I Fled the Wedding and Came Back With a Contract Husband Chapter 10

I Fled the Wedding and Came Back With a Contract Husband Chapter 10

I looked at Sophia’s tear-streaked face and swallowed my words.

This wasn’t the moment.

My mother had just been discharged. Stirring up Hartwell drama would only hurt her.

“Fine,” I said flatly. “Your family business. I’m going upstairs:”

I took the stairs, and halfway up heard Sophia sniffling.

“Nathan, help me up.”

I didn’t look back.

Packing my mother’s closet, I found an old photograph: her, young, holding me as a baby under the oak tree, her smile wide.

I stared at it for a long time, then tucked it into my bag.

Downstairs, only Nathan remained. He stood by the door, an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

He put it away when he saw me.

“Emily.”

I didn’t stop.

“Not even ten minutes?”

I opened the door and looked back.

“Nathan, are you saying this because you regret it-or because Sophia isn’t a Hartwell?”

His throat moved.

“I’ve wanted to explain since the day you left.”

“Then what were you doing for five years?”

“Looking for you. For three months. After that, Sophia was recovering from childbirth-she was unwell. I

couldn’t leave.”

“So you chose her.”

His fists clenched.

“I didn’t choose.”

“You married her. You had a child with her. You’re wearing a ring.” I looked at him. “What else do you call

“The child was

*”Whatever the reason,” I cut in, “those are the facts. You tell me you didn’t choose? Are you lying to me or

yourself?”

He was silent.

The hallway breeze caught his shirt.

“When you’re ready to listen,” he finally said, “I’ll talk. I owe you. I’ll make it right.”

“You can’t.”

I walked out.

Sophia’s mask shattered three days later.

That weekend, I was at the rehab center having lunch with my mother.

Her appetite had improved; she could eat slowly on her own. She said she wanted to go home. I told her one

more week.

She sighed and said I worried too much.

Leaving the center, I got a text from an unknown number: a voice recording.

[Ms. Hartwell, this is your sister’s call from a café five years ago. I think you should hear it.]

I leaned against the railing outside and pressed play.

Sophia’s voice came through, saccharine and calculating.

“…he was too drunk to remember who was there. By morning, I’ll say he initiated. He’s too responsible to deny it. As long as I’m pregnant, that wedding is mine. Even if Emily’s still in the picture, it won’t matter… I

dosed him exactly right. He’s strong, he’ll be fine…”

There was more. I didn’t finish it.

My hands were shaking, and the voice in my earbuds overlapped with the fragments of five years ago.

The night Nathan had come home from a work function. He said he’d had too much and lay down early.

So this was it. A drug. A setup. He didn’t remember.

I stood on the curb, breathing slowly. The truth didn’t bring relief.

He had been framed, yes. But the choices after were his. He married her, protected her, had a child with her, and wore a ring on his finger for five years.

Even if the start was a lie, the five years that followed were his.

I saved the file, shut off my phone, and hailed a cab back to the hotel.

On the way, I texted Derek:

[Free tonight? Drinks?]

He replied immediately:

[Free. Pick the place.]

I took him to a quiet lakeside bar with windows overlooking the water. I ordered whiskey. He got lemonade

-he was driving.

I played him the recording. He listened in silence.

When it ended, he said, “So he was drugged.”

“Yeah.”

“Does he know?”

“No. He probably thinks it was a drunken mistake.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

I swirled my glass.

“And then what? He’s married. He has a child. Can he undo all of that? Would Sophia let him?”

Derek studied me for a moment.

“You’re still leaning toward him.”

“No.”

“You hate what he did, but now that you know he was set up, that hate has changed.” He sipped his lemonade. “That’s natural. Five years of love-you can’t just erase it.”

I drank in silence, ice clicking against the glass.

“But remember one thing,” he said. “He may have been set up, but for the last five years, he chose to protect her. That’s a fact. You can understand his situation without excusing him. He wronged you. That’s real.”

“I know.” I said. “I just wanted someone to talk to. That’s all.”

“Alright.” He leaned back, looking at the water. “Then talk. I’m listening.”

We stayed late, talking about everything. The business event where we’d first met, the free meal I’d conned out of him, and the contract he’d handed me that was thicker than a law textbook.

‘I said, “Weren’t you afraid I’d scam you?”

He said, “You didn’t seem like the type.