Chapter 3

After leaving Thea's place, Emma went to the office to put in some overtime. She had just finished dealing with a news report about a property dispute involving Castro Group when Carl Duffy, her childhood friend, called. "Hey, guess where I am?" Carl's cheerful voice rang through the phone, the background music so loud it nearly deafened him. They had been inseparable since childhood, their bond strong and unwavering. Hearing his voice lifted her spirits, which had felt heavy for days. Emma smiled. "I wish I could be like you—always out there having fun, carefree." "Oh, please. As if you couldn't join in whenever you wanted," Carl shot back. He grumbled, "Every time I try to make plans with you, it's always, 'I've got work.' You act like Castro Group owns you. Even Frank, the CEO, isn't as busy as you! I practically need to make an appointment just to see you." Emma laughed at his playful complaints, but then her thoughts shifted. She was about to leave the country for her studies, and her chances to see Carl would soon be few. Maybe tonight was the night to meet up with him. But then she hesitated—he sounded like he was at a bar. Frank didn't like her going to bars. Back then, when she finished high school, her classmates had gone out for a farewell dinner and ended up at a bar afterward. Emma had gotten blackout drunk, nearly ending up in a bad situation, but Frank showed up with help just in time. The consequences could've been disastrous if he hadn't. Ever since then, he had made it clear—no nightclubs, no bars. If he found out she went to one tonight, would he care? Emma scoffed at herself. He probably didn't care about her anymore, so why was she still holding on? Brushing the thought aside, she asked, "Where are you? I'll come meet you now." Carl seemed to have caught wind of something extraordinary and laughed loudly as he exclaimed, "Ms. Dyer, at a bar? I must be dreaming! You've got a deal! I'll be at Velvet Lounge. Don't you dare stand me up!" "Alright, Chatty," Emma teased with a chuckle, hanging up the phone before getting a cab to Velvet Lounge. On the way, she stopped at a nearby mall to change out of her stiff, professional outfit into something more fitting for a bar. When she stepped into view wearing an off-shoulder mini-dress, Carl froze, stunned. "Good lord," he finally managed, propping his chin in his hand with an exaggerated flair. "I haven't seen you wear something like that in forever! What's going on? Late-onset rebellion? Finally breaking free from Frank's old-fashioned rules?" Carl had been there during the bar incident. Frank had blamed him and complained to his family, causing him to be grounded for the whole summer. Just thinking about it sent a chill down Carl's spine. Emma felt a pang in her chest but shrugged it off. "He can't control me anymore." Carl smirked. "Is that so?" He had known her since they were kids, back when she had followed after Frank like she couldn't be more than a step behind him. "Why would I lie?" Emma shot him a playful glare, pouring herself a drink and sliding into the booth. Tipping her glass back, she added, "He doesn't care about me anymore. But it's fine, since I'm going abroad soon. He won't be able to meddle even if he wants to." Carl didn't pick up on the shift in her tone, latching instead onto something else entirely. "Wait, what? You're going abroad?" His face lit up with surprise. "Didn't you always want to stay and work at Castro Group? Why the sudden change?" Frank was getting married, and it broke her heart—simple as that. She was tired of lying to herself and tired of clinging shamelessly, so she had made up her mind to cut ties for good. Afraid she'd waver, she decided to leave this place that held so much pain. Yet she couldn't bring herself to tell Carl any of it. She knew him too well. If she told him the truth, he'd take her side without hesitation and go straight to Frank, which was the last thing she wanted. She took a sip and said casually, "It's nothing. Eastside University made me a great offer, and my parents and I think it's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. After weighing everything, I decided continuing my studies was the best choice." "I agree," Carl said, raising his glass to clink against hers. "That crappy director job at Castro Group? Let someone else have it." He added, "You're too smart to waste away there. Go study, win some fancy literary award, and let me show it off on Instagram." Emma laughed, clinking her glass with his before downing the rest of her drink. "I'll hold you to that!" The two kept chatting, their energy picking up as the night went on. Before long, they had finished off two bottles of liquor. Emma stood up and swayed slightly, a hiccup escaping her lips. "I… I need to… Uh, go to the restroom." "Let me help you!" Carl slurred, just as tipsy. He threw an arm around her shoulders as they stumbled toward the restroom together. They staggered along, laughing and shouting, completely oblivious to the icy gaze tracking them from the VIP section on the second floor. Frank leaned on the railing, his glass in hand and his eyes narrowed as he looked down at them, his expression dark. He didn't even notice how tightly he was gripping the glass, causing his knuckles to turn white from the pressure. Beside him, his business associate, Adam Abbott, caught sight of his stormy demeanor and immediately tensed, worrying he had said something to set him off. Adam ventured cautiously, "Mr. Castro, about that contract…" "Call him. Set up another time to discuss it at the office," Frank replied curtly, handing over his secretary's business card. He set his glass down on the table and turned to leave. Adam quickly followed, hesitant. "Mr. Castro, where are you going in such a hurry? Something wrong? Can I help with anything?" "No." Frank strode downstairs in just a couple of steps, his voice like ice. "A kid at home is acting out. I'll handle it myself. Don't follow me." Adam froze at the chilling tone, nodding quickly and not daring to press further. As he watched Frank's imposing figure disappear, confusion crossed his face. A kid from the Castro family? Since when? He had never heard of such a thing. The path to the restroom led through a dim, narrow corridor, and Emma and Carl stumbled along, barely making progress as they teetered in the middle of the hallway. Frank's expression darkened when he saw Carl's hand resting on Emma's waist. He quickly strode forward, grabbed Carl's wrist, and yanked him back with force, tossing him aside. In one swift motion, his other hand grabbed Emma's shoulder, pulling her into his arms. Carl, still dazed, hit the floor with a thud. Groggily, he looked up and shouted, "Who? Who threw me down? Show yourself!" Emma, still woozy, reached out blindly, grabbing Frank's collar and yelling, "I'll hold him for you! Anyone who messes with my best friend, I'll—" The rest of her words caught in her throat, trapped somewhere between a gasp and a choke. She froze, wide-eyed, staring at the man holding her— the same one whose collar she was clutching. His profile was striking. His Adam's apple was shifting with restrained anger while his dark eyes glared down at her with barely contained fury. It was Frank. She quickly let go, instinctively straightening up. Frank frowned, gritting his teeth as he asked, "What are you two doing here?" Carl jolted sober at the sight of Frank, scrambling to his feet and offering a nervous grin. "Mr. Castro, we were just hanging out and having some fun. I swear!" "Does your dad know you're here?" Frank's gaze was pinned on him, his tone cutting. "No! Please, Mr. Castro, don't tell my dad!" Carl clasped his hands together in a desperate plea. "Get lost," Frank warned, his tone sharp. "If I see you here again, you won't be stepping outside your house again."