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We met at a secluded cafe. She looked haggard, eyes puffy.
"He dumped me," she said bluntly, voice trembling.
"Once he realized I couldn't help him destroy you guys, he cut me off completely."
I looked at her, feeling a conflicted sense of pity.
"Chloe, I'm sorry."
She gave a bitter laugh. "Don't be. I deserved it." She turned to Nathan.
"But I have something you need. Brandon is planning to frame you for insider trading. He's forged documents, ready to submit to the SEC next week."
Nathan's face went grim.
"Proof?"
She pulled out a phone. "I have recordings of our conversations. He explains the plan in detail."
I stared at her in disbelief.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because when I needed him, he chose his family name over me," she said bitterly.
"Just like he always chose other things over you."
She slid the phone across the table. "Take it. Consider it my apology."
Nathan took the phone, scrutinizing her.
"What do you want in return?"
"Nothing," she whispered. "Just... I hope you guys are happy. Maybe prove that real love actually exists."
She stood up to leave but paused at the door, looking back at me.
"Be careful, Emily. Brandon won't give up easily. He sees this as personal now."
After she left, I turned to Nathan. "Can we trust her?"
He checked the recordings on the phone. "This seems authentic. But we need to verify it."
His expression told me that even with this evidence, we had only won a battle, not the war.
That night, Nathan worked late in the study, verifying Chloe's evidence.
I brought him coffee, standing in the doorway watching his focused profile.
"Any progress?" I asked.
He looked up, a tired smile forming.
"Enough to make Brandon back off for a while. But not enough to end this permanently."
I walked into the room, standing beside him.
"Thank you for doing everything to protect us."
He took my hand.
"You don't need to thank me, Emily. Protecting you is my privilege."
His touch made my heart race. In the soft light, the affection in his eyes was so obvious, so real.
"Nathan..." I whispered.
"Hmm?" His voice dropped an octave.
"I want to make this marriage real."
He froze, searching my face. "Are you sure?"
For an answer, I leaned down and kissed him.
The kiss started gentle, tentative, but quickly turned heated.
Six years of longing were evident in his touch, and when he pulled me onto his lap, I felt the tremor in his arms.
"Emily," he gasped, "We don't have to—"
"I want to," I interrupted, undoing the top button of his shirt.
"I want you. Now."
The last shred of restraint vanished from his eyes.
