Emery’s POV
I hear my daughter's cries from the floor below.
The sound pierces through walls and distance, cutting straight into my chest with the precision of a blade. I'm moving before I consciously decide to, abandoning the event coordinator mid-sentence, my feet carrying me toward the stairs at a pace that feels too slow despite the burning in my lungs.
I take the stairs two at a time, heart pounding against my ribs. Each wail from Elsie drives me faster, harder, until I'm practically flying through the corridor toward the nursery wing.
When I round the corner, I freeze.
Harmony stands with her back pressed against the wall outside the nursery door, Elsie clutched tight against her shoulder. My daughter's face is red and streaked with tears, her tiny body shuddering with distressed sobs that haven't yet quieted.
And standing over them like a tribunal passing judgment is Portia, her spine rigid with fury.
"You will learn your place in this household," Portia is saying, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "When a member of this family gives you an instruction, you follow it. This isn't open to interpretation."
Marian hovers nearby, her expression arranged into wounded innocence—the picture of a woman wrongfully accused, unjustly treated. Her white dress catches the light from the windows, making her look almost angelic.
Lily watches from the periphery with undisguised satisfaction, her arms crossed, her smile barely contained.
I don't hesitate.
My body moves on instinct, placing itself between Harmony and the wall of hostility facing her. My voice comes out steadier than I feel, cutting through the chaos like a blade.
"What is happening here?"
Portia's eyes narrow. "This doesn't concern you, Emery."
"My daughter is crying." I hold my ground, feeling Harmony's relieved exhale against my back. "Everything about this concerns me."
"Your employee overstepped." Portia gestures dismissively toward Harmony. "She refused a simple request from Marian, treated a guest of this household like a criminal—"
"Harmony followed my explicit instructions." I keep my voice level, but the steel beneath it is unmistakable. "No one enters the nursery without my permission. No one."
The words echo in the corridor. I'm aware of movement at the edges of my vision—staff members who've appeared at doorways, drawn by the commotion, witnessing everything.
Good. Let them witness.
I turn to face Marian directly, holding her gaze with cold precision. "Why were you attempting to access my daughter without consent?"
Marian's wounded expression flickers. "I was simply trying to say hello. To spend a moment with her." Her voice catches, perfectly performed. "I've known this family my entire life. I didn't realize showing affection to a child would be treated as a crime."
"Affection is earned." The words come out quiet, deadly. "Not assumed. And you, Marian, have earned nothing."
Her mask slips. For just a second, I see the fury beneath—the calculation, the thwarted ambition. Then she recovers, pressing a hand to her chest as though I've wounded her.
Portia steps forward, drawing herself to full height. "This is absurd. I will not have my household disrupted by paranoid accusations and servant insubordination." Her gaze cuts to Harmony. "You're dismissed. Effective immediately."
"No."
The word rings out before Portia can continue. I step closer to my mother-in-law, close enough to see the surprise flicker across her features.
"You will not dismiss her."
"This is my house, Emery. My name on the deed. I decide who—"
"Then let me be absolutely clear." I pitch my voice to carry—loud enough for every servant within earshot to hear, every witness lingering in doorways and around corners. "If Harmony leaves this house, I leave with her. And I take Elsie."
The silence that follows is absolute.
I watch Portia process my words, watch the calculation happen behind her eyes. She's weighing options, measuring consequences, determining whether I'm bluffing.
I'm not.
"You wouldn't dare," she says quietly.
"Try me."
The standoff stretches. Behind me, Elsie's cries have softened to exhausted whimpers against Harmony's shoulder, her small body finally beginning to calm. The only sound in the corridor is my daughter's ragged breathing and the thundering of my own pulse.
Then Portia smiles.
It's thin. Dangerous. The expression of a predator recognizing worthy prey.
"Very well." She smooths her jacket with deliberate care. "The girl may stay. But I suggest you remember, Emery, that generosity has its limits."
She turns and walks down the corridor without another word. Lily exchanges a glance with Marian—something passes between them, some silent communication I can't decode—before they follow.
Harmony shifts behind me. "Emery, I should take Elsie—"
"Yes." I turn to her, reaching out to brush my daughter's tear-stained cheek. "Go. Get her settled. I'll be there soon."
Harmony nods, her eyes carrying gratitude she doesn't voice, and disappears into the nursery with Elsie pressed safe against her heart.
I stand alone in the corridor.
The adrenaline that carried me through the confrontation begins to drain away, leaving tremors in its wake. My hands shake at my sides. My knees feel unsteady, threatening to buckle.
I won. But victory tastes like ash in my mouth.
Footsteps sound behind me. Heavy. Familiar. I know who it is before I turn around.
Landon appears at the top of the stairs, his face tight with concern. He takes in the empty corridor, the closed nursery door, the way I'm bracing myself against the wall.
"What happened?" His voice carries the urgency of someone who's heard fragments and feared worse. "I was told there was shouting. That Elsie was crying."
I meet his eyes across the distance between us.
"Your mother just learned something important," I say quietly.
"What?"
"That I cannot be bought." I feel the truth of it settle into my bones. "That my daughter is not a bargaining chip. And that I will burn this entire house to the ground before I let anyone take her from me."
He doesn't respond with words.
He crosses to me in three strides and pulls me into his arms, wrapping himself around me like a shield, like a promise, like the only solid thing in a world that keeps shifting beneath my feet.
I let him hold me.
My trembling slows. My racing heart begins to settle. And somewhere behind the nursery door, I hear Harmony's voice, soft and soothing, singing our daughter to sleep.