The New Emily Hills

NORA Two weeks had passed, and now I sat inside Rod's former office as the newly appointed CEO of Hills Pharma. The title was no longer ceremonial. I had officially taken over Rod Hills' position, authority, and name. "Ma'am, this is the financial report from the past couple of years," Matt said respectfully as he placed several thick folders on my office table. I glanced at the neatly stacked documents, then gave him a brief nod before lifting my hand-my silent signal that he was dismissed. I had always been like that. Back then, a single nod to Dante was enough for him to understand exactly what needed to be done. No words. No explanations. Matt exited without another sound, and once the door closed completely, I straightened in my chair and pulled the folders toward me. I may not have been knowledgeable about pharmaceuticals, but when it came to running a business, I never fell behind. My organization owned several legal enterprises-fronts, some would call them-and I never needed to show my face. I ran everything from the shadows, with people placed carefully in front to deal with clients, negotiations, and transactions. Clean on the surface. Untouchable underneath. As I went through the financial reports, one thing became clear-Rod Hills had managed the company well. The numbers were solid, the growth steady, and the expenditures reasonable. This was the first thing I wanted to examine. I needed to know the true nature of the Hills couple. For all I knew, they could have been hiding illegal activities beneath their respectable image. I wasn't a saint. I never claimed to be. But I believed that if a company was legal, it should remain so. There was no need to risk contaminating it. It was always wiser to keep clean businesses intact because, when the time came, they would be the ones to save you. It didn't take long for me to fully understand Hills Pharma's current financial standing. But I know I still need to look into other aspects of the company's cash flow. Why is Hills Pharma declining despite Rod's proper management? It only means that there's another matter I need to look into. I moved on to what interested me next-the company's origins. I pressed the intercom and relayed my request to Matt. "Right away, Ma'am," he replied promptly. A few minutes later, he returned with additional documents, which I immediately examined. I couldn't deny my mild sense of admiration-Rod Hills had started from nothing. Hills Pharma was established shortly after Rod returned from abroad. Esmeralda had already been by his side back then. Rod was once a pharmacist who later became a pharmaceutical chemist. He had devoted his entire life to this company-his time, his intellect, his ambition. This wasn't just a business to him. It was his legacy. And throughout, Esmeralda was with him. Supporting him. I was nearly finished reading when a knock echoed through the room. "Come in," I said without lifting my gaze from the document. I waited for the door to close, aware that the person was already standing in front of my desk. "Speak." "Is that how you treat a guest?" At the sound of that voice, my brow arched slowly as I finally looked up. "All I see is trash," I replied coldly. "Emily!" Asher shouted. Of all the things I hated, being shouted at by a man who held no significance in my life ranked at the top. "I don't remember what you did to me," I said calmly, my voice eerily steady. "But one thing is certain-I don't like you. I don't like seeing your face. And I especially despise men who climb out of poverty by clinging to a woman's generosity." Asher froze, his eyes locked onto mine as if he were staring at a stranger. "W-What did you just say?" he stammered. "Oh, did I stutter?" I leaned back against my chair, completely at ease. "Would you like me to repeat it?" His hands clenched at his sides. I could see the restrained anger, mixed with something else-shock, perhaps fear. But whatever it was, I had no interest in it. "I came here to take you with me," he said through gritted teeth. "We're going to stop the divorce proceedings. And now you're saying those things to me?" "And why exactly should I cancel the divorce?" I scoffed. "What do you take me for-a fool? I must have been insane when I begged my parents to help your family. But I'm no longer insane enough to take back a divorce that you were the one who offered." "Emily Bennett!" he yelled. My eyes narrowed. If I could, I would have snapped his neck without hesitation. But I couldn't. Because I was Emily Hills now-not Nora Dumont. And this body... I still needed it. "Emily Hills. That is my name now." My voice was calm, lethal in its certainty. "I have nothing to do with your family anymore. Whatever help the Hills extended to you, consider it charity. A donation from me to your entire bloodline." "What-" I didn't give him the chance to finish. "Now get out," I said coldly, already lowering my gaze back to the documents on my desk. "Before I call security and have you dragged out of this building." I felt Asher remain standing for a few seconds longer, as if hoping I would look at him again. I didn't. Moments later, I heard his footsteps retreat toward the door, followed by the soft click of the door closing behind him. I never looked up. I wasn't Emily-the woman who let her heart dictate her decisions. And I was certainly not as foolish as she had been. Was he insane? After I told the Hills couple that Asher himself had admitted to filing for divorce, they became more determined than ever to keep him away from me. That was the reason they insisted I stay at their home after I was discharged from the hospital. I returned my focus to my work. I needed to understand how this company functioned-from the inside out. As Emily Hills, I had a responsibility. I needed to protect what was mine now. Before lunchtime, I had finished reviewing everything I needed. My head throbbed faintly, but it was worth it. I called Matt and instructed him to clear my desk. "I'm going out for lunch," I said. He nodded without question, and I walked out of my office with steady, unhurried steps. I already knew where I was going. Once inside my car, I drove straight to my favorite restaurant-the one I frequented as Nora Dumont. As soon as I entered, I was greeted by the warm smile of a waitress. The staff had always been accommodating. Professional. Polished. "Do you have a reservation, Ma'am?" she asked politely. "No." The woman hesitated. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, but you'll need a reservation first." I already knew that. I was just testing the waters. This restaurant catered to the wealthy. To people like Nora Dumont. The Emily Hills standing in front of the waitress now looked nothing like their usual clientele. I took a deep breath. I couldn't rely on intimidation here-they didn't know who I was. "I'm really hungry," I said softly, deliberately gentling my voice. "This was the first restaurant I saw while driving. I just want to eat." "I'm really sorry, Ma'am," she replied apologetically. "But we do have rules." I didn't argue. I was about to turn away, shoulders lowered in resignation, when a voice cut through the moment. "Just let her in. She said she's hungry." I turned to see a man who looked every bit respectable. He was dressed in a crisp white business suit, a black necktie perfectly matched with his polished shoes. His presence commanded attention without effort. I didn't recognize him. And I was certain I had never seen him here-not even back when I was a regular. "But Mr. Ashworth, according to-" the waitress began. "It's fine," the man interrupted smoothly. "I'll speak with Mr. Moss." "O-Okay, sir." The waitress then turned back to me. "Please follow me, Ma'am." I nodded. But before I did, I glanced once more at the man she had addressed as Mr. Ashworth. "Thank you," I said flatly-no smile, no emotion. I noticed the slight smirk that tugged at his lips before I turned away and followed the other waitress. Mentally, I made a note to look into him later. As I walked, my thoughts lingered on Mr. Ashworth-and on how effortlessly he had stepped into the situation. Did he know Emily? And if he did... wouldn't he find my behavior strange? I pushed the thought aside. If necessary, I could always claim amnesia. After all, that excuse covered everything. For now, food came first. I would think about them later.