Years of being with the wrong woman because it was easier politically.
Amber and I were tired of waiting.
She turned in the mirror, checking her dress from every angle. “Do you think the press will believe her apology today?”
“Yes,” I answered, tightening my cufflinks. “What choice does she have? She’ll say exactly what Father wants her to say. And then after the conference…” I shrugged. “Well. She won’t be our problem anymore.”
Amber’s smile widened.
She liked the idea of finality.
Of erasing Emerald completely.
She stepped beside me again and said lightly, “Let’s go now. We should greet Dad before she gets escorted in. I want to see his face when Emerald breaks down. I want him to see I was worth choosing.”
I took her hand. “Come on.”
We reached the elevator. Amber held her phone, scrolling through articles with a grin. “After this, we can go public. You and me. Finally.”
The doors opened. We stepped inside.
Halfway down, Amber’s phone rang.
She frowned at the number. “Who is—?” She answered anyway. “Yes? Hello?”
Her smile froze. I watched her expression shift—curiosity, confusion, then sharp, sudden fear.
“What do you mean there’s a problem?” she demanded. “What problem?”