open.
"Dad's calling for you," a man's voice said, cutting through Emma's thoughts. She turned to face him. Of course, she knew who he was—her half-brother, Cole Whitmore. The man who had once warned her not to show up before him, claiming it was an insult to even share the same blood.
"What is it?" Emma frowned, trying to mask the frustration bubbling inside her. "I never wanted this. And don't worry—I'll leave this house right now." She made a move to walk past him, but Cole's arm shot out, stopping her in her tracks.
"Why are you acting like this?" Cole asked, his voice calm and steady, a stark contrast to the way she remembered him. "You know why Dad is doing all this. He's been debating it for months, thinking about what's best for you."
His words made her freeze. A mix of confusion and anger surged through her, and she turned to him sharply. "Excuse me? For my own good? I don't even understand what's happening here! What do you mean by 'months'?" She scoffed, frustration spilling over. Nothing—absolutely nothing—since the scene at the restaurant made sense to her.
"Emma," Cole began, his tone softening like he was speaking to a child. "I know you don't trust him because of what happened before, but after a lot of consideration, Dad decided this is the best for you."
His vague explanation only deepened her frown. "What happened before?" The question slipped out before she could stop herself, her confusion at its peak. She didn't expect an answer that would make sense, but she couldn't keep herself from asking.
"I mean, Leon and I..." Cole trailed off, hesitating, his expression unreadable. "You know—"
"No, I don't know!" Emma snapped, her patience finally reaching its limit as she cut him off. "If I knew, do you think I'd be standing here asking you?" Her sharp tone sliced through the tension in the air, and for a moment, Cole looked taken aback.
"Emma..." Cole stepped forward, concern evident on his face. "Are you okay?"
Before she could respond, he reached out to touch her forehead. Startled, Emma instinctively stepped back, her eyes wide with surprise. "What are you doing?" she demanded.
"You have a fever!" Cole exclaimed, ignoring her protests as he gently but firmly guided her toward the bed.
"Hey, wait—" she began, but he cut her off.
"Stay and rest," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I'll let Dad know and have the maid bring some medicine right away." Without waiting for her response, he turned and headed for the door.
Emma sat on the edge of the bed, baffled. This wasn't the cold, dismissive Cole she remembered—or rather, the version she had been warned about. What was going on here?
"Oh, wait, I almost forgot," Cole said, pausing at the door. "Melissa… she's been excited to meet you. Don't forget about tomorrow, but if you're still not feeling well, I'll reschedule everything after you recover." He smiled—a warm, genuine smile—and then gently closed the door behind him.
Emma blinked, her mouth slightly open. 'Melissa? Who the hell is Melissa?' she thought, the furrow on her forehead deepening.
She flopped back onto the bed in frustration, letting out an exaggerated groan. "This makes no sense!" she exclaimed to the ceiling, grabbing at her hair in exasperation. "First Leon, now Cole acting like we're best friends, and Melissa—whoever the hell she is—waiting to meet me?!"
She stared at the ornate ceiling, the unfamiliar elegance of her surroundings only adding to her confusion. It was as if everyone had agreed on a script she had never read.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door.
"Little Miss…" a gentle voice called from the other side.
Emma sat up, her head tilting slightly as she eyed the door. "Who's there?" she asked cautiously.
The door creaked open, and a middle-aged woman peeked her head in, her face warm and welcoming. "It's me, Little Miss," the woman said, stepping inside with a small tray. "I brought you the medicine. Young Master told me you have a fever… Shall I bring you a cup of jasmine tea as well?"
Emma blinked, her confusion returning in full force. "Aunt…?" she murmured, her voice hesitant.
The woman paused, her own expression mirroring Emma's bafflement. "Ah," she said after a beat, her smile faltering slightly. "It's Layly, Little Miss. You've always called me Aunt Layly. Is something wrong?"
Emma's lips parted, but no words came out. Aunt Layly? She didn't know this woman, yet the familiarity in her tone and the way she addressed her suggested otherwise. It felt like stepping into a play where everyone except her had rehearsed their lines.
She finally managed to mutter, "No… no problem at all." But her unease lingered, weaving itself into the air between them. "Hmm… Aunt Layly, can you bring me coffee instead? I don't like jasmine tea because of the floral scent."
Aunt Layly's eyes widened in surprise. "Coffee, Little Miss? But you never drank coffee before—it always gave you headaches."
Emma blinked, caught off guard by the response. "It did?" she asked, trying to mask her confusion.
"Yes, Little Miss," Aunt Layly replied with a warm smile, though her expression held a trace of concern. "You've always preferred milder drinks, like chamomile or hot milk. Are you feeling alright?"
She stared at Aunt Layly for a few seconds before her gaze dropped to the floor. "Hmm…" She took a deep breath. "I feel like drinking coffee today. So, can you please bring me a cup?" she asked, her tone insistent as she looked back up.
Aunt Layly hesitated, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Little Miss, it's past midnight. Coffee might keep you up all night."
Emma blinked, realizing the time but refusing to back down. "It's fine," she said with a faint smile, masking her discomfort. "I wasn't planning on sleeping anyway."
Aunt Layly's brows furrowed slightly, but she nodded. "As you wish, Little Miss. I'll bring it right away."
As the door clicked shut, Emma let out a frustrated sigh. 'Past midnight, in a place that doesn't feel like mine, with people acting like they know me better than I know myself.'