The True Heiress Returns After Divorce

Emmie stood in the biting wind until her legs went numb. The front door opened, and a maid coldly told her to go inside. Emmie moved like a corpse. She walked into the opulent foyer. Two security guards stood at the base of the grand staircase, blocking the way to the second floor. Mr. Stone, the head of security, stepped into her path. "Mrs. Ellis. Until the surgery, your access is restricted to the first-floor guest room and the back gardens." Emmie didn't argue. She didn't even look at him. She turned and walked down the long hallway toward the guest wing. Halfway down the hall, Hortensia appeared. She wore a luxurious silk robe. She held a teacup in one hand, her other hand casually resting on her collarbone. A massive pink diamond necklace rested against her skin. Hortensia stopped right in front of Emmie. She ran her fingers over the diamonds. "Daxton bought this for me on the way home," Hortensia said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "To calm my nerves after you upset me." Hortensia leaned in close. The smell of her heavy perfume made Emmie sick. "Your grandfather is a useless, dying burden," Hortensia whispered maliciously. "He should just die and save us all the trouble." Emmie's eyes snapped up. The dead emptiness in them vanished, replaced by a sharp, violent rage. She raised her hand and slapped Hortensia across the face with every ounce of strength she possessed. The sharp crack echoed loudly down the hallway. Hortensia gasped, dropping her teacup. It shattered on the expensive rug, hot tea splashing everywhere. She grabbed her cheek, her eyes wide with genuine shock. "Say one more word about my family," Emmie said, her voice a low, lethal whisper, "and I will do a lot worse than that." A maid screamed from the end of the hall and ran forward. Hortensia instantly let her knees buckle, collapsing into the maid's arms, sobbing hysterically. Emmie didn't look back. She climbed the narrow iron spiral staircase leading to the rooftop greenhouse. The greenhouse was filled with the thick, calming scent of Provence lavender. Emmie had planted and cared for every single one of them because Daxton liked the smell. Emmie walked to the tool bench. She picked up a pair of heavy, iron gardening shears. She walked to the massive planter boxes. Her face was completely blank. She raised the shears and began to cut. She hacked at the thick stems. Purple flowers fell to the dirt in clumps. The violent snapping of the branches filled the glass room. The overwhelming scent of crushed lavender became a smell of pure destruction. When the planter was completely ruined, she dropped the shears. They clattered against the stone floor. She walked to a wicker chair in the corner and sat down. Her hands were shaking. She pulled the thick envelope onto her lap and reached inside. Beneath the medical records lay a thick stack of legal paper. A Divorce Agreement, drafted by the most ruthless law firm in Manhattan. On the last page, Silas Brandt had already signed his name as her guarantor. The terms were brutal. It demanded Daxton leave with nothing. Tears spilled out of Emmie's eyes, dropping onto her grandfather's signature. He had known. He had always known how much she suffered. At the very bottom of the envelope was a small, silver key and a handwritten note. The safety deposit box at UBS in Zurich holds the true Brandt trust. It is yours. Leave him. Be yourself, my little Emmie. Emmie pressed the note against her chest. The warmth of his love fought against the freezing cold in her veins. Her eyes hardened. The sorrow vanished, leaving only a cold, unbreakable resolve. She pulled a fountain pen from her coat pocket. She pulled the cap off. Without a single second of hesitation, she pressed the nib to the paper. The scratching sound of the pen cutting into the thick paper was loud in the quiet greenhouse. She signed her name. The six years of pathetic, unrequited love were officially dead.