Emily's POV
Taking one final deep breath, I pushed through the door and stepped back into the ballroom.
Stepping back into the ballroom was like walking onto a stage where the audience already hated me. I could feel the invisible threads of their judgment tightening around me.
The music had shifted to something slower, more romantic. Couples swayed on the dance floor, their movements graceful.
My eyes found Victor immediately. He was exactly where I'd left him, surrounded by a few members and business associates, his wheelchair positioned at the edge of their circle. But something had changed. His posture was stiffer, his smile more forced. And when his gaze swept the room and landed on me, I saw tension flash across his face.
He could tell something had happened. Even from across the crowded ballroom, even with dozens of conversations happening between us, he knew.
I made my way back to him slowly, weaving through clusters of guests who turned to watch me pass.
I reached Victor's side, and without a word, I placed my hand on his shoulder. The gesture was meant to look natural, affectionate, but I needed the contact for myself. Needed the solid warmth of him to anchor me.
His hand came up to cover mine immediately, his fingers intertwining with my own. To anyone watching, it looked like the unconscious touch of lovers. But I felt the slight tremor in his grip, the way his thumb traced a small circle against my palm. A question: Are you alright?
I squeezed back gently. "I'm fine. I'm here."
"Gentlemen," Victor said smoothly, never breaking the flow of conversation, "you'll have to excuse me. My wife looks far too beautiful to be standing here listening to us discuss business. It is our debut. I believe a dance is in order."
Robert Graf chuckled warmly. "By all means. Don't let us keep you from your lovely wife."
Victor wheeled himself slightly back from the group, tugging me gently with him. As we moved toward the edge of the dance floor, he leaned in close enough that his words were for my ears alone.
"What happened?"
"Nothing I couldn't handle," I murmured back, forcing a smile as we passed another cluster of guests.
"Emily." His voice carried a warning. "Don't lie to me. Not here."
"I'm not lying." I kept my voice light, even as my heart hammered. "Just... testing the waters. Getting a feel for your world."
"And?"
"It's exactly as cold as you warned me it would be."
Something dark flashed in his eyes. "Who?"
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me." His grip on my hand tightened desperately. "Tell me who."
Before I could respond, we reached the dance floor. Victor positioned his wheelchair at the edge, then looked up at me blankly.
"I can't exactly waltz," he said, and there was something raw in his voice. Vulnerability mixed with bitter humor. "But I refuse to let you stand here alone while everyone watches."
The music swelled around us, a romantic melody that seemed designed to mock our situation. How were we supposed to dance when he couldn't stand? How were we supposed to maintain the illusion of a love story when…
Victor's hand shot out and caught my wrist.
"Come here."
"Victor, I don't think…"
"Trust me." His dark eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that stole my breath. "For once, Emily, just trust me."
I let him pull me closer, uncertain what he intended. And then, with a movement so smooth, he guided me onto his lap.
The position was intimate, almost scandalous. I sat sideways across his thighs, one of my arms automatically going around his shoulders for balance, my dress pooling around us like water. His hand settled on my waist, warm and solid through the thin silk, while his other hand still held mine.
"There," he murmured, and his breath ghosted across my cheek. "Now we can dance."
He began to move the wheelchair in slow, deliberate circles, using one hand to guide us while the other remained on my waist. It wasn't traditional dancing, but it was movement, rhythm, us swaying together in time with the music.
And every eye in the ballroom was on us.
I felt the weight of their stares, the shock rippling through the crowd. Victor Hawthorne, the reclusive billionaire who hadn't been seen in public in five years, was dancing with his new wife. Really dancing with her, holding her close, moving with her, showing the world that his disability didn't reduce him.
Showing the world that he'd chosen me.
"You're shaking," Victor said quietly, his thumb stroking small circles against my waist.
"I'm terrified," I admitted, the truth slipping out before I could stop it. "Everyone's watching."
