Emily Blair watched as her aunt and Isabella Austin put on their little performance—one playing good cop, the other bad—doing their best to drag her name and dignity through the mud.
She forced a smile, sarcasm flickering in her eyes. “Since this bowl of soup is so precious, I’ll pass. Ms. Austin can have it all to herself.”
“My illness is nothing, I’m almost fine. Ms. Austin, you’re the one who really needs to take care of yourself and the baby.”
Isabella just smiled serenely, one hand resting protectively on her belly. “Don’t worry, I fully intend to have a healthy child.”
Emily nodded. “Well then, I’ll be off.”
A flicker of hurt crossed Isabella’s face. “Emily, you’re really not going to drink it?”
Just then, Andrew Lane’s deep, commanding voice sounded behind her. “Emily Blair.”
Emily kept walking, but a cluster of house staff had already blocked the front door.
Andrew’s tone turned sharper, carrying a warning. “Didn’t I say not to make things difficult for Isabella?”
Staring at the wall of servants blocking her path, Emily spun around, marched to the coffee table, and grabbed the bowl of soup. Tilting her head back, she drained every last drop, then flipped the bowl upside down to show it was empty.
She met Andrew’s gaze, expression calm, voice steady. “Is that enough?”
She set the bowl down with a sharp clatter. “I assume Ms. Austin doesn’t feel wronged or put upon anymore, so—am I free to go?”
The smile on Isabella’s face froze, turning brittle.
Emily glanced from Andrew to Isabella, a mocking smirk tugging at her lips.
She turned and walked away. This time, the staff at The Lane Estate didn’t stop her.
The mansion was a good distance from her apartment—she’d need a cab to get home. But her phone was dead, so she couldn’t order one. She’d have to flag one down the old-fashioned way.


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