Kneeling To My Ruthless Billionaire Ex

Emerson pushed open the heavy door of her Brooklyn apartment. The hinges groaned, a familiar sound after a grueling twelve-hour shift.

She carried a brown paper Trader Joe's bag in her left hand. The paper crinkled against her worn coat.

The living room was completely dark. Emerson reached for the light switch, but her hand froze mid-air.

A dark silhouette sat perfectly straight on her cheap, thrifted sofa.

A sharp flick echoed in the quiet room. A small flame illuminated the space for a second.

Beatrice Schroeder lit a long, thin cigarette. The pungent smell of expensive tobacco immediately filled the cramped apartment.

Emerson coughed. The smoke burned the back of her throat. She set the grocery bag down on the shoe cabinet by the entrance. Her stomach tightened into a hard knot.

"How did you get past the building security?" Emerson asked. Her voice was steady, but her fingertips were ice cold.

Beatrice didn't answer. She wore a pristine Chanel suit that looked completely out of place against the peeling wallpaper.

She reached into her Hermes Birkin bag and pulled out a thick stack of papers.

Beatrice threw the documents onto the IKEA coffee table. The heavy thud made Emerson flinch.

The papers slid across the cheap wood. The top page stopped right under the dim hallway light.

It was a severance agreement. The bold letters of the Schroeder Family Trust header stared back at Emerson.

"Sign it," Beatrice commanded. Her voice was like scraping metal. "Sign it, swear you'll cut all ties with my son, take your sick kid, and get the hell out of Alden's life."

Emerson took a slow, deep breath. She forced her racing heart to slow down. The audacity of the demand echoed in her mind, a harsh reminder of how the wealthy viewed human connection-as a transaction to be terminated. A bitter taste flooded her mouth. She clenched her fists, feeling the crescent moons of her nails digging into her palms, anchoring her to reality.

"My relationship with Alden is our own business," Emerson said. She kept her distance, her muscles tense and ready to fight.

Beatrice's eyes flashed with pure rage. She stood up, the heels of her shoes stabbing into the scattered papers on the floor.

She marched toward Emerson. The smell of smoke and heavy perfume was suffocating.

Beatrice poked Emerson hard in the shoulder with her cigarette-holding hand. The burning ash fell onto Emerson's coat.

"You are a leech," Beatrice spat. "A parasite sucking my son dry."

A cold fire ignited in Emerson's chest. She swatted Beatrice's hand away.

"Get out of my apartment," Emerson said, pointing a shaking finger at the open door. "Now."

Beatrice let out a furious shriek. She raised her hand high and swung it down.

Emerson turned her head to dodge, but she wasn't fast enough.

Beatrice's sharp acrylic nails sliced across Emerson's cheek.

A sharp, burning pain ripped across her skin. Emerson gasped and stumbled backward, her hand flying to her face.

Warm