"Good." His voice dropped lower, intimate. "Let them watch. Let them see exactly how much I want you."
My breath caught. "Victor…"
"I saw everything, Emily." His hand on my waist pulled me closer, until there was barely any space between us.
I looked up, dazed, into his face. His expression was no longer cold or guarded; it was fierce, intense, and utterly magnetic. He didn't hesitate. His free hand, the one that wasn't bracing my back, cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing a stray tear path near my temple, and then his lips was on mine.
The world stopped.
For one suspended heartbeat, I froze…shocked, disbelieving. This couldn't be happening. Not here. Not now. Not real.
The kiss wasn't hesitant or polite. It was a claiming. His mouth captured mine with a hunger that seemed to come from somewhere deep, as if he'd been holding back for months and the dam had finally broken.
His hand slid from my cheek into my hair, his fingers tangling in the carefully arranged waves, tilting my head back to deepen the kiss.
I gasped against his mouth, and he took the opportunity immediately. His tongue swept past my lips, tasting, exploring, claiming every inch of me. The sensation sent electricity racing down my spine. I'd been kissed before, but never like this. Never with this intensity, this raw need.
My hands moved of their own accord, one clutching his shoulder for balance, the other sliding up to cup the back of his neck. I felt the rapid pulse there, matching my own racing heartbeat.
His tongue stroked against mine, slow and deliberate, and I felt myself melting into him. My body went liquid, boneless, I was tingling all over. The taste of him filled my senses until I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't remember why this was supposed to be pretense.
Around us, cameras flashed. The crowd erupted in shocked whispers and delighted gasps. But I barely paid attention. There was only Victor, only the heat of his mouth moving against mine with a skill that made my toes curl in my heels, only the trembling in his hand that told me he was just as affected as I was.
This wasn't a performance. This wasn't the calculated move of a man playing a part.
This was desperate. Hungry. Real.
His teeth caught my bottom lip, tugging gently before soothing the sting with his tongue, and I heard myself make a sound, a whimper or a moan, I didn't know which. All I knew was that I was drowning in sensation, in the overwhelming presence of him, I never wanted to surface.
When we finally broke apart,because we had to, because we needed to breathe, I was shaking. My lips felt swollen, sensitized. My heart pounded so hard I thought it might break through my ribs.
Victor's eyes met mine, dark and stormy and filled with something that looked like confusion and desire and fear all tangled together. His chest rose and fell rapidly beneath my hand. His fingers were still buried in my hair, his grip almost painful in its intensity.
For just a moment, I saw past all his walls. Saw the man beneath the mask, the one who'd just kissed me like I was oxygen and he'd been drowning.
Then the ballroom erupted.
Applause thundered around us, genuine and enthusiastic. Whistles and cheers. The kind of approval that came from people who loved a good love story, who wanted to believe in romance and passion and happily ever after.
I sat frozen on Victor's lap, my lips still tingling, my entire body humming with an awareness I'd never experienced before. That hadn't been a first kiss. It had been a revelation.
His eyes met mine, and for just a moment, I saw past all his walls. Saw confusion and desire and something that looked dangerously close to fear.
Then the mask slammed back down.
"Well," he said, his voice perfectly steady despite the rapid rise and fall of his chest. "I think that should convince them."
The words hit me like ice water.
Before I could respond…before I could even begin to untangle the mess of emotions churning in my chest…a familiar voice cut through the noise.
"Oh my God!" Amy Russell appeared at our side, her face bright with delight and mischief. "Victor Hawthorne, you absolute devil. That was the hottest thing I've seen in years."
Heat flooded my cheeks as I carefully slid off Victor's lap, trying to smooth my dress with shaking hands. Amy was grinning like the Cheshire cat, her eyes filled with amusement.
"I mean, seriously," she continued, fanning herself dramatically. "The way you just pulled her onto your lap? The kiss? Victor, darling, you've been holding out on us. I had no idea you had that much passion left in you."
