Page 43 of Hate the One You're With
That’s when I told Clarissa about my own dilemma—if I didn’t get married, I couldn’t access my trust fund to pay my tuition. I also mentioned Grandma’s trust fund candidates—all losers with no future who only wanted a piece of the Langley fortune.
Clarissa, in her infinite optimism, thought her loving, understanding brother could help me while I helped her family. Foolishly, I agreed, but that transaction cost me more than I ever imagined, and I’m clearly not done paying my dues. The guy is certainly not loving or helpful. He’s more like a stubborn, emotionally constipated bulldozer with a side of grumpy sarcasm and a knack for making my life miserable.
But instead of diving into that mess, I force myself to ask, “Again, why is everyone here?” Because honestly, I don’t have the bandwidth to rehash my bad choices. Obviously, I don’t say the last part.
“They’re going to help me take down the doors and remodel some things before the contractor comes by at six to fix what we . . . break,” Caleb says, his tone almost casual. “They’ll probably be working all night.”
I hesitate to bring up the obvious, but someone has to inject some common sense into this situation. “Umm, where are we supposed to sleep?”
“I’m heading back to Boston for the night,” Caleb replies, looking at me with a gaze that practically screams,You can die in a ditch for all I care.
My heart races because if he leaves, we’re screwed. “You’re supposed to stay with me—for the next six months. That’s one hundred and eighty days. If you leave, I’m literally fucked, and you won’t get paid.”
“He’s getting paid?” Max asks, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.
Caleb glares at him, clearly on the edge of losing his shit. He looks like he’s about to either kick someone’s ass or walk out the door.
“Oh he’s getting the entire Langley fortune,” Jacob says, giving me a slight nod, his tone dripping with what I can only assume is pity.Poor woman who couldn’t get a husband the normal way and had to pay for one. Isn’t this just the most messed-up situation?
“The point is that he can’t just leave,” I press, wanting to take the attention away from me.
“The late Mrs. Langley’s lawyer has to agree to a temporary relocation, and there has to be a good reason for the change,” Jacob continues, his tone all business.
“Max’s newborn,” the guy who’s been quiet all this time just watching the situation developing finally speaks. “He’s family, you need to be there for him. Your wife has to meet the niece, blah, blah, blah.”
“Liam is right. You both can stay in my guest room,” Max offers casually, as if that’s going to solve everything.
But that’s not what we’ll be doing because I’m not going to a stranger’s house to endure pitying looks and whispered judgments. “We’ll pretend that’s what happened, and I’ll head to ahotel,” I mutter, turning toward my room—only to find, to my dismay, that it’s sealed too.
Jacob catches up to me, his voice low and firm. “You have to come with him,” he says, making it sound like a non-negotiable fact. “If you change location, someone has to verify that you followed the instructions your grandmother left. None of us are willing to commit perjury for you.”
As if things couldn’t get any worse, I hear the elevator chime, followed by a commotion. When I make my way to the foyer, I don’t just see Percival Harrington III—I also spot Charles Worthington IV.
Charles is an older man, around sixty, with a head of salt-and-pepper hair and a figure that’s still remarkably well-maintained. Another loser trust fund baby handpicked by Gertrude, he’s spent his life using people like my mother to climb higher in the social hierarchy, playing the role of a gentleman while leaving a trail of manipulation in his wake.
Usually, I’m pretty composed and don’t let things get to me, but Charles has a way of pushing my buttons. I can’t help but blurt out, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Emmersyn,” he nods curtly, his voice as smooth and detached as ever. “I heard your grandmother passed away and I wanted to check on you.”
“I’m perfectly fine, get the fuck out of here,” I snap, my patience wearing thin.
Before I can react further, Caleb is suddenly beside me, stepping in front of me like he’s shielding me from some imminent danger. His action catches me off guard, making my heart skip a beat.
There’s something undeniably swoon-worthy about theway he positions himself protectively, as if ready to take on the world for me. It’s a move that’s both unexpected and infuriatingly charming, and I can’t help but feel a flicker of something I haven’t in a long time—a sense of safety, maybe even admiration.
“Who are you?” Caleb demands, his voice low and commanding.
At the same time, Charles and I speak, our voices clashing. “Emmersyn’s father,” he says.
“He’s nobody,” I say, my voice firm. “Leave. Now, Charles.”
Charles’s face falters for a moment, a flicker of hurt crossing his features. “Emmersyn, I’m here for you,” he says, his tone softening. “I’m the only family you have left.”
His words hang in the air, heavy with a truth that I’ve been trying to ignore. But I can’t let him in—not now, not after everything. My pride flares, blocking out any hint of vulnerability.
“That’s not what you said when you left us. I don’t need you,” I reply, my voice steady as ice. “You’re not my family, and you never were. So, leave. Now.”
Charles’s eyes search mine, looking for something—anything—that might soften my resolve. But I don’t give him the satisfaction. “But Em . . .”
