Chapter 4 Don't Do It At My Place

Verena's hand struck Nicola with a force that left her own heart racing with regret.

The sound of the slap reverberated, sending a shock through Emma's body.

As Emma looked at Nicola's reddened cheek and the tears cascading down, her sympathy surged.

She reached for the door, intent on intervening, but stopped as Verena pulled Nicola into a consoling embrace.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. It was wrong of me to lose control like that," Verena murmured, her voice thick with remorse. Her shoulders shook as she fought back tears of her own.

Nicola, overwhelmed, wept quietly, hiding her face from view.

Emma recalled that this was the first instance of Verena ever raising her hand against Nicola, who she had always protected lovingly.

Silently, Emma let go of the door, deciding against entering the hospital room, and turned to head for the elevator, her steps heavy.

Bound by the unresolved divorce, she resigned herself to gather her belongings and head back to Jenner Mansion.

Arriving at the mansion, she stared through the car window at the home aglow with lights, her feelings a tangled mess.

She lingered in the car briefly before unlatching her seatbelt and stepping out.

Harold Lambert, the butler, approached with two maids, his expression one of formality.

"Mrs. Irene Jenner wishes to see you. She has matters to discuss," Harold conveyed, leading the way.

Emma nodded and trailed behind him to the small garden in the backyard, where Ricky's grandmother, Irene Jenner, awaited.

Despite approaching eighty, Irene remained remarkably spry. Her love for gardening was well-known, and Ricky had thoughtfully built a greenhouse in the backyard-a sanctuary where she spent much of her time tending to her beloved plants.

In the serene twilight, Irene sat in her rocking chair, a steaming cup of tea in hand. Spotting Emma, she smiled warmly and waved her over. "Emma, dear, join me."

Emma quickened her steps, calling out with a smile, "Irene."

Irene clasped Emma's hand warmly, motioning for her to sit beside her.

As Emma eased into a rocking chair nearby, Irene's hand rested lightly on hers, her gaze filled with fondness.

"You've been gone so long. I thought you'd be back ages ago, but you only got back today," she said with a soft sigh.

The casual remark made it clear Irene was unaware of Emma's departure from the mansion after signing the divorce papers. Emma masked the truth with a polite smile. "Some last-minute work came up. It delayed me a bit."

Irene leaned in slightly, her tone growing earnest. "Emma, you've been married to Ricky for two years. Don't you think it's time to start thinking about a child?"

"Well..." Emma hesitated, her voice faltering.

Irene pressed on, her expression hopeful, "I understand you're both young and busy with your careers, but I'm not getting any younger. Having a great-grandchild would mean so much to me. Please, think about it, dear."

Emma gave a noncommittal nod, hiding the helplessness that gnawed at her.

Two years of marriage, yet Ricky had never so much as touched her in that way...

Emma lingered with Irene in the garden until nearly eleven, parting only when Irene retired to bed.

When she returned to her room, the maids had already arranged everything-her luggage unpacked, her pajamas set out, and a bath prepared-easing her transition.

She slipped out of her clothes and sank into the warm, inviting water of the tub.

The temperature was perfect, soothing her tense muscles, while her favorite lavender bath salts filled the air with their potent, calming aroma.

As the scent enveloped her, her heavy eyelids began to droop, and she drifted into a light, peaceful slumber.

Her dreams took a dark turn. She was submerged, flailing in a vast body of water, her lungs burning with the effort to breathe. Just as she was about to succumb, a firm hand yanked her out.

Emma jolted awake, disoriented by the stark brightness of the bathroom lights. Her chest heaved, and she felt a steady hand on the back of her neck.

Ricky sat at the edge of the tub, his brows drawn together in a mix of concern and irritation. It hadn't all been a dream. She had slipped under the water, and it was Ricky who had pulled her out.

"If you want to kill yourself, don't do it at my place," Ricky muttered, his voice cold as he withdrew his hand. His expression was grim as he grabbed a towel and dried his damp fingers.

Emma blinked, her breath finally steadying as her eyes took in Ricky's composed figure in his tailored suit, his demeanor as distant as ever.

He rarely set foot in her room, much less the bathroom.

"Why are you here?" she asked, her tone edged with confusion.

"This is my house," Ricky replied, his voice calm but firm as he tossed the used towel onto the counter. He handed her a fresh bath towel, his gaze steady. "Dry off and come out."

Emma blinked, unsure what had spurred this sudden interaction. After he left the bathroom, she dried herself quickly, slipped into a robe, and stepped into the bedroom.

Ricky stood by the balcony railing, a cigarette balanced between his fingers. As Emma moved to the bed, drying her damp hair with a towel, Ricky's eyes flicked over her, unbidden and lingering.

Emma's frame was delicate yet well-proportioned, her curves soft and alluring in the dim light. Her freshly bathed skin glowed with a gentle blush, her features touched by warmth from the steam. Her lips, pink and slightly parted, exuded an understated allure that was impossible to ignore.

Ricky, caught off guard by his own lingering gaze, forgot the cigarette in his hand until the burn against his skin brought him back to himself.

He extinguished it with a flick, then stepped inside the room, pulling the curtains closed with deliberate movements.

Emma paused, startled by his actions, her towel falling to her side.

He shrugged off his tie and jacket, tossing them onto a nearby chair. His attention was on her as he approached.

The faint scent of tobacco clung to him, mixing with the clean aroma of her lavender bath salts.

"What are you doing?" Emma asked, her brows furrowing in confusion.

His rare presence in her room felt foreign, his close proximity even more so.

Was he planning to stay here tonight?

"My grandma spoke to you, didn't she?" Ricky asked, his voice casual as he unfastened his cuffs with measured movements.

Emma hesitated, her throat suddenly dry.

"Yes."

"Then you know what she wants," he said simply, his expression unreadable.