The dinner dragged on for another hour before the elders finally moved to the heavy oak-paneled study to discuss the financial trusts for Hudson and Catalina's engagement.
Francesca used the distraction to escape the dining room.
She leaned heavily against the cold wallpaper of the hallway, her left hand pressing hard into her stomach. A layer of cold sweat coated her forehead. She needed to find a maid to get her some antacids.
Before she could take a step, the massive oak doors of the study were violently yanked open.
The heavy wood slammed against the wall with a deafening thud.
Emery stormed out into the hallway. His face was a mask of pure, terrifying fury. The air around him seemed to drop ten degrees, radiating a dark, suffocating pressure.
Hudson rushed out right behind him, a nervous, placating smile plastered on his face.
"Emery, come on, don't be so rash about this," Hudson pleaded, reaching out to grab his brother's arm.
Emery violently shoved Hudson's hand away.
"Don't think that just because you have a few shares you can do whatever the hell you want," Emery snarled, his voice vibrating with a lethal warning.
Standing just inside the study doorway, Catalina let out a soft, trembling gasp, pressing a hand to her chest as if terrified by Emery's outburst.
Arthur Kirkland stepped out, leaning heavily on his cane. He slammed the rubber tip against the marble floor.
"Emery! How dare you walk out of your brother's engagement negotiations like this!" the old man barked.
Emery didn't offer a single word of explanation. He didn't look back. His jaw was locked tight as he bypassed his family and strode directly toward the front doors of the estate.
Standing in the shadows of the hallway corner, Francesca watched the entire scene unfold.
The pain in her stomach was suddenly eclipsed by a massive, tearing sensation in her chest.
In her mind, the picture was crystal clear. Emery couldn't handle it. Sitting in that room, discussing the legal binding of the woman he loved to another man, had finally broken his iron control. He was willing to declare war on his own grandfather and brother just to protest this marriage.
Francesca let out a dry, broken laugh.
Just an hour ago, she had desperately hoped he would speak up for her over a glass of champagne. What an absolute joke she was.
She didn't follow Emery out the front. She didn't return to the study.
She turned on her heel and walked toward the side exit leading to the gardens.
Outside, the Boston sky had opened up. The first snow of the season was just beginning to fall, the icy flakes swirling lightly in the freezing wind.
Francesca didn't grab a coat. She walked out into the cold night in her thin evening gown, the snow instantly melting against her bare skin, sending violent shivers down her spine.
She pulled out her phone with numb fingers and ordered a premium private car service. Destination: the MIT physics building.
Thirty minutes later, Francesca stood in front of the heavy glass doors of the laboratory. She swiped her keycard. The light flashed green, and the door clicked open.
The lab was empty. The steady, low hum of the data servers and the harsh, clinical glow of the fluorescent lights washed over her.
For the first time in days, her lungs expanded fully. This was her sanctuary.
She kicked off her painful, restrictive high heels, her bare feet pressing against the cold anti-static floor mats.
She walked to her old workstation and booted up the monitor. She pulled up the quantum mechanics simulation she had abandoned three years ago.
The door to the inner office suddenly creaked open.
Leo Albright, her former research partner, stepped out holding a steaming paper cup of coffee. He stopped dead in his tracks.
His eyes widened as he took in Francesca's appearance-the expensive, soaked evening gown, the bare feet, the shivering frame, and the hollow look in her eyes.
Leo didn't ask questions. He immediately stripped off his oversized, worn flannel shirt and draped it over Francesca's freezing shoulders. He pressed the hot cup of coffee into her hands.
The heat from the cardboard cup seeped into her stiff joints. Francesca closed her eyes, letting out a long, shaky breath.
Leo pulled up a stool next to her. He pointed a pen at the complex equations on her screen.
"That hypothesis you left behind," Leo said casually, completely ignoring the high-society drama she was clearly fleeing from. "I think we finally found a breakthrough in the variable."
Francesca opened her eyes. She looked at the dancing numbers and formulas on the screen.
A tiny, brilliant spark ignited in the dead ashes of her eyes.
She took a sip of the bitter coffee, her spine straightening.
"Pull up the raw data, Leo," Francesca said, her voice steadier than it had been in years. "I'm running this simulation all night."
