The morning sunlight filtered softly through the curtains. Emily dressed quietly, her movements precise, controlled, every step measured. She did not linger in the room.
"Emily," her father called from downstairs, his voice brisk. "Come to my study. Now."
She walked down the hall, keeping her expression neutral. The house was awake, but unaware of the shift she had become. Stephanie and her stepmother were already in the study, seated as though they were prepared for a scenenbut they weren't prepared for her.
Her father gestured for her to sit. "Emily… Timothy Blackwood expects an answer. Are you willing to marry him?"
Emily inclined her head slightly. "Yes," she said simply.
Stephanie's mouth dropped open, and her stepmother blinked in disbelief. but she happy but inorder not to show her happiness she could only show fake concern
"You… what?" Stephanie stammered. "But Emily, what about Benjamin? Don't you love him? Isn't he…?"
Emily's eyes didn't waver. "This is my decision," she said quietly, coldly. Her voice carried weight, though it was calm.
Her stepmother's face paled. "What are you saying? You want to marry him? Timothy Blackwood? Do you know what he's capable of? He's feared by everyone in this country by everyone! And you… why would you?"
Emily raised a hand, stopping her mid-sentence. "If you don't want me to change my mind, you should remain silent," she said, her tone even, precise.
Her stepmother's panicked and decided to keep quiet because she never wanted Emily to change her mind in the first place.
Emily's attention shifted to her father. She leaned slightly forward, her expression unyielding. "If you insist I marry Timothy instead of Stephanie, then I require the twenty percent of the company shares my mother left me."
The room froze. Stephanie gasped, placing a hand over her mouth. Her stepmother's face turned red with fury. "Why on earth should we give you the family shares?!"
Emily's gaze swept across the room, calm, unshaken. "Your arguments are irrelevant," she said plainly. "My mother founded this company before marrying you. By right, the shares belong to me."
Silence. The weight of her words pressed on them. Stephanie and her stepmother opened their mouths, but no sound came. Her father cleared his throat, glancing between them, unsure how to respond.
Emily remained seated, composed. No one could misread her now. She had accepted the marriage, but she had also claimed what was rightfully hers. The household had learned one thing: Emily was no longer the same girl.
For a moment, the tension was absolute. The faint tick of the clock on the wall was the only sound. Emily's lips remained neutral, her posture calm, her eyes steady. She had made her position clear without argument, without emotion. Just fact.
Her father leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing. "We will… discuss the shares," he said cautiously, trying to mask both surprise and unease.
Emily inclined her head once, a small, deliberate gesture. That was enough. She didn't need to argue further, didn't need to justify herself. She had stated her terms, and now it was their turn to reconcile with them.
Without another word, she rose from her seat. The room remained frozen in silence. Stephanie's jaw had dropped, her hands clenched at her sides. Her stepmother's face flushed red with a mixture of anger and disbelief. Emily ignored them completely. She had no need for their approval.
She walked out of the study with slow, measured steps, her posture calm and unyielding. Each click of her heels on the polished floor seemed to echo in the quiet room. They remained speechless, words stuck in their throats. For the first time, Emily's presence carried weight they could not dismiss.
Reaching her room, she closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a fraction of a second, letting the tension of the encounter dissipate. Then, she moved to her desk and opened her laptop. Her fingers hovered over the keys for a heartbeat before she began typing.
News articles, social media posts, reports from the battle field it all poured up before her eyes. The headlines still screamed about the fall of Princess Emily, the betrayal, the chaos in the kingdom after her death. Names she had once trusted scrolled past. Faces she had once called allies now appeared as shadows of deceit.
She read carefully, quietly absorbing every detail, every report, every fragment of information. Her heart remained steady. There was anger beneath the calm, yes, but it was controlled, sharpened into focus. She could feel the distance between the Emily who had died and the Emily who now sat at this desk, alive in a new body, calculating.
Step by step, piece by piece, she began mapping it all in her mind: who had benefited, who had vanished, who had stayed. Every report, every article, every public announcement was another thread she could pull later, another advantage she could wield when the time came.
The world outside might believe Emily was gone, weak, powerless. But she was here, quiet and unseen, gathering strength in both body and mind. Every breath, every keystroke, every observation was a promise to herself: she would not remain powerless. She would reclaim what had been taken. She would restore herself. And she would make those who had betrayed her remember her name.
After a while, she shifted her attention to make more research about Timothy who is to become her husband.
She knows she has to be prepared for their first meeting.