Billionaire's Prisoner

11. Visiting Grandpa

Emma left the hotel and sat in her car. Her body hummed with a delicious soreness—proof of the night and morning she’d spent tangled with Damien. She slid into her car, finally switching her phone back on.

As soon as she switched on her phone, missed calls and messages flooded her system. All from Oliver.

What does he want now?

With a sigh she opened the messages.

“Grandpa has invited us for lunch. Get your ass here by noon.”

Emma’s stomach twisted. William Jones wasn’t just Oliver’s grandfather—he was the family patriarch, the one who held the strings to the Jones Corporation’s fortune. And unlike Oliver, William actually liked her, and saw her as his granddaughter-in-law.

Every time Emma visited William, she felt a sense of family in him. And the more she felt this bond, the more she regretted staying in this deception of marriage.

She checked the time. It was already 11:15am. Only forty five minutes left.

Emma drove back to their villa and rushed to take a shower. Once she was done, she stood before the mirror, discovering numerous marks left by Damien. On her neck, her collarbone, her cleavage, her waist.

She rang her finger lightly over the red marks. The passion they had was undeniable.

That was just a transaction, Emma. Nothing more, nothing less. Don't get too attached.

She stood in front of the mirror, hastily applying concealer to the faint bruise on her neck.

Damien and his damn teeth.

The hickey was stubborn, a dark bloom against her skin that no amount of makeup could fully hide. With a frustrated sigh, she rummaged through her closet and pulled out a silk scarf, draping it artfully around her neck.

Perfect.

She smoothed her dress— a modest, cream-colored wrap that screamed dutiful wife— and headed out.

The Jones estate was a sprawling mansion of old money and older traditions. William sat at the head of the dining table, his sharp blue eyes twinkling beneath bushy white eyebrows. At seventy-eight, he carried himself with the vigor of a man half his age, his laugh booming through the room as Emma entered.

“Emma, my dear!” William rose from his chair, arms outstretched with a warm smile. “You look absolutely radiant.”

She stepped forward and kissed his cheek, breathing in the familiar mix of pipe tobacco and peppermint that always clung to him like nostalgia. “You’re too kind, Grandpa.”

Across the table, Oliver was already seated, his jaw tight, eyes narrowed. The glare he shot her could have melted steel.

His voice, however, was sweet as poisoned honey. “Darling, you’re late.”

Emma flashed him a smile—syrupy sweet and just as fake. “Traffic, honey.”

William chuckled, clearly missing the undercurrent of hostility. “Come now, sit! The roast is getting cold, and I’ve been dying to hear all about your week.”

As they ate, William regaled them with stories of his early business ventures, his voice warm with nostalgia. Emma played her part perfectly— laughing at his jokes, nodding at his wisdom, even reaching over to squeeze Oliver’s hand once for show.

And Oliver fed her a spoon full of meat.

For a moment, Emma stalled.

I wished it was all real. I wish I really have this happy marriage with you, Oliver. With a loving husband and a grandpa. God, what did I do wrong to end up in such a hypothetical situation? I cheated on my husband and despite knowing the truth, he is feeding me meat. Is money that important to him?

Whom am I kidding? Am I not doing all these for money as well? Am I a bad person? Emma wondered. Her eyes became sad.

Then William set down his wineglass, his expression turning serious.

“Now, Emma. Oliver.” William dabbed his mouth with a napkin, his tone shifting from light to serious. “There’s something we need to discuss.”

Emma’s fork stilled mid-air. Across from her, Oliver visibly tensed.

William’s gaze moved between them, sharp despite his age.

“I’m not getting any younger. The board’s been pressing me about succession.” He leaned forward slightly, his voice firm.

“I want an heir before I transfer my shares.”

Oliver choked on his food, coughing as he reached for his water.

“Grandpa!”

William looked at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“A Jones to carry on the legacy.” He pointed his knife at Oliver with emphasis.

“You’ve been married three years. It’s time.”

Emma didn’t react outwardly, but the words hit her like a punch to the gut.

So this was it.

She had suspected Oliver’s desperation wasn’t just about control—it was about legacy.

Oliver’s jaw tightened.

“Grandfather, these things take time—”

“Nonsense.” William waved a dismissive hand. “Your father had you by twenty-five.”

His gaze softened as it turned to Emma.

“Unless… there’s a problem?”

Emma’s fingers curled tightly around her napkin beneath the table. Her mind raced. If William kept pushing, Oliver would snap—or worse. She had to defuse it.

She forced a bright smile and turned to William.

“Grandpa, don’t worry. We’re working on it already.”

Then, she looked at Oliver, her smile widening like a dagger.

“Right, honey?”

Oliver blinked, caught off guard. But he recovered quickly, nodding stiffly. “Right. We just… wanted to keep it a surprise until we had good news.”

His voice was brittle, the tension in his posture unmistakable.

William beamed, clearly pleased. “That’s excellent. I knew Emma was the sensible one the moment I met her.”

Emma smiled sweetly, but inside, she could feel the storm gathering.

After the lunch, Emma helped William to get out for a stroll. William looked at Emma once again. She was the same girl who saved him from a car accident without a hesitation. It even left a scar on her left arm, near the elbow which still hadn't healed.

“You scar… are you seeing the doctor I recommend?” William asked.

“Oh, yes grandpa. A few more months and it will be gone,” Emma smiled. It was a lie. She couldn’t afford to see a doctor with her current situation.

“Three years… and still you are not healed. I can never thank you enough for saving my life,” William sighed.

“Don't say that, Grandpa. You have already done more than enough for me.” Emma tried to cheer him up. “Besides, anyone would have done the same.”

“You are just too kind, Emma. That accident could have killed you but you didn’t care. Oliver is lucky to have you by his side,” William patted her hand, his voice becoming emotional.

Emma felt bad again. When she married Oliver, she didn't know about Shelby. On the wedding night, Oliver threw a contract at her. She will be paid every month to pretend to be his wife.

Emma was stunned. She wanted a divorce immediately but she needed the money as well. Hence she agreed. But there wasn't a day that went without her regretting it. Especially the times she met William, who treated her as his own.

She tried to tell him the truth many times. But the words only caught on her throat everytime she saw his wrinkled face. Was it necessary to put this burden on him at this age?

“You know Emma, I don't have many years left. I just want Oliver and you to have a good life together.” William spoke again. “And if he ever mistreats you, you have to tell me, child. I am your grandpa too.”

Emma’s eyes glistened with his words. He actually thought of her as family. And she… she felt that she somehow had failed William the moment she slept with another man.