"Amy," Victor said warningly, but there was no real heat in it.
"Don't 'Amy' me. That was a spectacular act. Or..." She paused, her sharp eyes moving between us, taking in my flushed face and Victor's carefully controlled expression. "Maybe not act at all?"
"We're married," Victor said smoothly. "Is it so surprising that I'd want to kiss my wife?"
"No, but that kiss?" Amy laughed, rich and knowing. "That wasn't a polite 'we're married' kiss. That was a 'I'm going to devour you the moment we're alone' kiss. There's a difference."
I wanted to disappear. To sink through the floor and never resurface. But Amy's teasing, while embarrassing, was warm. Genuine.
"You two have officially made this the most interesting gala in years," Amy declared, squeezing my shoulder affectionately.
----
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of congratulations and knowing looks. People who'd ignored me before suddenly wanted to talk. Vanessa Blackwell and her friends kept their distance, though I caught them watching us with expressions that ranged from shock to barely concealed envy.
Throughout it all, Victor remained at my side, his hand finding mine whenever someone approached. He played the devoted husband perfectly, and no one looking at us would have guessed that just hours ago, he'd been avoiding me completely.
But I felt the tremor in his hand when he thought no one was looking. Noticed the way his jaw clenched whenever I laughed at someone else's joke. Saw the conflict in his eyes every time our gazes met.
Something had shifted between us tonight. Something dangerous and complicated and impossible to ignore.
When we finally made it back to the car, I collapsed into the seat with relief, my feet aching from the heels, my face sore from maintaining the perfect smile.
Victor transferred into his seat with practiced efficiency, and Steve folded the wheelchair away. The moment the car door closed, shutting out the world, the silence between us felt suffocating.
"You did well tonight," Victor said finally, his voice carefully neutral. "Better than I expected."
"Thank you," I managed, not knowing what else to say.
"The kiss was necessary. I hope you understand that. They needed to see passion, commitment. Needed to believe we're more than just a business arrangement."
Each word felt like a small death.
"Of course," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. "It was very convincing."
"Good." He turned to look out the window. "That's what matters."
I pressed my lips together, still tasting him, still feeling the warmth of his hand in my hair, the pressure of his mouth on mine. The kiss had been an act, but it was an act I couldn't forget. It was so convincing that I'd almost believed it was real.
Almost believed he felt something for me beyond contractual obligation.
But sitting here in the cold car, listening to him dissect our kiss like it was just another business transaction, I knew better.
Whatever I'd felt in that moment, whatever I'd seen in his eyes, had been nothing but wishful thinking.
The realization hurt more than I wanted to admit.
—
I barely slept. I kept replaying the scene of the kiss in my head.
The morning brought the inevitable. I woke up dreading the society columns, fully expecting the headlines to rehash the gold-digger whispers, only now attached to a picture of me looking utterly desperate.
I found the news on my phone almost instantly. It was everywhere.
"VICTOR HAWTHORNE'S RETURN: The Kiss That Broke the Internet
THE PHOENIX RISES: Five Years of Silence, Victor Hawthorne's Stunning Comeback
FROM RECLUSE TO ROMANCE: Billionaire's First Public Appearance Since Tragedy Leaves Society Speechless
I scrolled through article after article, my heart pounding. They weren't just talking about the kiss. They were talking about what it meant.
I finally clicked on the main image, the one that had gone viral. It wasn't just a picture of a kiss. The photographer…a genius I was now eternally grateful for, had captured something intimate, an emotional moment.
Victor was leaning in, his eyes shadowed, his intensity focused entirely on me. But it was my face that shocked me. I wasn't smiling. I wasn't even acting. My eyes were wide with breathtaking vulnerability and powerful attraction. It was the face of a woman who had just been kissed into oblivion by a man she was rapidly developing complicated feelings for.
I stared at my own shocked, exposed face, recognizing the dizzying truth it revealed.
