Chapter 4

"Alright. Goodbye, Mr. Castro." Carl shot Emma an apologetic look before quickly turning and fleeing, showing no loyalty at all. After dealing with Carl, Frank lowered his gaze to Emma in his arms, his face clouded with anger. Perhaps the fury in his eyes sparked Emma's defiance, or maybe the alcohol was to blame. Either way, she suddenly felt bold. With surprising force, she shoved Frank away, her eyes blazing red as she snapped, "I've never been part of your family! What right do you have to control me?" Emma hurled back those same words at him with sharp precision. "What right?" Frank's temper flared, his voice icy as he retorted, "I'm practically your uncle!" "You're not!" He never was—not in her eyes. Emma had never wanted him to be some ridiculous uncle figure! Emma glared at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "Didn't you abandon me? So, why do you still care what I do? I don't need your fake concern!" Frank's expression darkened, his voice rough and low. "Say that again." "I don't—" Before Emma could finish, the world spun around her. When she came to her senses, Frank had hoisted her over his shoulder and was striding out of the bar. "Whether I look after the person I raised is my decision, not yours." Emma struggled the entire way, but in her drunken state, she was too weak to resist. She could only let Frank carry her to the car and toss her into the back seat. He climbed in after her, roughly fastening her seatbelt before securing his own. He then ordered the driver, "Home." "I'm not going home!" Emma cried out through her tears. "That's not my home!" Frank's anger surged. He grabbed her chin, his brows furrowing as he demanded, "What did you say?" "You're never there!" She choked out the words, her tears spilling. "It's just me, alone in that empty house! What kind of home is that?" Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed, her voice breaking with accusation. "You're kind to me when it suits you. When it doesn't, you leave me behind! You never ask what I think, and you never respect me. I hate you!" Frank froze, stunned. The sight of Emma crying her heart out stirred a mix of irritation and aching tenderness in him. When had Emma ever said such a thing to him, or when had she ever looked this hurt? He let out a long sigh that carried both resignation and apology before pulling her into his arms. His voice softened as he murmured, "I'm sorry. I was wrong. Work's been overwhelming, and I didn't mean to stay away from home. Can you forgive me, Emy?" How long had it been since he last called her Emy? How long had it been since Frank was this gentle with her? After that reckless night, he had never held her so softly again. Emma sobbed until she could scarcely breathe, yet she still craved the warmth of his embrace. Clinging to him with all her strength, she buried her face against his warm chest. A tide of bitterness surged within her. Of course, it was only in a dream that he'd treat her with such tenderness. In her dream, Frank gently lifted her from the car, cradling her all the way to her room. He settled her onto the bed, wiping her face and slipping off her shoes with care. He even fed her honey water himself. It was a dream sweeter than the honey water itself. Emma didn't want to wake up. She wanted more. "Alright, sleep now. You'll feel better when you wake," Frank said, tucking the blanket around her before leaving. But Emma suddenly reached out and caught his hand. Her hand was feverishly warm, the rapid pulse in her soft fingertips thrumming into his palm. The frantic beat jolted through Frank, stiffening his frame. He tried to pull away, but Emma sat up, wrapping her other arm around his waist. Her pale, delicate face pressed against his stomach—soft and burning hot. Frank sucked in a sharp breath. Grasping her wrist, he stopped her next move and spoke in a low, strained voice. "Emy, you're drunk." Emma didn't hear him. With her hands restrained, she used her mouth instead. Her lips, flushed from alcohol, parted slightly. Her teeth grazed the metal buckle of Frank's belt, producing a crisp sound. A faint click sent a shiver through Frank's entire body. He yanked her away with force, ready to scold her, but then he saw her eyes were closed and she had fallen asleep. Frank glared at her troublesome red lips in frustration. His hands cupped her cheek, his thumb rubbing harshly over those bold, offending lips. Only when they were red and swollen did he finally relent, satisfied. … The next day, Emma awoke to a pounding headache, the pain so intense it even numbed her lips. While washing up, she caught sight of herself in the mirror—her lips were red and swollen, like some allergic reaction! What had happened last night? Had she eaten something she was allergic to? She vaguely recalled being caught by Frank at the bar, then dragged home by him. And after that? She had bitten his belt buckle! Could her swollen lips be from biting the belt buckle? No way. Was it that hard? But that wasn't the point. The real issue was that, once again, she had gotten drunk and shamelessly thrown herself at Frank! Emma silently wailed into her hands, tempted to bash her head against the toilet and be done with it. She had sworn to let him go and start fresh, so why did she revert to this mess every time she drank? Frank had to despise her even more now. She couldn't bear to face him. Like a thief, Emma crept to the window and peeked out. Seeing no sign of Frank's car in the garden parking area, she breathed a sigh of relief and slipped downstairs. But there he was, sitting calmly at the dining table, eating breakfast. Emma froze mid-step, instinctively wanting to bolt. Before she could, Frank looked up, his dark gaze locking on her. "Still hungover?" he asked, his voice low and steady. Emma fumbled, her hands and feet unsure of where to go. She stammered, shaking her head. "N-No, not really." "Then why are you just standing there? Come eat breakfast," he said. "Okay." Emma dragged her feet to the opposite end of the long table and silently sat down to eat. She did her best to shrink into herself, hoping Frank would ignore her as usual. But clearly, Frank had no intention of letting her off that easily. He set down his coffee cup and spoke. "Hurry up. I'm waiting to take you to the office." His tone was firm, leaving no room for argument. Emma nearly choked, coughing twice before she spoke. "No, it's fine. I can take a cab." Frank frowned in displeasure. Since last night, Emma had been rejecting him and refusing to listen. He pressed her deliberately. "What, planning to skip work?" She shot upright. "Of course not!" "Then you're coming with me." His expression was stern, cutting off any chance for her to refuse. Emma had no choice but to agree and ate her breakfast in silence. A moment later, Frank's phone rang. Emma looked up and saw his expression soften instantly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Her heart dropped. The changes in people really were obvious, weren't they? Love or not, it was always plain to see. Frank spoke gently into the phone, offering a few comforting words. Emma caught him saying something about picking someone up. So, the moment he hung up, she seized her chance. "Frank, if you're busy, you should go ahead. I'll manage on my own. I promise I'll get to work on time and be responsible. I swear." Frank frowned again, his dark eyes pooling with emotions Emma couldn't decipher. Another rejection from her. Frank didn't like Emma pushing him away, keeping him at a distance. Frank finished his coffee in one gulp and slammed the cup on the table as if venting his frustration. "Do whatever you want," he said coldly, then stood and left the room. Emma stared longingly out toward the garden, watching his car pull through the gates. Only then did she let out a defeated sigh. In her competition with Lea, she had never come out on top. She was never the one chosen. She should be used to it by now. But why did it still sting?