Chapter Sixteen

Emilia 

The air was still thick with tension from Richard’s announcement. I could feel the weight of a hundred eyes on us, watching, whispering, speculating. But none of it mattered—not when Richard stood beside me, his hand resting protectively on my waist, his presence a shield against the storm.

The music had resumed, a slow, elegant tune filling the grand ballroom. The murmur of conversation was back, but there was an undeniable shift in the atmosphere.

Richard had claimed me in front of everyone. And now, the world saw me not just as Emilia, the once-forgotten fiancée of Jayden Turner, but as his wife.

And the mother of his child.

I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. My heart was still racing from the kiss he had given me earlier—possessive, deliberate, leaving no room for doubt about where we stood. Even now, my lips still tingled from the warmth of his touch, the sensation lingering like an unspoken promise.

I turned to look at him, expecting him to be scanning the room like he always did—analyzing, controlling, ensuring everything went according to his plan.

But instead, he was looking at me.

His dark eyes held something deeper tonight. Something softer.

For a man as powerful and strategic as Richard Kane, softness was rare. And yet, here it was, clear as day in the way his gaze never wavered from mine, in the way his grip on my waist was protective, not possessive. It sent a strange warmth curling in my chest, unsettling yet... comforting.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice low, meant only for me.

I swallowed, still acutely aware of the stares directed our way. "You didn’t have to do that," I murmured. "Kiss me like that in front of everyone."

Richard’s lips curled into a smile. "Didn’t I?"

The way he said it made my breath hitch. His confidence was infuriating sometimes—how he always knew exactly what to do, what to say, how to control a situation with ease. Meanwhile, my thoughts were still tangled, my body still recovering from the way he had just shattered every preconceived notion about our arrangement with that single, public display of affection.

I blinked up at him, my pulse quickening.

He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against my ear. "I meant what I said, Emilia. You’re my wife. Let them look, let them talk. Their opinions don’t matter."

He said it with such conviction, as if it truly didn’t bother him. Maybe it didn’t. Maybe Richard Kane had long stopped caring about society’s expectations, about the gossip of the wealthy elite who thrived on speculation and scandal.

I, on the other hand, wasn’t used to being the center of attention like this. I could still feel the weight of their curiosity pressing down on me, the silent questions lingering in the air.

Was this real?

Was I just another woman Richard Kane would discard when he lost interest?

Was this marriage truly just an arrangement?

I wasn’t sure I had the answers myself.

"Come," he said, taking my hand.

I hesitated. "Where—"

"Dance with me."

I glanced at the crowded dance floor, my nerves tightening. "Richard, I—"

His fingers curled around mine, firm but gentle. "Just trust me."

And against all my instincts, I did.

He led me onto the dance floor with the same confidence he carried in the boardroom—calm, self-assured, like a man who never doubted himself.

The moment his hands settled on my waist, pulling me close, my breath hitched. His movements were smooth, practiced, but there was a tenderness in the way he held me.

"I don’t dance often," I admitted softly, trying to keep my voice steady.

"That makes two of us," he said, his lips twitching.

I scoffed. "Liar."

His smirk deepened. "Alright, maybe I’ve had my fair share of experience."

The music swelled around us, the dim glow of the chandeliers casting a golden hue over the ballroom. As we moved, I was acutely aware of how effortlessly Richard guided me, his grip firm but gentle, as if he had done this a thousand times before.

It was infuriating, really. How could a man be good at everything?

My fingers curled slightly against his shoulder. "So, tell me," I said, raising an eyebrow. "How many women have you danced with like this?"

Richard chuckled, the deep timbre of his laugh sending an unexpected warmth through me. "Would you believe me if I said not many?"

I tilted my head. "No."

He let out a quiet hum, his gaze locked onto mine. "Good. I don’t want you to think I make a habit of this."

His words sent a ripple through me. There was something intimate about the way he said it, something that made my heart stumble for just a moment.

Was he just saying what he knew I wanted to hear? Or was there truth in his words?

"You’re thinking too much," he murmured, pulling me a fraction closer.

I blinked. "What?"

"You do that when you’re overanalyzing something," he said, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. "Your brows crease slightly. Like this." He reached up, smoothing a finger across my forehead.

The touch was unexpected, gentle, almost affectionate.

Heat crept up my neck. "I do not."

Richard chuckled again, his amusement evident. "You do. But it’s alright. I find it—" He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. "Endearing."

Endearing.

It was such an innocent word, yet coming from him, it carried weight.

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

Because admitting that his words affected me meant admitting that this marriage—this carefully constructed arrangement—was beginning to blur the lines I had tried so hard to keep clear.

Richard Kane was dangerous.

Not because he was powerful.

Not because he was ruthless.

But because when he looked at me like that—like I was something more than just a contract he had signed—I almost wanted to believe it.