My phone rang, shattering the moment. Mrs. Johnson's name flashed on the screen.
My stomach dropped. Of course she would have seen the news. Everyone had seen the news.
I stared at her name on my screen, my thumb hovering over the answer button. Part of me wanted to ignore it, to pretend I hadn't seen the call. But Mrs. Johnson deserved better than that.
I took a deep breath and answered. "Mrs. Johnson."
"Emily." Her voice was careful, measured in a way that made my chest tighten. "Honey, I... I just saw the news. I need you to tell me I'm seeing things. That my old eyes are playing tricks on me."
I closed my eyes, gripping the phone tighter. "What did you see?"
"Don't play games with me, sweetheart." There was no anger in her tone, just confusion and concern. "I saw you. With Victor Hawthorne. The Victor Hawthorne. The billionaire. And the headline said..." She paused, and I could hear her taking a steadying breath. "It said you're married to him, Emily. Married."
The word hung between us like an accusation.
"Mrs. Johnson, I..."
"Is it true?" Her voice cracked slightly. "Is he the employer you couldn't tell me about? The one who wanted everything kept discreet? All this time, when you said you couldn't say who you were working for... was it because you were working for him? Or with him? Or..." She trailed off, clearly struggling to piece it together.
I pressed my hand over my mouth, fighting back tears. "Yes."
Silence. Long, heavy silence that made my heart pound.
"Yes to which part, honey?" Mrs. Johnson finally asked, her voice gentler now.
"All of it." The words came out in a rush. "He was my employer. The discreet caregiving job. And yes, I'm... I'm married to him now. I'm Mrs. Hawthorne."
Another pause. Then, "Oh, Emily. Oh, sweetheart."
I couldn't tell if she was disappointed or worried or shocked or all three. "I wanted to tell you," I said desperately. "So many times, I wanted to tell you everything. But the contract, the confidentiality agreement... I couldn't. I'm so sorry. I hated lying to you."
"You didn't lie," Mrs. Johnson said softly. "You just... couldn't tell me the whole truth. There's a difference." She sighed, trying to process everything. "But Emily, married? To Victor Hawthorne? That man has been a recluse for five years. Nobody's seen him. Nobody knows anything about him except that he's richer than God and twice as unreachable. And now you're telling me you're his wife?"
"It's complicated," I whispered.
"I imagine it is." There was a rustling sound, like she was settling in. "Honey, I'm not going to lie, I'm shocked. Completely blindsided."
Shame burned through me. "I know how it looks..."
"How it looks doesn't matter to me," she interrupted firmly. "What matters is you. Are you safe? Are you happy? Did this man... did he force you into anything?"
The concern in her voice broke something inside me. "No. No, Mrs. Johnson, he didn't force me. It was my choice. A desperate choice, maybe, but mine."
"Because of your mother's medical bills," she said, understanding flooding her voice. "Because you needed money you couldn't get any other way."
I couldn't speak around the lump in my throat, so I just nodded, forgetting she couldn't see me.
"Oh, Emily." Her voice was thick with emotion now. "You don't have to explain it to me, honey. I know what it's like to be backed into a corner. To have to make impossible choices for the people you love. I'm not judging you. I just... I wish you could have told me. I wish I could have helped somehow."
"You did help," I managed. "More than you know. You've been helping me all along. Taking care of Lily when I needed to work late. Helped with the little you have for my mother's bill. Just... being there. Being someone I could count on."
"And I still am," she said firmly. "Billionaire husband or not, you're still my Emily. You're still my friend. That doesn't change just because your last name did."
Relief flooded through me, so intense it made me dizzy. "Thank you. Thank you for understanding."
"Well, I'll admit, I'm still wrapping my head around it all," she said with a small laugh. "My neighbor, a billionaire's wife. I might need to sit with that for a while. But Emily..." Her voice turned serious again. "When you're ready, when you feel like you can talk about it, I want to know everything. How this happened. How you ended up married to him. What it's really like."
