Emma's POV
I stare at my phone.
The screen glows in the dark bedroom. Unknown number. The call ended ten seconds ago but I'm still frozen, holding the phone like it might explode.
"Emma Chen? My name is Damien Cross. I know what happened tonight. I know what they did to you. And I want to help you destroy every single one of them."
Who is Damien Cross? How does he know about tonight? About Alexander leaving? About the wedding being stolen?
My hands shake as I pull up the browser and type his name.
The search results load. My eyes widen.
Damien Cross. CEO of Cross Industries. Billionaire. Thirty-two years old. Self-made fortune. No wife. No public relationships. His company owns half the tech buildings downtown.
I click on images. A man in an expensive suit stares back at me from the screen. Dark hair. Darker eyes. Sharp jawline. Handsome in a way that looks dangerous.
Why would a billionaire call me at three in the morning?
How does he even have my number?
I'm about to call the number back when my phone buzzes again.
Text from Dad: "Emma, we need to talk tomorrow. This situation with Victoria requires family unity. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
Family unity. Right. The family that's stealing my wedding.
Another text, this one from Patricia: "Emma, sweetie, I know you're upset. But Victoria is DYING. Surely you can be gracious about this. Call me when you're ready to discuss things like an adult."
My fingers hover over the keyboard. I want to type back. Want to scream at them through the phone. But what's the point?
They've already decided. Alexander made his choice. Dad and Patricia support it. Victoria gets everything.
Like always.
I'm about to put the phone down when it rings again. Same unknown number.
I answer this time. "Hello?"
"You didn't call back." The man's voice is smooth. Confident. "I thought you would."
"Who are you?"
"I told you. Damien Cross."
"That doesn't answer my question. Who are you and how do you know about tonight?"
"I know a lot of things, Emma. I know Alexander Kane just destroyed your life. I know Victoria Chen is lying about being terminal. I know your family is planning to steal your inheritance. And I know you're sitting on your bedroom floor right now, looking at your wedding dress and wondering how your life fell apart in one night."
Ice runs down my spine. "Are you watching me? How do you—"
"I'm not watching you. I'm guessing. Because I've been where you are." His voice softens slightly. "Rock bottom. Betrayed by people you loved. Wondering if you're the problem. Wondering if you deserved it."
"I don't know you."
"Not yet. But you will." He pauses. "Emma, I'm offering you a way out. A way to rebuild. A way to make them regret what they did."
"Why would you help me? You don't even know me."
"Let's just say the Kane family and I have history. Bad history. And helping you hurts them. That's reason enough."
Something about his voice makes me want to trust him. But I've trusted people before. Look where that got me.
"I need to think about this."
"You have until morning. Then my offer expires." The line goes quiet for a moment. "Emma, when they come for your inheritance tomorrow—and they will—you'll have two choices. Let them take everything, or call me back. Your choice."
He hangs up.
I sit there in the dark, my heart pounding.
When they come for your inheritance tomorrow.
The words echo in my head.
I look at Victoria's text again: "Dad and I talked. He agrees you've been selfish lately. He's going to have a conversation with you about your inheritance trust fund."
They're not just taking my wedding. They're taking my mother's money too.
The trust fund Mom set up before she died. The one that's supposed to be mine when I turn thirty. That's in three years. Three years and I get $500,000—money Mom saved her whole life to give me.
They can't touch that. It's legally mine.
Can they?
My phone rings again. Not the unknown number. This time it's Patricia.
I consider not answering. But part of me wants to hear what excuse she'll give. What lie she'll tell.
I answer. "Hello."
"Emma, sweetheart." Patricia's voice drips fake concern. "I know tonight has been difficult for you."
"Difficult?" I laugh bitterly. "That's one way to describe it."
"I understand you're upset, but—"
"Do you? Do you understand that my fiancé just left me the day before our wedding to marry your daughter?"
"Emma, Victoria is DYING." Patricia's voice hardens. "She has six months to live. Six months! Can't you be gracious enough to give her this one thing?"
"Gracious? I've been gracious my whole life! I was gracious when you moved into my mother's house. Gracious when Victoria got the bigger bedroom. Gracious when Dad paid for her college but made me work for mine. How much more gracious do I need to be?"
"This is exactly the selfishness your father and I have been concerned about." Patricia's voice turns cold now. All pretense of sweetness gone. "Victoria is your sister. She's dying. And all you can think about is yourself."
"She's not my sister. And she's not dying."
Silence on the other end.
"Excuse me?" Patricia's voice is sharp now.
