“Emma.”
She lifted the folder carefully.
“Should we discuss unborn trust reallocations too?”
His eyes sharpened instantly.
“You read those documents?”
“Every page.”
Grant’s tone softened artificially.
Velvet covering steel.
“You shouldn’t stress yourself with complicated legal language right now.”
Emma smiled coldly.
“I graduated first in my Stanford Law class.”
“You never practiced.”
“I never needed to.”
He leaned closer lowering his voice.
“We’re going home.”
“No.”
“You’re embarrassing yourself.”
Emma held his gaze steadily.
“Actually, you embarrassed yourself when you brought your mistress into a theater owned by your pregnant wife.”
Grant blinked.
“Owned by your what?”
Emma watched realization strike him slowly.
The building.
The company transfer.
April Lantern LLC.
Everything aligning suddenly inside his head.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “Crestview belongs to me now.”
For the first time all evening, Grant Whitmore looked genuinely unsettled.
Then the theater doors opened again.
The woman in the scarlet dress stepped into the lobby gracefully before freezing completely at the sight of Emma standing beside Grant.
Emma studied her calmly.
Beautiful.
Young.
Carefully polished.
And suddenly nervous.
“Grant?” she asked quietly.
Emma answered first.
“You must be Vanessa Vale.”
Vanessa straightened automatically.
“And you’re Emma.”
Grant avoided looking directly at her.
That detail told Emma almost everything.
Because powerful men revealed priorities instantly during crisis.
And Grant already viewed Vanessa as expendable.
Emma tilted her head slightly.
“Did Grant tell you he was asking me to sign away inheritance protections connected to our daughter?”
Vanessa frowned immediately.
“He said your marriage was already over.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Grant cut sharply across the conversation.
“Do not speak to her.”
Emma looked toward him slowly.
“Interesting. You involved her in my marriage, my theater, and apparently my daughter’s financial future. But now conversation becomes inappropriate?”
Vanessa’s cheeks flushed immediately.
“He told me you were unstable during pregnancy.”
Emma nodded faintly.
There it was.
Exactly predictable.
