Billionaire's Prisoner

19. Drama at Home

Emma was curled up in bed, a book in her hands, the soft lamplight casting a warm glow over the page. She was seconds from closing it for the night when the door slammed open.

Oliver strode in, hair mussed, tie hanging loose, his expensive cologne mixed with the faint scent of whiskey.

“Get dressed. We’re going to see Grandfather.”

Emma didn’t even glance up from her book. “What? Why?”

In two strides, he was at her bedside, yanking the covers off with a violent flick.

“This isn’t a request,” he bit out. “The old man knows about Shelby. He’s furious.”

She finally looked up, her eyes cool. “And that’s my problem because…?”

Oliver’s smile was slow and cruel. “Because if you don’t help me fix this, I’ll stop paying your mother’s medical bills.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a poisonous whisper. “How long do you think she’ll last without treatment?”

Emma’s fingers dug into the sheets, the knuckles whitening, but she said nothing.

So now I need to hide my husband's relationship with his mistress from his grandfather. Am Ithat pathetic? Only if I had the money! Emma sighed and stood on her feet looking for a dress.

Twenty minutes later, she sat stiffly in William's study, Oliver's grip tight on her elbow as if she might bolt.

William's study was bathed in the dim glow of a single desk lamp, casting long shadows across the leather-bound books and antique decanters. The old man sat perfectly still behind his massive oak desk, a newspaper spread out before him.

Oliver straightened his tie as he stepped into the study. “You wanted to see me?”

William’s gaze was hard until it shifted to Emma; then it softened. “Emma, my dear. I’m sorry to drag you here so late.”

She forced a polite smile. “It’s alright, Grandfather.”

Without another word, William slid a folded newspaper across the desk. “I assume you’ve seen this?”

Oliver’s stomach dropped at the headline:

Mistress or Wife? The Jones Family Scandal

Beneath it, a glossy shot captured Shelby clinging to his arm outside La Bijoux, her lips grazing his cheek. In the background, Emma stood a few feet away, her expression unreadable.

William’s eyes lifted, pinning him in place. “Explain this.”

Oliver’s throat tightened. “It’s just tabloid gossip, Grandfather. You know how the press—”

“Don’t fool me,” William snapped, his voice cracking like a whip. “You’re flaunting your w***e in public while your wife stands right there.”

Oliver flinched but forced a strained smile. “It’s not what it looks like, Grandpa. Shelby and I are just friends—Emma knows that.” He could hear the desperation in his own voice. He knew exactly how much William valued Emma, and that made this a disaster he couldn’t afford.

“Just friends?” William’s tone was ice. He reached for another document, slapping it onto the desk—a credit card statement. “While you were busy parading her, you charged two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to my account at La Bijoux. For her.” He flung the paper at Oliver, the pages scattering.

“This… this isn’t what you think,” Oliver stammered, fumbling for words. “She… she forgot her credit card, so I—”

“Spare me,” William cut in, the finality in his voice leaving no room for excuses.

“Emma knows everything. Ask her,” Oliver said quickly, gesturing toward her.

Both men’s eyes turned to her, and Emma felt the weight of their gazes like a spotlight she couldn’t escape.

This is his mess. Why am I even here in the middle of the night? Why should I lie for him?

She didn’t want to—William had always treated her with kindness, far more than his own grandson ever had.

But then Oliver leaned down, his breath brushing her ear, voice low and venomous. “Remember your mother.”

Emma’s stomach twisted. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She lowered her gaze, speaking softly. “He’s right, Grandpa. Shelby is just… a friend.”

“Is that so?” William’s voice was sharp enough to cut glass. His eyes narrowed, assessing her the way a man measures the truth before striking it down. “And what about the piece you brought home?”

Emma froze, confusion flashing across her face. Oliver stiffened beside her.

He snatched the paper from the desk, scanning it with trembling fingers. “Emma got hers through some… promotional event. A lucky draw.”

William’s laugh was low, bitter, and entirely humorless. “Do I look like a fool to you?” He pushed himself forward, his cane groaning under the shift of weight. The lamplight carved deep shadows across his lined face, making his anger seem even older, heavier.

“The manager told me Emma’s purchase was covered by a private benefactor—someone powerful enough to override our own store policy.” His voice deepened, dangerous now. “But why the hell would they do that?”

Oliver’s pulse roared in his head. His throat worked, but no words came. “I… I didn’t know—”

"That's the problem!" William roared, slamming his fist on the desk. "You don't know anything! You're so busy thinking with your d**k that you're blind to the damage you're causing!"

His eyes then turned to Emma who was still bewildered, “Emma, dear, did you meet anyone recently that might be able to pull out this purchase?”

Emma stood frozen for another second.

The only new person I met recently was… Damien. But he was just an escort. I don’t think he is capable of buying me such a luxury item.

“No, grandpa, not really,” Emma replied.

She wasn't exactly a social butterfly in their circle. Oliver did marry her but there was just a small ceremony between some family and friends. Oliver told everyone that Emma insisted on that since she didn't like the spotlight. It was a lie. All of that was so that Oliver could still show up as a bachelor.

And due to that fact, Emma was never very social in their circle. And William knew that too.

“How much does this necklace cost?” Emma asked, her voice quieter than she intended.

“At least half a million,” William replied, his brows knitting in disapproval.

“That much?” Emma’s breath hitched. She sank slowly into the chair, her fingers curling against the armrest. “I had no idea… if I had known, I would have never accepted it.”

Her words were honest, but unease coiled deep in her chest. Why would someone spend that much money on her? Out of kindness? No… this felt deliberate. Targeted.

Oliver seized the moment, his tone sharp and accusing. “She’s lying! Are you seeing other men behind my back? Is this all some scheme to humiliate me—”

“Silence!” William’s roar cracked through the air, making the crystal chandelier tremble faintly.

Oliver flinched but pressed on, “Grandpa—”

“OUT!” William’s voice thundered again, final and unyielding.