"I will," I promised. "I'll tell you everything when we see. Just... not right now. Is that okay?"
"Of course it's okay, honey. Take all the time you need." She paused. "But there is one thing I need to say right now."
"What's that?"
"That kiss in the photo?" I could hear the smile in her voice. "That didn't look like acting to me. That looked real, Emily. Real and intense and... well, powerful.
My face burned. "Mrs. Johnson...."
"I'm just saying what I saw," she continued. "And what I saw was a woman being kissed by a man who looked like he'd forgotten the rest of the world existed."
I didn't know how to respond to that.
"Oh!" Mrs. Johnson's tone suddenly brightened. "Before I forget—Emily, honey, I need to thank you."
"Thank me? For what?"
"For the money you sent me." Her voice grew thick with emotion. "The envelope that showed up at my door last month. That was from you, wasn't it?"
I'd sent her two thousand dollars through Charles, with strict instructions that it be delivered anonymously. I should have known she'd figure it out now.
"Mrs. Johnson, you've done so much for me and Lily. For years. It was the least I could do."
"The least?" She laughed, but it sounded watery. "Emily, that money... do you have any idea what it means to me?
Tears spilled down my cheeks. "I'm so glad. You deserve it. You deserve so much more than that."
"You're a good soul, Emily Greene. Or should I say Emily Hawthorne?" She chuckled softly.
"Still getting used to that. But thank you, from the bottom of my heart. You didn't have to do that."
"Yes, I did," I said firmly. "You've been my family when I had no one else. Family takes care of family."
"Oh, now you've got me crying," Mrs. Johnson said with a shaky laugh. "Look at us, two old saps."
"I'm thirty-three," I protested weakly.
"And I'm fifty-five, which gives me the right to call you young." Her voice softened. "Now, you go take care of whatever you need to take care of. But Emily? Don't be a stranger just because you're living in a mansion now. Lily and your mom might be there with you, but I still want to see them. I want to see you. You're still my neighbor in my heart, even if you're not next door anymore."
"I promise," I said, meaning it with everything in me. "We'll visit. Often."
"Good. Now go on."
After we hung up, I sat in silence, staring at my phone. As hot flush of confusion settled over me, a knock on my door startled me.
I slid off the bed and opened the door.
Jenkins stood by the door. "Good morning, Mrs. Hawthorne." "Mr. Hawthorne requests your presence in the study immediately."
My stomach dropped. I knew this was about the picture. He must be furious. I had gotten carried away. I hadn't maintained the contractually mandated distance. He would scold me, demand better control, and remind me of my place.
"Good morning, Jenkins. I'll be there in a minute." I quickly changed into a simple dress and made the familiar walk down the hallway.
I found him in his usual spot, behind his desk. The morning light flooding the room, illuminating the newspaper with the page of the viral photograph that lay flat on the desk before him.
He was staring at it, his expression totally unreadable…no anger, no triumph, just a deep, still concentration. My heart pounded so hard I thought he might hear it.
"Victor," I began, my voice barely a whisper. "I… I'm sorry if I seem…"
He held up a hand and silenced me instantly.
He continued to look at the photo in the newspaper for another beat, then slowly raised his eyes to mine.
"This," he said quietly, his voice devoid of any emotion, corporate or personal, "is exactly what we need."
He tapped the photograph once, emphasizing the emotional power of the image.
He lifted his gaze back to me, the intensity making my breath hitch.
"Well done, Ms Greene."
The formality of his address…Ms Greene…after the utter intimacy of the kiss, felt like a deliberate slap. It was the final, brutal reminder that the performance was over.
I nodded, feeling a cold ache settle over the hopeful flutter the kiss had ignited. "Thank you, Victor."
He was back to business. As I walked out, I didn't feel like a woman who had just shared a passionate, viral moment with her husband. I felt like an employee who had just received a performance bonus. The distinction hurt more than any gold-digger accusation ever could.