Page 27 of Hate the One You're With
“Thank you for the rings,” she murmurs, her voice almost shy.
“It’s the least I could do, get a ring for my bride,” I reply, a hint of warmth in my tone. As the words leave my lips, I catch the faint blush rising on her cheeks, a delicate pink that makes her even more beautiful.
It’s a reaction so sweet and genuine that it tugs at something deep inside me, a feeling I hadn’t expected to find in this arrangement.
“Listen, Em,” I begin, my voice softening as I search her eyes. “I’m not sure what’s going to happen in the next seven years, but I hope we can at least become friends. And if more happens . . . Well, I think it’ll be the kind of unexpected magic you only find in those love stories people always dream about.”
She smiles, a soft curve of her lips, as if she wants to believe in what I’m offering but finds it too good to be true. Maybe it is, but I’m determined to show her that anything is possible—even us.
Chapter Eighteen
Caleb
Present
“So you’re getting a divorce?” Jacob asks on the other side of the line.
“No.” And that ‘no’ comes out more intense than I expected.
Honestly, when I married Emmersyn, I didn’t think things would get to the point that we’d befiling for divorce. I was willing to put the work into the relationship. She had in fact saved my parents’ home and the future of my siblings—maybe even mine.
Still, it wasn’t out of gratitude that I wanted to get to know her, to fall madly in love with her. It was . . . There was something about her that spoke to me.
Maybe my biggest mistake was trying to fit in her life, to belong to her, to give her my heart and expect the same.
“Let me get this straight, you want the lawyer to prepare the divorce papers, but you’re not divorcing her,” he repeats, his voice laced with confusion. I can practically see him frowning in that way of his, like he’s trying to solve a riddle that doesn’t have an answer. “Dude, I honestly think you should handle this yourself.”
“You owe me,” I remind him.
“Sure, but this is . . .fucked up. You’re practically sending this woman to the cleaners.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, frustration bubbling up. “Yes, exactly. But also, I need a document that lists all the assets I’ll be getting for agreeing to live with her for six months—and have it signed and maybe even notarized.”
“Right,” he says slowly, as if he’s trying to piece together a puzzle where half the pieces are missing. “And you want a postnuptial agreement so she can’t touch your assets.”
“Exactly,” I respond. Finally, he’s getting it.
There’s another pause. “Okay, I’ll have the lawyer work on this. He might want to know exactly the assets you’re claiming for that six-month period.”
“I’m sending you her grandmother’s will—I want everything including the company. We’ll get someone from thecompany to head to New York and do an inventory of her property. I want it all,” I reply. “But if you can, make sure they give methe Bentleynow, as a symbol of good faith.”
There’s a beat of silence before Jacob lets out a low whistle. “The Bentley, huh? Because you don’t have enough cars.”
“It’s not about what I have, but what I can get. She wants my time, she’s going to pay for it,” I mutter, thinking of the twisted situation I’ve found myself in. It’s a second round of living with Emmersyn Langley but this time I’m ready for the woman she really is. Cold and heartless.
“Listen, from what you’ve told me, things between you two were . . . bad. But?—”
“She used my sister and got her into so much trouble—” I cut him off, my voice tight with barely controlled anger. I pause, taking a deep breath, trying to keep my composure. The memory of what she did still burns. “She put Clarissa in danger so many times and never once thought about the consequences. That’s the problem with people like her—they think everyone else is beneath them, just pawns in their little games. She’s never given a damn about who she hurt, as long as she got what she wanted.”
My hands clench into fists at the thought of Emmersyn’s smug, entitled face. The way she plays with people’s lives as if they are nothing more than pieces on a chessboard. How she never hesitates to manipulate, to scheme, all while wearing that infuriatingly charming smile. She’s just like her grandmother, maybe even worse.
It wasn’t just the danger she put Clarissa in—it was the sheer audacity of it all. The arrogance of someone who believes they can control everything and everyone aroundthem, without ever facing the consequences. And now, she’s roped me into this mess, expecting me to dance to her tune again.
But not this time. If she wants something from me, she’s going to pay through the nose for it. Because I’m done letting her get away with everything.
Jacob is still quiet, probably judging me and not thrilled with my actions. The silence feels heavy, so I finally say, “Imagine if this was Audrey’s friend and she’d done everything Em did to Clarissa. Wouldn’t you want to bury her alive?”
“Probably,” he replies, his voice laced with reluctant agreement, “but I’m sure Max would’ve taken care of her already.” There’s a shift in his tone, more understanding now, as if he’s finally getting where I’m coming from. “Send me the list of assets, and we’ll make sure to create an ironclad document that’ll probably leave her homeless and regretting the day she ever tried to play the Cunningham family.”