I shouldn't have said that. But I'm tired. So tired of lying. Of being quiet. Of being the good girl who accepts everything.
"I saw her medical records last week. At Dad's office. The report said 'manageable condition' and 'normal life expectancy.' Not terminal. Not dying."
More silence.
Then Patricia laughs. Actually laughs.
"Oh, Emma. Sweet, naive Emma. You saw an old report. From before the new tests came back. The ones that showed how serious it really is." Her voice sounds almost pitying now. "Victoria didn't want to worry anyone, so she kept the old paperwork around. But the new diagnosis is clear. Terminal. Six months."
She's lying. I know she's lying. But she sounds so convincing.
"I don't believe you."
"Believe what you want. It doesn't change reality." Patricia sighs dramatically. "Your father and I have been discussing your situation. Your inheritance situation."
Here it comes.
"What about it?"
"Victoria will need expensive medical care. Treatments, medications, hospice eventually. Your mother's trust fund could help pay for that."
"That money is mine. Mom left it to me."
"Actually, your father is the executor of that trust until you turn thirty. He has the legal right to redistribute funds if he deems it necessary." Patricia pauses. "And he's decided Victoria's medical care is necessary. More necessary than giving you money you don't really need. You're young. Healthy. You can work. Victoria can't."
My vision blurs with tears. "You can't do this."
"We can. We are. Your father is filing the paperwork tomorrow." Patricia's voice softens again, fake kindness returning. "Don't make this ugly, Emma. Accept this with grace. Show us you're the good person we raised you to be."
"You didn't raise me. My mother raised me. And she's dead."
"Yes. She is. And she'd be ashamed of how selfish you're being right now."
The words hit like a slap.
"I have to go," I whisper.
"We'll talk more tomorrow. After the wedding. After you've had time to calm down and think clearly." Patricia pauses. "Oh, and Emma? Don't bother coming to the ceremony. Victoria thinks it would be too awkward. I'm sure you understand."
She hangs up.
I sit there, phone in my hand, unable to move.
They're taking everything. My wedding. My fiancé. My inheritance. Even my mother's memory.
And they're making me the villain for being upset about it.
My phone buzzes. Text from Dad: "Patricia told me about your conversation. Very disappointed in your attitude, Emma. We'll discuss your trust fund situation tomorrow. Please be reasonable about this."
Another text from Victoria: "I heard you're upset about the money. Emma, I'm DYING. Doesn't that mean anything to you? I need that money more than you do. Please don't fight Dad on this. Please just let me have this one thing. I don't have much time left."
I stare at the messages.
Then I open my contacts and find that unknown number from earlier.
Damien Cross.
My finger hovers over the call button.
If I call him, everything changes. There's no going back.
But if I don't call him, I lose everything anyway.
I think about my mother. What would she want me to do?
Mom was strong. She built her own company. She never let anyone push her around. She taught me to stand up for myself.
But she also taught me to be kind. To be forgiving. To be the bigger person.
Which lesson applies here?
I look at my wedding dress one more time. All those hours of work. All that hope. All those dreams.
Tomorrow, Victoria wears it.
Tomorrow, Victoria marries Alexander.
Tomorrow, Victoria becomes the bride.
And I become nothing.
I press call.
The phone rings once. Twice.
"Emma." Damien Cross answers on the third ring. His voice sounds satisfied. Like he knew I'd call. "I'm glad you made the smart choice."
"I don't know if it's smart. But it's the only choice I have left."
"Sometimes those are the same thing." I hear rustling on his end. "I'm sending a car for you. Be ready in thirty minutes."
"A car? Where are we going?"
"Away from there. Bring what you need. Leave everything else behind."
"I can't just leave—"
"Yes, you can. Emma, they're taking your wedding, your money, and your dignity. The only thing you have left is the choice to walk away. So walk. Walk now, before they take that from you too."
He's right. I know he's right.
But it's still terrifying.
"How do I know I can trust you?"
"You don't." Damien's voice is honest. "But you know you can't trust them. So really, what do you have to lose?"
Everything. Nothing. Both answers are true.
"Thirty minutes," I whisper.
"Twenty-nine now." He pauses. "Emma? Bring your wedding dress."
"Why?"
"Because when you're ready to face them again, I want you wearing something that reminds you of everything they tried to take."
The line goes dead.
I stand up, legs shaking.
I have twenty-eight minutes to pack my life into a suitcase and disappear with a stranger who promises revenge.
This is insane.
This is dangerous.
This is the worst idea I've ever had.
I grab my suitcase and start packing.