I made a choice that night. I would not borrow a gown from my secret storage unit. I would not wear the Harrison diamonds. I would go as Emma Cooper. I needed to know, with absolute certainty, that his family could accept the woman I had become, not the inheritance I was hiding.
My father’s head of security and lifelong confidant, Howard, tried to talk me out of it.
“Miss Emma,” Howard said, his brow furrowed as he watched me sip tea in my father’s study. “Are you certain this is wise? The wealthy can be… cruel to those they perceive as beneath them. Some people reveal their true nature only when they think they have power.”
“That is exactly why I have to do this, Howard,” I replied. “If they can’t accept me at my simplest, they don’t deserve me at my best.”
He sighed, checking his watch. “Your father doesn’t know about Brandon yet, does he?”
“No,” I said. “And let’s keep it that way. Just for one more night.”
I had no idea that “one more night” would end in a war.
The evening of the party, I stood before my mirror. I had chosen a dress from a department store sale rack. It was a pale, buttery yellow—simple, modest, with delicate straps. It cost forty dollars. I wore no jewelry, just small faux-pearl studs. I did my own hair in a loose bun and kept my makeup minimal.
I looked in the mirror and saw Emma Cooper. She looked lovely. She looked ordinary.
When Brandon picked me up, he was wearing a tuxedo that fit him perfectly. When he saw me, the smile faltered on his face. It was a micro-expression, a flicker of disappointment, quickly masked by a practiced grin.
“You look… nice,” he said.
