Chapter 2

Emma Johnson pov

The meeting with Noah Davis went smoother than I could have imagined.

Noah wore gold-rimmed glasses, looking gentle and refined, speaking with a mild-mannered politeness.

He didn't have Liam's overbearing presence; he was like a glass of plain water, comfortable but unremarkable.

Suitable for marriage, suitable for life.

"Ms. Johnson, my situation should have been explained to you by the matchmaker."

Noah refilled my water glass.

"I'm moving to New York next month, and I might settle there. If you're willing, we can get married first, and you can join me after you've sorted out your work here."

The pace was surprisingly fast, almost as if it were a task to be completed.

But I only thought for three seconds:

"Okay."

Noah looked up, a little surprised:

"Don't you want to think about it more? Marriage is a big decision, after all."

"No need to think."

I lowered my gaze, stirring the water in my glass.

"I want a change of scenery, a fresh start."

Noah smiled, a genuinely happy smile:

"What a coincidence, so do I."

We clicked instantly.

The dinner, though lacking passion, was remarkably relaxed.

No one had to look up to anyone, no one had to try to please anyone by cramming up on their hobbies or learning to play difficult games.

Since I'd decided to leave, the first thing I did when I got back to the magazine office was hand in my resignation.

My editor, Mr. Harrison, frowned as he read my letter.

"It's not that I don't want you to leave. You're a key member of our team; losing you would be a big blow. Besides, you haven't finished that feature on London's new elite."

Mr. Harrison tapped on his desk and laid out his terms:

"How about this: the last guest for the feature is Liam Smith. Everyone in London knows he never gives exclusive interviews, but you know him well. If you can get an exclusive with him, even just for ten minutes, I'll sign your resignation immediately and double your bonus for this month."

My fingers, clutching the resignation letter, whitened slightly.

Liam.

Always Liam.

His name seemed impossible to shake off.

"Mr. Harrison, can't someone else do it?"

"No."

Mr. Harrison's attitude was firm.

"Only you can do it. If this article isn't finished, your resignation process might take three months to go through."

I was silent for a long time.

To leave London cleanly, to completely sever the past.

One last meeting.

After this, I'd never see him again.

I pulled out my phone, found the number that had been pinned at the top for eight years but which I'd never dared to dial.

My fingertip hovered above the screen, trembled, and finally pressed down.

It rang once before being answered.

The other end was noisy, like people were playing cards. Then there was the sound of footsteps, and the surroundings quieted.

Liam's voice came through the receiver, tinged with a casual mockery:

"You've been avoiding me for three days. Finally decided to call?"

He knew I was avoiding him, of course.

I took a deep breath and spoke in a professional tone:

"Mr. Smith, our magazine would like to do an exclusive interview with you. Do you have any availability?"

There was a two-second silence on the other end, followed by a soft scoff.

"Emma, since when did you start keeping your distance from me?"

Liam seemed to be in a good mood, not annoyed by the formal address.

"I'm at the club. Come over now."

He rattled off a name.

I knew the place; that club was owned by Ethan, Liam's assistant.

They always chose that place for their gatherings.

Apparently, because Ethan could always get drinks no other place had.

"It's working hours right now…"

"Then forget the interview."

Liam cut me off, his voice carrying his usual arrogance and possessiveness.

"If I don't see you here within half an hour, the interview's off."

With that, he hung up.

I stared at the darkened screen, putting my phone away.

I turned and called my photographer:

"Let's go, to the club."

Mike looked shocked:

"My god, you're amazing! You actually managed to get him!"

I didn't say anything.

Amazing?

That was a "privilege" I'd earned through eight years of heartbreak and effort.

And today, I was going to tear that privilege to shreds and throw it in the trash.