Baby Matchmaker

In the banquet hall, Emily Johnson's fingers turned white as she gripped her champagne flute, her eyes sweeping over the crowd until they landed on her father, Simon Johnson, who was chatting with the ladies nearby.

The face she once loved now looked like nothing but a mask. Barely three months after her mother's funeral, this man had welcomed Celeste Johnson and her daughter, Clara Johnson, into their home.

"Emily, why are you hiding over here? Mr. Murphy still wants to discuss that partnership with you." A sickly sweet voice, thick with perfume, slithered toward her, causing Emily's spine to stiffen instinctively.

Emily pulled away from the unwanted touch with disgust. "Not interested."

Clara, who was three years older than Emily, was Simon's illegitimate daughter.

When Emily's mother, Scarlett Lewis, had been bedridden with illness, Simon had boldly taken Celeste, his mistress, to high-end clubs. Now he had brought her into their home without any shame. Celeste paraded around in expensive gowns and adorned herself with the jewelry left by Emily's mother, playing the role of Mrs. Johnson.

Clara had gone overnight from being the secret daughter to the princess of the family.

Clara's smile never faltered as she offered Emily a cocktail glass filled with a berry-red liquid. "Don't be so cold. We're sisters, after all. Try this? I saw Mrs. Bailey drinking it the other day. It's a new cocktail called 'Dreamy Intoxication.'"

The cherry garnish at the rim gleamed strangely, turning Emily’s stomach. She couldn't forget how Simon had impatiently urged the doctors to give up on the treatment during her mother's final days. Nor could she forget the smug look on Celeste's face when Celeste first stepped into their home.

This man, his mistress, and their daughter had torn open countless wounds in Emily's heart.

"Drink it yourself," she stepped back, her eyes flashing with open disdain.

But Clara ignored her reaction and pressed the glass firmly into her hand. "Do me a favor. Look, so many people are watching us. We can't let them think we don't get along, can we?"

Emily looked around and saw many eyes watching them directed their way, filled with speculation and interest.

These people lived for gossip. If they witnessed her treating Clara this way, who knew what unpleasant rumors might spread.

While Emily hesitated, Clara lowered her voice. "Dad specifically asked us to behave like proper sisters. Don't upset him over something so trivial."

Something sharp pierced Emily's heart.

She knew all too well that Simon now only had eyes for Clara and Celeste. Any disobedience from Emily would only invite harsher criticism and indifference.

Moreover, Simon still controlled Mirage Fashion—the company Emily's mother had devoted her entire life to building. Emily couldn't afford to fall out with Simon before reclaiming Mirage Fashion.

Emily reluctantly took the glass.

"That's more like it." Clara's smile grew sweeter, as if she hadn't been the one who threatened Emily.

Emily tilted her head back and took a small sip. The bitter liquid burned as it went down.

Within moments, a strange, feverish heat washed over her.

Emily clutched at her collar as cold sweat instantly soaked through her gown. She looked at Clara in disbelief, the look of triumph in Clara’s eyes cutting through her like a knife.

"You..."

How dare Clara drug her at such a public event?

Was she insane?

Or was this approved by their father?

Clara steadied Emily's swaying body, her voice sickeningly gentle. "What's wrong, Emily? You look terrible. Let me take you somewhere to rest."

As she was dragged through the hallway, Emily's consciousness began to blur.

Clara's perfume filled her nostrils—the exact same scent Clara had worn the first time she barged into Emily's mother's sickroom.

"Let go of me..." she struggled through gritted teeth, only to be roughly shoved into a guest room.

As the door closed, she heard Clara whispering with a man outside, his sickening laughter making her stomach convulse.

The fire inside her body grew increasingly unbearable. Emily collapsed onto the carpet,tears sliding down through the cold sweat on her face.

She hated Simon for his callousness, despised Clara for her viciousness, andloathed herself for still being caught in a family that had long since stopped deserving the name, where even her mother's funeral had been disturbed by that despicable pair.

"Well, hello, beautiful. I've been waiting for you."

The slimy voice pierced her eardrums. Emily jerked her head up to see the beer-bellied man—Roy Murphy, one of her father's business partners who had eyed her lecherously at a recent business dinner. He approached, rubbing his hands together, his gold rings gleaming disgustingly in the light.

"Get away from me!" she screamed with all her strength, her nails digging deep into the carpet.

The man stumbled back from her push, then lunged forward in angry embarrassment. "Stop acting so high and mighty! Simon practically delivered you to me! You know what? Cross me, and I'll make sure your family goes bankrupt today!"

Simon!

So he had approved this!

Her own father was willing to throw her to the wolves!

Emily found strength from somewhere deep within and kicked Roy squarely in the groin. While he doubled over in pain, she scrambled out the door.

She would rather die than let that disgusting man touch her!

Emily ran barefoot down the hallway, the cold marble floor bruising her feet. The crystal chandeliers overhead made her dizzy, but she didn't dare stop.

Behind her, Roy's angry curses mingled with his heavy footsteps thudding like a heartbeat against her ears.

"You little bitch! You'll pay for this!"

Emily could feel the drug-induced heat spreading relentlessly through her body, her consciousness flickering in and out. Just as she was about to collapse, a door ahead of her suddenly opened. A tall man stepped out and walked away quickly, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Without thinking, Emily slipped through the gap like a fish. As she closed the door behind her, she fumbled for the lock. The soft click as it engaged was the sweetest sound she'd ever heard.

She had barely steadied herself against the door when she heard Roy's heavy breathing outside. "Damn it! Where did that little slut go? When I find you, I'll make sure you can't walk for a week!"

Emily's body trembled uncontrollably. Would that disgusting man break down the door in his rage?

She glanced out the window—28th floor. There was nowhere to run.

Was she completely at the mercy of fate now?