6: Dining With The Enemy

Emily's POV.

The tension in the air was suffocating. My hands were still clenched into fists, nails biting into my palms, but it didn’t make the fury any easier to hold back. I had spent my entire life thinking I had control over my destiny, but now? Now I felt like I was just a pawn in some cruel game between two powerful men. My father, the one person I thought I could trust, was willing to trade me like a commodity. And for what? For him. For Cole.

Cole sat across from me, a wall of cold indifference between us. His jaw was tight, his eyes never meeting mine, his posture stiff and uncomfortable. The silence between us was heavy, but it wasn’t the kind of silence that made you think there was still something left to say. No, this silence was suffocating, each passing moment a reminder that this…this situation was happening, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and strained. "I can’t do this, Emily," he said, as if forcing the words out of his mouth. "I have a fiancée. Vanessa. I love her. I’d do anything for her. This… this marriage to you? It’s not something I can accept. It’s killing me to think about it, but I have no choice."

A humorless laugh burst from me before I could even think about stopping it. It sounded cruel and mocking, like a whip cracking in the silence. "Oh, how noble, Cole. How very self-righteous of you," I spat, my voice dripping with disdain. "You're not just pompous, you're a hypocrite too. You've always been one, and it looks like nothing’s changed."

I leaned forward, my eyes narrowing, my words sharp and venomous. "You don’t get it, do you? I don’t want you. I never have. You’re the last man I’d ever want to be stuck with. You’re arrogant. Prideful. A jerk. You disgust me." My voice was a low hiss, each word a sharp jab aimed straight at his chest. "You think anyone would want to be tied to a man like you? I’d rather marry a rock than be forced into this with you."

His expression didn’t falter at first, but then something flickered in his eyes…was it surprise? No, it was more than that. There was something else. Something darker. And then his lips curled into that damnable, mocking smile I knew so well.

"I get it now," he said, his voice smooth, almost taunting. "You’re still angry because I rejected you seven years ago. You haven’t gotten over it, have you? Still holding onto that childish grudge. I guess you never really forgave me, huh?"

His words hit like a punch to my gut. My breath caught in my throat, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt beneath me. He remembered. He remembered me. Seven years. Seven long years since that day, since everything fell apart between us, and now, here we were…stuck in this ridiculous game, and he was bringing it up like it was nothing.

The memories hit me like a slap…memories I had buried deep, memories of that night, of everything I had wanted, and everything I had lost. And then the anger flared again, hotter than before.

I leaned forward, my eyes burning with fury. "You think that’s all this is?" I hissed, my voice trembling with rage and something darker. "You think I’m still angry over you rejecting me? No, Cole, I hate you because of what you are…a man who’s so wrapped up in his own damn ego that he doesn’t see anyone else around him."

I kicked his foot under the table, hard, not caring that our fathers were still nearby. Let them see. Let them feel the weight of the hatred I carried for this man. I wanted him to feel it. I wanted him to know how much I despised him, how much I wished I could escape this nightmare.

He didn’t flinch. Instead, his eyes hardened, and for the first time since we’d sat down, he leaned forward, his voice low, barely a whisper. "Maybe this whole thing is your idea, Emily. Maybe you couldn’t get me seven years ago, so you’ve manipulated your father into convincing mine to marry us off. You think I don’t see that? You think I don’t know what you’re doing?"

The words hit me like a physical blow. I felt the blood drain from my face, my stomach churning as if I’d been struck with a cruel, ugly truth. Manipulated? My father? I couldn’t even begin to process what he had just said. It felt like someone had punched me in the chest.

I stared at him, speechless for a long moment, my heart pounding, rage bubbling up inside me. The accusation was a lie, but it didn’t matter. It cut deeper than any truth could have. It made me question everything…my father’s decisions, my own worth, everything.

I wasn’t going to let him have the satisfaction of seeing me crumble, though.

I grabbed my glass of wine, my hands shaking with fury, and without thinking, I poured it directly onto him, splashing the deep red liquid across his chest. It wasn’t enough to drown my anger, but it was all I had left to give him.

His eyes widened in shock, but before he could say anything, I stood up, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I don’t have to take this from you," I spat, my voice full of venom. "I don’t have to sit here and listen to you, so you lie about me, and pretend that I’m the one who’s somehow at fault here."

I turned and stormed off, not caring if our fathers heard or saw. I was done. Done with this whole ridiculous game. He could have his fiancée, his pride, his entire damn life. I would never be the woman he wanted, and I wasn’t going to let him destroy me again.