Page 86 of Marrying His Brother

My mother’s brow furrows, and she glances over at me, pain in her eyes. “Didn’t you suspect something was going on? That’s a huge secret to hide and you lived with her Andrew.”

There’s an accusing tone in my mother’s tone. I don’t blame her. I’ve gone through everything with a fine toothcomb, but, the truth is that Emily was very clever.

She showed no signs of keeping secrets. She seemed open with me and honest. As for going to her parents’ home so often, I chalked it up to them being close. After all, she’s the only child.

I shake my head, my chest tight. “I was in the dark too. Found out yesterday when she got that call to go to the hospital.”

There’s a pause, and then my father speaks up. “We have to keep moving, keep building momentum from the launch.

“This could be a turning point for the company—take advantage of these wins while we have them. How far along are you with the Lakeside Riviera project?”

I’m about to answer when my mother interjects, horrified. “You can’t be thinking about business right now. Emily just lost her father, for heaven’s sake.”

My heart hardens. Emily herself felt no qualms about lying to me. For months.

“No,” I say firmly, ignoring the flicker of my mother’s protest. “Father’s right. This is business. That’s all there is now.” I turn to my father. “I’ll go forward with the renovations, make sure Lakeside gets the same treatment as Army Base.”

“Good,” my father says, satisfaction in his voice.

With that, I leave the house, heading straight for the Riviera.

As I step into the building, a somber atmosphere greets me. Phones ring incessantly, and the staff’s usual chatter is subdued, everyone restrained in light of the news.

Half an hour later, Catherine knocks lightly on my office door, and steps in, a file under her arm.

“The press are asking for a statement, sir,” she says, her voice hesitant. “What should we tell them?”

I close the records I’ve been reviewing. “That’s Emily’s call,” I say, trying to keep my tone even, though just the thought of her sends a mix of emotions surging through me.

Catherine nods but shifts uncomfortably. “The thing is, there are rumors circulating. Speculation that Mr. Young had been in a coma for months.”

I let out a sigh, pressing my fingers to my temples. “I’ll get a hold of Emily and let you know.”

I pick up my phone, scrolling to her contact, and hit call. It rings twice before her voice comes on the line. Just hearing her voice sounding fragile and lost, tugs at something deep in me, but I push the feeling aside.

“The press is all over this,” I say after we’ve exchanged politely painful pleasantries. “What information do you want to give them?”

There’s a pause on her end. “I don’t know,” she whispers. I can almost hear the struggle in her voice. “When will I see you? Will you come over?”

Her question hits me hard. I can feel her waiting on the other end, the silence stretching between us, thick with everything left unsaid.

“I can’t, Emily.” The words leave me before I can second-guess them.

Another pause, then, “I understand,” she says, her voice barely audible.

We disconnect the call, but I’m left with a strange ache, one I can’t quite shake. She sounds so lost, so vulnerable, but then again, she’s the same woman who lied to me, deceived me about something monumental.

I remind myself of that, forcing myself to remember why I need distance.

I sit back in my chair, staring at the phone in my hand, fighting the temptation to call her back. No. This is where I draw the line.

Instead, I type up a statement for the media, something neutral but respectful.

Ace Young has been ailing for some time. At this moment, the family is asking for privacy as they cope with their loss.

I read it over a few times, ensuring it’s precise and leaves nothing more to be questioned. Once satisfied, I call Catherine.

She enters, and I hand her the draft. “Use this for the statement,” I say, keeping my voice even.

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