She said that and pulled out her phone, ready to transfer money to me.
But right then, Liam Hayes’s call came in. Almost instantly, Emma Brooks accepted it.
“Emma… I feel awful. Can you come keep me company… please?”
Liam’s slurred voice oozed from the speaker.
Emma panicked.
Still in her patient gown, she jumped off the bed.
I stepped in front of her.
“You said you were going to make it up to me.”
She shot me a look filled with disgust.
“Money, money, money—do you ever think about anything else? Didn’t you hear Liam? He’s drunk! What if something happens to him?”
She sneered.
“You clearly haven’t passed my test yet. You’re still after my family’s money. The vetting continues.”
With that, she stormed out of the private hospital suite.
I watched her run off and dialed a number I hadn’t touched in a long time.
Emma Brooks—why do you think I can’t live without you?
Why do you think I must care about your ridiculous test?
After hanging up, I went back to the Downtown LA luxury high-rise apartment we shared.
It was a spacious flat—over two thousand square feet—with a monthly rent of $8,000.
Before Emma’s bankruptcy, I had been living in my own three-bedroom condo.
But when her accounts were frozen, I sold it to help pay off the so-called debt she owed.
I had suggested we downsize to a two-bedroom so we could save money for her treatment.
But she insisted on this luxury place instead.
She said cramped housing would worsen her mood—and her “condition.”
I knew she was raised like royalty, so I gritted my teeth and signed the lease.
I had only been home a few minutes when the door opened.
Emma walked in, practically carrying Liam, who was completely drunk.
Seeing me staring at them, annoyance flashed across her face.
“What are you standing there for? Come help!”
I almost laughed out loud.
“Emma Brooks, what is this? You’re not even pretending anymore? Now you’re bringing him home to our place?”
“What are you jealous about? He’s drunk, can’t you tell? You know how to make hangover soup—go make him one.”
She eased Liam onto the couch.
He clung to her waist, burying his face against her chest like some spoiled puppy.
“Emma… don’t bother Ethan Carter. It’s late… he worked all day. I’ll be fine… as long as you’re right here…”
I continued to stare coldly at them.
Emma’s expression darkened.
“Is it really that hard to make hangover soup for him? How do you expect to pass the Carter Family’s social vetting acting this petty?”
I let out a low laugh.
“Emma Brooks, why would you think I still want to marry you?”
She froze—then suddenly laughed.
“Jealousy is unbecoming, Ethan. If you didn’t want to be with me, why did you follow me around like a loyal dog?
Why did you sell your home to pay my debts?
Why did you work four gig jobs a day just to cover my medical bills?
Everything you’ve done is because you want to be with me. To marry me.”
