Chapter 194 - 193 She Was a Scapegoat

( EMILY )

Arrogance is a disease that infects the ultra-wealthy long before they ever learn how to walk.

I sit across from Warren Sinclair inside the private dining suite at Bordeaux 101. The air conditioning blows a steady stream of cold air against my bare arms. The rich, savory aroma of seared scallops and expensive truffles fills the space between us. I trace the rim of my crystal glass with a damp fingertip, collecting my thoughts.

Warren watches me closely. He wears a tailored midnight-blue suit, his posture completely relaxed against the plush leather armchair. He expects me to display signs of heartbreak. He assumes I am a naive, injured woman complaining about a husband who loves a ghost from the Blackwood Gorge.

I refuse to give him that satisfaction.

"Alistair voluntarily told me he had someone he liked," I say, keeping my voice perfectly level. "He delivered that information specifically to put an end to any pathetic, romantic hopes I might have harbored."

Warren raises a thick, dark eyebrow. He picks up his silver fork, turning it slowly in the ambient light. "He was establishing his boundaries."

"He was insulting my intelligence," I correct him smoothly. "I possess a very sharp sense of self-awareness, Warren. I understand exactly how the world operates. I survived Thomas and Lydia Vance. I know the Wolfe Empire is a global corporate machine, not a charity. I don’t look at a billionaire CEO with a sharp jawline and suddenly imagine a fairy tale ending."

I take a slow sip of my bright pink watermelon juice. The cold, sweet liquid soothes my dry throat.

"Alistair mistook my standard, friendly gestures as signs of romantic interest," I continue, setting the glass down on the crisp white tablecloth. "I admit I performed actions that led him to misunderstand my motives. I crossed his perimeter. But my reasoning was incredibly simple. I was grateful."

Warren steeples his fingers together. "Gratitude is a dangerous currency in our world, Emily."

"He changed the entire course of my life," I state, leaning forward and resting my forearms against the mahogany table. "He kicked down the front door of the Vance estate. He wrapped his warm jacket around my shoulders and pulled me out of a freezing, mildew-ridden storage room. He protected me from Silas Hunt. He gave me a safe place to sleep and the financial backing to escape my family. I simply wanted to say thank you."

I look down at my hands. My fingernails are trimmed short, completely devoid of the expensive acrylic polish women like Naya Zone wear.

"I made him a cup of custom milk tea," I say, my tone dropping into a dry, pragmatic register. "I named the recipe after him. I also formulated a small bottle of sleep-aid essential oil using valerian root to help cure his chronic insomnia. I handed those items to him as a peace offering."

Warren tilts his head, his sharp eyes evaluating my completely calm expression. "And how did the great Alistair Wolfe respond to your domestic offerings?"

"He took them and threw them directly into the trash can," I reply flatly. "He discarded them like toxic waste."

( WARREN )

A sharp, barking laugh escapes my throat before I can suppress the sound.

The dark red wine sloshes violently inside my crystal glass. I set the drink down on the table, shaking my head in sheer, unadulterated disbelief. Alistair Wolfe is the most terrifying, ruthless corporate predator in Asuir City. He dismantles international conglomerates before his morning coffee. Yet, when faced with a handmade cup of tea from his nineteen-year-old wife, he acts like a petulant, terrified child.

"He actually threw them in the garbage," I say, a wide grin spreading across my face. "He is absolutely petrified of you, Emily."

Emily does not smile. Her dark eyes remain completely serious.

"Because he threw away my essential oil, I retaliated," Emily explains, sitting up straighter in her heavy leather chair. "Alistair spent an entire night crafting a pair of custom leather combat gloves for my shooting practice. I walked into the lounge area and placed those expensive gloves right back on the sofa. I returned his gift. We are perfectly even now."

I stare at her. The sheer audacity of this young woman continues to shatter my expectations. The CEO of the Wolfe Empire handed her a priceless piece of custom tactical gear, and she returned it out of pure, unyielding principle.

"You did exactly the right thing," I say, my voice ringing with genuine approval. "I completely agree with your assessment. You don’t owe him a single ounce of submission. If he refuses to accept a basic courtesy, he does not deserve the privilege of protecting you."

I pick up my wine glass, taking a slow, appreciative sip of the expensive vintage. The dynamic between these two is the most entertaining spectacle I have witnessed in years. Alistair is desperately trying to maintain his icy, untouchable facade, while Emily systematically rejects his arrogance with cold, calculated logic.

"He is an idiot," I add smoothly, setting the glass down. "He has an exceptionally brilliant, capable woman living in his master suite, and he is pushing her away to protect the memory of a phantom."

( EMILY )

Warren’s validation feels incredibly vindicating. He operates at the very top of the underworld hierarchy, yet he sees the exact same petty, irrational behavior in Alistair that I do.

I lean back in my chair. The heavy leather creaks softly against the quiet backdrop of the private suite. My mind begins to turn, processing the fresh intelligence Warren handed me earlier regarding the Blackwood Gorge.

Alistair loves Kiki. He carries the Nightblade pistol because she touched the metal. He obsesses over a woman who dragged his paralyzed body through the freezing mud three years ago.

I stare at the ornate silver candlestick resting in the center of the table. A complex equation begins to solve itself in the back of my mind.

