The morning Emily resumed school felt heavier than any school day had a right to be. She stood before the mirror, tying her hair with steady hands while her thoughts churned in quiet circles.
The girl staring back wasn't the Emily the world remembered.
She wasn't the weak one.
Not the pushover.
Not the girl Stephanie tormented, or the one Benjamin looked down on.
But she had to pretend to be that Emily.
At least for now.
Her phone buzzed once a message from Timothy.
"The driver will drive you to school."
Short. Direct. As usual.
Emily couldn't help the tiny smile tugging her mouth. Ever since the night she'd drunk herself into childish chaos and curled into his chest like a spoiled kitten, he'd been watching her differently.
Not suspiciously.
Attentively.
Protectively.
Possessively, in a way that made her pulse flicker beneath her skin.
When she entered the dining room, Timothy was already there, sleeves rolled up, reading through documents while waiting for her. His eyes flicked up the moment she stepped in.
"You're leaving early," he said.
"You sent the car."
"That doesn't mean you can skip breakfast."
Emily blinked. "Are you… forcing me to eat?"
"Yes."
Her eyebrows lifted. "Why?"
"You faint if you don't."
There was no teasing in his voice.
No coldness either.
She sat. "I didn't know you cared so much."
Timothy's fork paused.
A heartbeat of silence.
"You're my wife," he said finally. "I take responsibility for what's mine."
Mine.
The word slid into her stomach, warm and heavy.
They ate mostly in silence, but something in the air had shifted. Timothy kept glancing at her — not intrusively, not accusingly just… studying. Like she was a difficult equation he couldn't yet solve.
When she stood to leave, he did too, almost automatically.
"The driver will take you to school," he repeated.
Emily hesitated. "You don't have to hover."
"I'm not hovering."
"You are."
He stepped closer, crowding her personal space without touching her.
"Emily," he murmured, "something happened the night you got drunk. And I don't know what it was. But until I figure out what's going on with you…"
His eyes lowered, lingering on her lips for a fraction of a breath.
"…I'll be close."
Her pulse skittered.
He stepped back first, giving her the space she suddenly needed to breathe
The school gates were crowded as always, but Emily saw the shift the moment she walked in. Whispers followed her like a breeze. Curious stares. Some mocking. Some wary.
Everyone remembered the "old" Emily.
Clingy. Pathetic. Weak.
But the girl walking through the halls now was upright, composed, eyes sharp enough to quiet an entire hallway without saying a word.
She felt the shift ripple through the crowd.
Her best friend, Chai Tiang, waved from across the courtyard and hurried toward her.
"You look different today," Tiang said cheerfully.
Emily lifted a brow. "Is that bad?"
"It's perfect. People don't know what to do with someone who doesn't crawl."
They walked together toward the lecture hall until someone blocked their path.
Liam.
The same boy who'd once pushed the original Emily against lockers for fun.
Cruel smile. Fake swagger.
"Look who crawled back," he sneered. "Thought you'd drop out after embarrassing the whole school. You really came back?"
Tiang stiffened. "Walk away, Liam."
"Talking to you, trash, not her."
Emily's gaze cooled instantly.
This was classic bully behavior target the weak, bark loudly, hide behind his father's money.
But he had picked the wrong girl today.
"Move," Emily said.
Liam's eyes darkened. "What did you say?"
"Move," she repeated.
The crowd held its breath.
The old Emily would have trembled and apologized.
The new one didn't even blink.
Liam grabbed her arm.
That was his last conscious mistake.
Emily twisted his wrist backward with a clean, practiced motion too fast for the average student to register, too cruelly efficient for someone raised in this world. Liam gasped as pain shot up his arm.
Emily stepped forward and drove her knee into his stomach.
He folded.
The courtyard exploded with screams.
Before he hit the ground fully, Emily hooked his collar and sent him tumbling across the pavement like discarded laundry.
He lay there groaning, face swollen, pride shattered.
The teachers arrived within minutes, dragging Liam away for medical attention and pulling Emily aside.
"Call your parents," the discipline officer snapped. "Now."
Emily stared at her phone.
Parents?
She wasn't calling Peter Smith.
She had one person she trusted in this life and it wasn't the man who'd allowed Stephanie to torment the original Emily for years and did nothing.
She dialed Timothy.
He answered immediately.
"What happened?"
"I defended myself," Emily said. "The school wants to speak with my family."
Silence.
Then:
"I'll be there in ten minutes."
Not a single question asked.
Not a single doubt in her words.
He arrived in seven.
The school's reception area went dead silent the moment Timothy walked in. His presence cut through the room like a blade tall, immaculate, cold, powerful.
Liam's parents were already inside, furious and ready to file complaints.
Until they saw Timothy.
Every word died in their throats.
The father stuttered, "M-Mr. Grant"
Timothy's eyes lowered on them like judgment. "Your son put his hands on my wife."
Their faces drained of color.
Emily watched the shift with a strange, surreal calm.
Timothy had always been distant before, polite but separate.
Now he stood beside her like a wall.
Liam's mother bowed her head instantly. "We apologize deeply. Our son's behavior was unacceptable."
"And the accusations?" Timothy asked softly. The softness was the terrifying part.
"No, no Emily did nothing wrong."
"Good."
He placed one hand on Emily's shoulder. A silent claim.
"A doctor will check his nose," Liam's father said quickly. "We'll cover the bills ourselves. Please don't misunderstand"
"I haven't," Timothy replied. "But next time your son touches her…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't need to.
Everyone in the room felt the unspoken promise.
When they left the school building, the sun had dipped lower, casting soft gold over everything.
Emily walked beside him in silence until Timothy finally spoke.
"You did well."
She blinked at him. "I beat someone up in broad daylight."
"Yes," he said.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"And he deserved worse."
She stared at him, startled then something warm and dangerous fluttered beneath her ribs.
Timothy opened the car door for her, but before she entered, he paused.
"Emily."
She looked up.
His eyes searched hers curious, protective, quietly intense.
"There's more to you than you're letting me see," he murmured. "And I intend to find out what it is."
Her breath stalled.
Because he wasn't warning her.
He was promising her.