Hate The One You’re With (Happily Ever Mishaps #4)

Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Emmersyn

You know that moment when you walk into a room and everything suddenly goes silent? The kind where you just know something was being said about you? That’s exactly how it feels the moment I step into Grandma’s penthouse. Conversations halt mid-sentence, every eye turns to me, and my stomach drops as I realize I’ve walked into something I wasn’t supposed to hear. I narrow my eyes, scanning the room.

Caleb isn’t alone. Ethan is lounging on the couch, and the tall, dark-haired one—Max, I think—leans casually against the wall. There are two other men I don’t recognize. If I met them back when Caleb and I first got together, well, they must’ve changed a lot since then.

I’m not a fan of strangers, especially when they catch me at a vulnerable moment. So, I plaster on a smirk, trying to mask my unease. “So, is this the part where you booby trap the penthouse and try to make my death look like an accident?”

Max’s lips quirk in amusement. “Nope. He was just telling us why, after being so madly in love with you, things just . . . stopped.”

“And why you two never got divorced,” Ethan adds, his tone dripping with curiosity.

“Shut the fuck up,” Caleb growls, his jaw clenching as he glares at his friends.

I let out a laugh, though it sounds hollow even to my own ears. This is ridiculous and yet, oddly funny. They’re making him squirm more than I ever could. Maybe I should keep them around for the next six months. I’m curious as to why he never told them about us, more so when one of them just said Caleb was madly in love with me. As if, the guy hates my guts. But that still doesn’t explain why they’re here. “So, why are you here again?”

Max tilts his head, a spark of curiosity in his eyes. “Help me understand, sweetheart. Why the shotgun wedding if you weren’t pregnant?”

“The better question is, why are they still together?” Ethan smirks.

He’s clearly relishing watching Caleb squirm. Honestly, these four should stick around—I could use the help making my beloved husband suffer over the next six months. That’s when my gaze lands on Caleb. Wait . . . he’s never told them the story about us? I swallow hard, suddenly unsure how to respond.

One of the other men, the one who resembles Max but isn’t as heavily built—more lean muscle, like a runner or someone who spends time in the gym but doesn’t live there—speaks up. “She offered him a fortune in exchange for the ring—which I’m sure she paid for.”

“She did what?” Ethan asks, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“How? Why?” Max echoes, then glances at Caleb with a smirk. “Seriously, the least you could’ve done is pay for the fucking ring, man.”

I consider setting them straight and telling them that Caleb did get me an engagement ring and even the wedding bands. They’re simple, but honestly, they’re the best jewelry I’ve ever had because the stupid girl in me . . . I stop mid-thought as the others start laughing at him.

“Yeah, it happened around the time Mr. Cunningham had a heart attack,” Jacob says, his tone matter-of-fact. “And got laid-off and . . . you know when already, don’t you?”

“Shut the fuck up, Jacob,” Caleb snaps, eyes narrowing. “What happened to attorney-client confidentiality?”

“I don’t practice law, only studied it. I’m a sports agent, and you’re not my client,” Jacob corrects him, his tone cool and precise. “Plus, I’m just stating the facts after gathering all the information I’ve come across over the past few days.”

Should I tell them the real story? Clarissa told me about her dad being in the hospital after a heart attack and both parents being laid-off. It was all scary, and they were struggling.

I offered to help. Grandma wouldn’t have hesitated to support them, at least with the medical bills, since they’d lost their insurance. But Clarissa brushed it off and asked how I was doing instead.

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 a hotel,” 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 the way 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 . . .”

“You heard her. Leave,” Caleb says, his voice firm. Then, instead of just standing there, he slips an arm around my waist, pulling me close. The warmth of his touch surprises me, sending a shiver through my resolve. For a moment, I lean into him, letting his strength support me. It’s a fleeting reaction, but it stirs something in me—a confusing mix of comfort and longing. His fingers press gently into my side, grounding me in the moment.

“And you are?” Charles challenges, his eyes narrowing.

“Her husband,” Caleb replies, his tone calm but edged with a warning. “And if you ever try to hurt her again, you’ll be dealing with me.”

Charles’s shoulders slump, his posture suddenly defeated. “I see,” he murmurs, stepping back. “If that’s how you want it.”

A part of me wants to remind him that this is exactly what he asked for so long ago, but I simply say, “It is.”

At the same time, Caleb adds, “Out.”

With a final, lingering look, Charles turns and walks toward the elevator, leaving behind the faint scent of his old, stuffy cologne and a tension in the air that’s hard to shake.