Chapter 396 A Woman Without Shame
Philip blurted out before he could stop himself.
"Are you out of your mind?"
Years in the business had shown him every kind of eccentric, but Emma was in a league of her own.
She sat cross-legged on the leather sofa in his office, calmly painting her nails, as if she owned the place.
"This is exactly the kind of mess the Kate family needs me for," she said, blowing lightly across her fingertips. "And honestly, going on a date with a stunning woman like me? You're hardly losing out."
Philip's jaw tightened. "How am I not losing out?"
He almost shot out of his chair, staring at her as if she'd just suggested robbing a bank.
Emma stood, waving her hands lazily to dry the polish, her tone casual. "I help you fix this, you come with me to the Kate Villa for dinner. Fair trade."
Philip narrowed his eyes. "And in what capacity?"
"College friends. You're a Windsor, that's all that matters. Be grateful—if you weren't, I wouldn't even bother."
His face flushed hot. "Why not ask Richard? He's single."
"Too many fans. I don't need the online mob after me. Besides, you're in the same industry. Easier."
Easier for her maybe—not for him.
"You've been living in my house. What exactly are you trying to pull?"
Across the desk, his assistant ducked her head so fast it was almost comical. This was gossip on a nuclear level. Emma living with Philip? She bit her fist to keep from gasping, certain this was the kind of secret that could get her quietly buried.
Emma shrugged, all faux innocence. "That's why my mom wants me to bring you home for dinner. If you refuse, the Windsor family doesn't have many single men left with your surname. I'll have to settle for your grandfather."
She glanced back over her shoulder, smiling like a cat with cream. "Would you mind if I became your step-grandmother, darling?"
Philip had never met a woman so shameless.
Unfortunately, Aurora adored her. Emma had charmed her way through Windsor Villa, showering Aurora with compliments so sugary they could rot teeth. Aurora now treated her almost like her own daughter.
Which meant kicking Emma out was impossible.
The thought of her actually going to Marcus made Philip's fists clench. "Fine. Don't scare my grandfather. If you can get Gabriella's mother's psychiatric evaluation to stick, I'll go to dinner with you."
Just one dinner. And no way she could pull this off so easily.
Emma snapped her fingers. "Watch me."
Philip hesitated, then rose to follow. "I'm coming with you."
"For what? To learn my tricks?"
"I'm worried you'll hit someone and end up with a criminal record."
Hospital, psychiatric wing.
Sloane sat perfectly composed, hair pinned with a pearl clip, every strand in place. Her tailored suit spoke of elegance and control.
She smiled warmly at the doctor. "Thank you for seeing me. But I assure you, I have no mental issues. The incident with my daughter was just playful—an accident. As a mother, I feel deeply guilty."
A knock interrupted them. Catherine, in uniform and mask, stepped in. She gestured for the older doctor to swap places with a younger one. Even with only her eyes visible, the change unsettled Sloane.
Still, she thought, they'd already tried several doctors. None had found her unfit. As long as she was alive, Gabriella and Odette would never have her committed.
"Describe your two children," Catherine said evenly.
"My daughters are exceptional. Both graduated from prestigious universities, both work in the arts—they inherited my talent and refined taste. They're wonderful girls."
"I heard you regret not having a son."
Sloane dabbed at her eyes. "Doctor, you're young—you haven't had children. Every child is a blessing, but where I come from, not having a son means people will whisper behind your back."
"You've never lived in a rural community," Catherine noted. "Why fear their whispers?"
Sloane faltered. She'd been a city girl from birth. Why pretend otherwise? "My mother had only daughters. Relatives mocked her constantly when I was young. It hurt."
Catherine tapped a photo on the screen. "This is your parents' family portrait, yes? If I'm not mistaken, your mother had three sons. You're the only daughter."
Narcissists lied as easily as breathing.
Sloane didn't flinch. "Doctor, you're too young to understand these social nuances. Even if I felt regret, I raised two remarkable daughters."
"Your husband's mistress bore him a son."
Her words caught in her throat. "That's... fine. My husband is gone now. Our marriage was unhappy. Let's not dwell on it."
"Why didn't you divorce if you were unhappy?"
"For the children. Without a father, they'd have no foundation, no future. I endured a miserable marriage so they could have a brighter path."
She looked almost pitiable. "I only want them to succeed. If I must sacrifice, so be it. I was once accomplished—brilliant—but I gave it all up for them."
Catherine shifted topics. "You argued with Odette because of her clothing?"
"Presentation matters. I was offering guidance. Modern trends are corrupting her artistic eye."
"You told her that wearing knee-high boots in this season was unflattering, that it exposed the shape of her legs. And that her perm looked cheap."
"Exactly. Is it wrong to want her to look her best? She hung up on me—is that how she wants to sever ties?
"She's financially independent. Her style is her choice.
"I only want her to be better. If she thinks looking bad is a moral victory, I have nothing more to say."
Catherine stood. "Understood. Thank you for your cooperation."
Everything Sloane had said fit the textbook profile for narcissistic personality disorder. All that remained was to provoke her into revealing it.
The door swung open. Emma leaned against the frame, lollipop in her mouth, eyes glinting with mischief.
"Mrs. Gray," she purred, "you're in luck. Gabriella's boyfriend is the CEO of the Evergreen Group."
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