Chapter 2 - The Night That Changed Everything
For a long time, neither of them spoke. Elias sat by the bed, his finger still wrapped in Liam’s tiny fist, watching the baby sleep like he was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. Emily traced the veins on the back of his hand, her mind racing back nine months, to the night that had started it all.
It was October, a rainy Tuesday in New York. She’d left Chicago two days earlier, after the fight with her father that had ended with her resigning from Carter Development. She’d walked into his corner office that morning, a stack of printed emails and invoices in her hand, and laid it all out: Brandon had been approving payments to fake vendors for months, siphoning money into a shell company called Northshore Holdings, and Charles had signed off on every single wire transfer. She’d thought—stupidly, naively—that her father would be grateful. That he’d thank her for saving the company, for saving Brandon from himself.
Instead, he’d laughed in her face.
“Brandon was born to lead,” he’d said, leaning back in his leather chair like she was a secretary who’d brought him the wrong coffee. “You were born to exaggerate. You’re just jealous he’s the heir and you’re not. Now get out of my office before I have security escort you out.”
That was the moment she’d stopped being Charles Carter’s daughter. She’d copied every file, every email, every contract onto an encrypted hard drive that night, packed a suitcase, and driven to O’Hare, buying a one-way ticket to JFK with her personal credit card. She’d needed to get as far away from Chicago as possible, to breathe, to figure out what the hell she was going to do with the rest of her life.
She’d ended up at the Waldorf Astoria charity gala that Tuesday, crashing it with a friend’s extra invite, wearing a $200 black dress she’d bought on sale at Nordstrom, drinking champagne like it was water and trying to forget she’d just walked away from a twelve-figure inheritance.
That was where she’d met Elias.
He’d been leaning against the bar, wearing the same sharp suit he had on now, looking bored out of his mind while a group of old Wall Street guys droned on about interest rates. When she’d walked up and ordered a bourbon neat, he’d glanced at her, and for a second, his eyes had lit up.
“Rough day?” he’d asked, nodding at her full glass.
“Rough month,” she’d said. “Rough life, if I’m being honest.”
He’d laughed—a low, warm sound that had made her stomach flip—and bought her next drink. They’d talked for three hours straight, leaning against the bar, ignoring everyone else in the room. She’d told him everything: the fraud, her father’s favoritism, the way her mother had always cared more about what the country club ladies thought than her own daughter’s happiness. She’d never told anyone that before. Not even her college roommate. But with Elias, it had been easy. He’d listened, really listened, his blue eyes never leaving her face, asking questions that showed he actually cared, not just being polite.
“I’m sorry,” he’d said, when she’d finished, his voice tight. “No one should have to go through that. Especially not from their own family.”
By midnight, the gala had ended, the lights had come up, and neither of them had wanted the night to end. He’d walked her to his penthouse suite on the forty-second floor, and what happened next had been soft, slow, perfect—like they’d known each other for years, not hours. He’d been gentle, attentive, making sure she was okay every step of the way, and when they’d woken up the next morning tangled in the sheets, he’d made her pancakes, laughing when she’d gotten syrup on his $500 sheets.
But then his phone had rung. A work emergency, he’d said, stepping into the hallway to take the call. And Emily—scared, insecure, still reeling from her father’s rejection—had panicked. He was a billionaire. He was one of the most eligible bachelors in the country. She was a disgraced rich girl with no job, no plan, and a family that hated her. He’d feel sorry for her, that’s all. He’d wake up and realize she was just a one-night stand, a mistake, and she couldn’t handle that. Not again.
So she’d gotten dressed, left a note that said Thank you for last night. Don’t worry about me., and slipped out before he came back.
She’d taken the train back to Chicago two days later, and when she’d missed her period three weeks after that, she’d known. She’d taken six pregnancy tests, all positive, and sat on the floor of her tiny apartment bathroom and cried—not because she was sad to have the baby, but because she knew she’d have to do it alone. She’d never even considered telling Elias. What was the point? He’d moved on. He had a company to run, a life to live. She didn’t want to be another person asking him for something.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Elias’s voice pulled her back to the present. He was looking at her, his head tilted, like he could read every memory flashing through her mind.
Emily smiled, a little sad. “I was thinking about New York. About that night.”
Elias’s face softened. “I think about it every day. I woke up and you were gone. I thought I’d done something wrong. That I’d pushed you too hard, or said something stupid. I asked the front desk for your last name, but you’d checked out under your friend’s name. I hired three private investigators. I spent over a hundred thousand dollars looking for you. I was this close”—he held up his thumb and index finger an inch apart—“to putting your face on a billboard in Times Square.”
Emily laughed, a wet, shaky sound. “You didn’t.”
“I almost did.” He reached out, brushing a strand of hair off her face. “Why didn’t you tell me? About the baby. About any of it.”
She looked down at Liam, her fingers brushing his soft dark hair—Elias’s hair, she realized now, the same color, the same cowlick at the crown. “I was scared. I left without saying goodbye. I thought you’d hate me. I thought you’d think I was trying to trap you, to get your money. My parents have spent my whole life making me feel like I’m only worth what I can give them. I didn’t want you to look at me like that.”
Elias’s jaw tightened. “I would never. Emily, you’re not a burden. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. And Liam? He’s my son. Nothing is ever going to change that. Not your parents, not some stupid lawsuit, not anything.”
He paused, then reached into his suit pocket again, pulling out a key card and a folded piece of paper. “I had my assistant move your things out of your apartment this morning. The lease was up next month anyway. You and Liam are going to stay at my penthouse in River North. It’s got three bedrooms, a full-time nurse on call 24/7, security at the front door and on every floor. No one is getting to you two there.”
He handed her the key card. It was black, embossed with the Voss Capital logo in silver.
“Elias, I can’t just move in with you—”
“Sure you can.” He shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We have a son together. We’re going to be in each other’s lives for the next eighteen years at least. Might as well start now. And before you say anything—this isn’t me trying to pressure you into anything. You have your own suite, your own space, whatever you need. I just want you and Liam safe. Especially now that your parents know who I am. They’re not going to go down without a fight.”
He was right. Emily knew her parents. Charles Carter didn’t lose. He’d spent thirty years building his empire by crushing anyone who got in his way. He wouldn’t let a daughter and a billionaire ex-fling take it from him without making them pay first.
She looked at the key card, then at Elias—his honest blue eyes, the way he was looking at Liam like he was the center of the universe—and nodded. “Okay. We’ll come.”
Elias smiled, a real, bright smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, and for the first time in nine months, Emily let herself believe that maybe—just maybe—everything was going to be okay.
May you like
What she didn’t know was that down in the hospital parking garage, Charles Carter was on the phone with his son Brandon, his voice shaking with rage.
“Voss is the father,” he hissed into the receiver. “Elias fucking Voss. He knows about the Cayman accounts. We have a problem. A big one. Get over to the house now. We need to make a plan. And if we have to take Emily down to save this company? So be it.”