I look at the broader landscape of Asuir City. I think about Naya Zone standing on the hot pavement outside this very restaurant just a few hours ago. Congressman Marcus Zone actively attempted to arrange a political marriage between Naya and Alistair to secure a massive pipeline of campaign funding. High society operates on a strict, transactional framework. Marriages are corporate mergers. Bloodlines and social status dictate every single interaction.

If Kiki possessed a powerful family background, Alistair would have married her the moment his extraction team pulled him out of the mountains. He commands the Wolfe Empire. He possesses the resources to track down any wealthy heiress on the planet.

He cannot find her, or he refuses to elevate her publicly.

The answer presents itself with a sharp, undeniable clarity. Kiki is an ordinary person. She is a hiker, a local villager, or a random civilian who happened to stumble across his bleeding body in the forest.

I grip the armrests of my chair.

Celia Wolfe controls the ancestral estate with an iron fist. I remember my first visit to the main house. The matriarch looked at my plain clothes and immediately demanded Alistair divorce me. She cited my lack of a high school diploma. She called me utterly unworthy of crossing the threshold of the Wolfe family home. Edward and Beatrice Wolfe echoed the exact same venomous sentiments. The entire family views anyone without a pristine pedigree as a parasite.

If Alistair brought an ordinary woman like Kiki into that snake pit, the family would destroy her. Beatrice Wolfe orchestrated the kidnapping of her own niece just to spite me. The Wolfe family would subject Kiki to endless psychological torture, sabotage, and potentially lethal violence.

Alistair knows this. He understands the lethal toxicity of his own relatives. He cannot marry the woman he loves without painting a massive target on her back.

He needed a distraction. He needed a shield.

"I am a scapegoat," I say aloud. The words drop into the quiet room like heavy stones.

Warren stops cutting his seafood. He looks up, his sharp eyes locking onto my face. "Care to elaborate on that deduction?"

"It is basic tactical misdirection," I explain, my voice gaining speed and confidence. "Alistair requires an heir to solidify his position as the head of the clan. He also requires a physical barrier to protect Kiki from his grandmother and his vicious aunts and uncles."

I gesture to myself, tracing the line of my plain white blouse.

"I fit the criteria perfectly," I continue, the adrenaline sharpening my focus. "I am pregnant with his child due to a medical error. I provide the biological heir they demand. But more importantly, I draw all the fire. Beatrice targets me. Celia isolates me. Naya Zone screams at me on the sidewalk. Every single enemy of the Wolfe Empire focuses their absolute hatred and jealousy directly onto my shoulders."

I take a deep breath, the cold air filling my lungs. The entire contract marriage makes perfect, ruthless sense now.

"While I am absorbing the damage, Kiki stays completely safe in the shadows," I state. "He uses me as a highly visible, disposable tool to shield the person he truly values. I am just a decoy."

Warren stares at me in total silence. The ambient noise of the restaurant seems to vanish entirely. He sets his silver fork down on the porcelain plate with a soft, metallic clink.

"That is a very dark, cynical theory, Emily," Warren murmurs. His tone lacks any trace of its usual amusement.

"It is a logical theory," I correct him firmly. "Alistair operates a multi-billion-dollar tech conglomerate. He does not make impulsive decisions. He drafted a rigid prenuptial agreement guaranteeing him full custody of the child upon birth. He locked me into a temporary contract. Once the heir is delivered, I am discarded, and the Wolfe family is satisfied. He buys himself the time and the cover he needs to secure Kiki’s safety."

I look down at my glass of watermelon juice. The bright pink liquid looks artificial under the crystal chandelier.

I expect to feel a sharp, agonizing wave of heartbreak. I expect the realization to crush my spirit.

I feel absolutely nothing but a cold, liberating clarity.

The heavy, confusing tension of the past few days evaporates. I no longer have to wonder why he acts so erratic. I no longer have to decipher his icy stares or his sudden, violent outbursts regarding his Nightblade pistol. I am an employee executing a high-risk security contract. My compensation is the financial backing required to build my own independent empire.

"You are not upset," Warren observes quietly. He leans forward, studying my face with intense, predatory curiosity. "Most women would shatter into a thousand pieces upon realizing they are merely a human shield for another woman."

"I am not most women, Warren," I reply, my voice steady and unyielding. "I do not require Alistair Wolfe’s romantic devotion to survive. I survived a father who poured aphrodisiacs down my sister’s throat to sell her to a mobster. I survived a fiancé who lied to my face while sleeping with my sibling. I am entirely comfortable operating in a transactional environment."

I pick up my glass, taking a final, long sip of the cold juice.

"I have the formula for SN1818," I say, setting the empty glass back down. "I have a partnership with Victor Sterling. I have an acceptance letter to Vanguard Medical University sitting in my suitcase. I am building a fortress of my own. If Alistair wants to use me as a decoy to protect his ghost, I will gladly play the part. It grants me the unrestricted freedom I need to conquer Asuir City on my own terms."

Warren Sinclair looks at me. A slow, brilliant smile spreads across his handsome face. He picks up his crystal wine glass, raising it slightly in the air.

"You are a terrifying creature, Emily Vance," Warren says, his voice ringing with genuine, profound respect. "I look forward to watching you build your fortress."

I offer a small, polite nod in return.

I will play the role of the obedient, targeted wife. I will absorb the insults from Celia Wolfe. I will handle the street-level threats from spoiled politicians’ daughters. But I will never again attempt to soothe the CEO of the Wolfe Empire. He made his choice, and I am entirely focused on building mine.