I was still lost in those thoughts when a voice interrupted us.

"Richard!"

The deep voice cut through the soft hum of music and conversation. I turned just as a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair approached, a glass of champagne in hand. His suit was crisp, his expression one of amusement and approval.

I recognized him immediately—George Lennox, one of Kane Group’s major shareholders. He was an influential figure, known for his shrewd business acumen and no-nonsense demeanor. Though he was well into his fifties, his sharp eyes missed nothing, and his presence alone commanded respect.

"That was quite the announcement," George said with a chuckle, his gaze flickering toward me. "And quite the surprise."

Richard didn’t miss a beat. "I don’t believe in surprises, George. Just careful planning."

A knowing smirk played on the older man’s lips. "Well, I have to say, you couldn’t have picked a more stunning woman," he said, nodding at me. "Mrs. Kane, congratulations."

Mrs. Kane.

The title still felt foreign, strange in a way that sent a shiver through me—not from fear, but from the realization that this wasn’t just a fleeting moment. This was real. This was my life now.

I forced myself to smile, even as I still processed everything. "Thank you, Mr. Lennox."

Before George could say more, another couple approached—a woman in an emerald green dress and a distinguished-looking man with a thick mustache. The air around them carried an aura of influence and wealth. I recognized them instantly.

Eleanor and Charles Whitmore. More shareholders. More power players.

"Richard, you sly devil," Charles said with a hearty laugh. "Married, and you didn’t even tell us?"

"It wasn’t exactly a secret," Richard replied smoothly, his voice calm and controlled as always.

Eleanor’s sharp eyes landed on me, scrutinizing me in a way that made my spine stiffen. Unlike Charles, whose amusement was genuine, Eleanor exuded an air of quiet calculation.

"So, you’re the woman who stole our Richard’s heart?"

I hesitated, unsure how to respond. I barely knew Richard myself—at least, not in the way they assumed. I didn’t know what he liked to eat for breakfast, or what his childhood had been like, or whether he preferred the city or the countryside.

I only knew him as the ruthless businessman, the man who had offered me marriage in exchange for security, a man who held his emotions so tightly guarded that sometimes, I wasn’t sure if he even had them.

But before I could find the right words, I felt Richard’s grip on my waist tighten. It was subtle but firm, as if silently reassuring me.

"She didn’t steal anything," he said, his voice carrying a quiet certainty. "I gave it willingly."

A small gasp came from someone nearby. Charles let out a chuckle, clearly entertained, while Eleanor’s expression remained unreadable.

The statement caught me off guard too.

I gave it willingly.

Was that true? Was this really something Richard had given freely? Or was this just another calculated move, another part of his grand plan?

The group around us laughed, the tension breaking slightly, but Eleanor wasn’t done yet. Her keen gaze lingered on me, studying me with the intensity of someone trying to assess whether I was truly fit for this world.

"I suppose you must be quite special, then," she mused, her tone unreadable.

Under the scrutiny of powerful businesspeople, a flicker of doubt wormed its way into my chest. Did they see me as unworthy of Richard? Did they think I was just some social climber who had manipulated my way into his life?

I had fought hard for my place in this world, yet standing here—among them, as his wife—doubt threatened to consume me.

Richard, however, seemed to sense my discomfort before I could even put it into words.

"She’s more than special," he said, his voice firm, unwavering. "She’s my wife. And I trust her judgment just as much as my own."

The conviction in his words made my breath catch.

He didn’t have to say that. He didn’t have to defend me.

But he did.

A pause settled over the group before Charles let out another approving laugh. "Well said!" he declared, raising his glass in a toast. "To Richard and Emilia Kane!"

The others followed suit, lifting their champagne flutes, their murmured congratulations blending into the background.

One by one, others came by to offer their well wishes. Some were genuine, others merely playing politics, their smiles polite but their eyes assessing. I had been in business long enough to recognize the difference.

But through it all, Richard never left my side.

His hand remained on my waist, a quiet declaration to the world that I belonged here—whether I believed it yet or not.

By the time the wave of guests slowed, I let out a slow breath, only now realizing how much tension I had been holding in.

Richard smirked, watching me with a knowing expression. "Do all your business events feel like interrogations?" I asked, my voice laced with exhaustion.

"Only when I do something unexpected," he said, his smirk deepening.

I arched a brow. "Like marrying me?"

"Exactly."

His tone was teasing, but there was something else beneath it. Something I couldn’t quite place.

For the rest of the evening, he never left my side.

I danced with him again, feeling the warmth of his touch as his hand guided me across the floor. I heard the quiet strength in his voice as he introduced me to more guests—not as someone temporary, not as an accessory to his success, but as something permanent. As someone who belonged.

And for the first time...

I believed it too.