Stolen Identity: Mute Heiress

Chapter 312: Worse?

Emily’s lashes fluttered as she stirred, a small groan slipping from her lips. For a few seconds, she lay still, her mind foggy and her limbs heavy, until her stomach grumbled again and coaxed her awake. She turned on her side and reached for her phone on the nightstand.

The bright screen made her squint.

11:47 a.m.

Her eyes widened.

She bolted upright. "What?! It’s almost noon?" she gasped, her voice groggy and full of disbelief.

She rubbed her face, then stared at the phone again just to be sure. Nope. It wasn’t lying. She had slept for over twelve hours straight.

Her stomach growled loudly again, making her hand fly to it. "Okay, point taken," she muttered, swinging her legs off the bed.

She hadn’t eaten anything proper since she left Husla with Ryan and had been too anxious during the flight to eat, and now her body was making sure she knew it. Her mouth felt dry, her stomach felt hollow, and her head ached faintly from hunger.

She stood, stretched, and walked toward the door, completely forgetting to check her reflection in the mirror.

Her hair was a tousled mess, soft strands sticking up at odd angles, and her face looked like it had just been pressed against a pillow for days. But she didn’t notice.

She was never one to care about her looks anyway. Especially not when she was in her home.

As she descended the stairs, she heard laughter floating up from the living room. Her sisters’ voices, light, cheerful giggles, echoed through the house.

She paused on the third step from the bottom, smiling faintly.

"What are they laughing about?" she murmured.

Curious, she followed the sound until she reached the doorway of the living room and then she froze.

There, sitting comfortably on the couch, surrounded by her three sisters and two brothers like some kind of celebrity, was Callan.

He was sitting there, relaxed, laughing easily as he told them a joke. Her sisters were giggling uncontrollably, while the boys sat there, staring up at him with wide-eyed amusement and admiration.

Emily blinked.

Was she dreaming? Or had her sleepy brain conjured up this sight?

The image in front of her looked too unreal. She couldn’t remember the last time Callan visited her house without his parents especially when she was home.

What was worst? He looked heartbreakingly handsome.

As if sensing her presence, Callan’s head turned and his gaze locked with hers.

And in that moment, something in his chest jolted.

The sight of her, barefaced, tousled hair falling over her shoulders, wearing nothing but a pale bralette and matching shorts hit him like a slow, warm punch. She looked soft and achingly innocent.

For a brief, dangerous second, he was reminded of their first night together. How she’d looked then, sleepy and flushed. He adjusted in his seat and crossed his legs at the thought. He was glad that her younger ones were too distracted with their conversation to notice.

His lips curved into a grin. "Hello, Princess Emily," he drawled, eyes still holding hers.

Emily’s breath caught. The way he smiled, slow and a little lazy, made her pulse skip.

Her immediate younger sister, Daisy, turned and spotted Emily. "Finally! Sleeping Beauty woke up! Cal’s been waiting for hours! He wouldn’t let us wake you."

Before Emily could respond, her little brother added cheerfully, "Your hair looks really messy, Emmy! And your face looks like tomatoes."

That did it.

Emily’s eyes widened, and her hand flew straight to her hair. The moment her fingers touched it, she realized exactly what they meant.

Her hair was a wild disaster.

"Oh no," she squeaked, mortified that Callan had seen her looking that way.

And before anyone could say another word or before Callan’s grin could widen any more she spun around and dashed up the stairs, her bare feet barely touching the steps.

Her siblings’ laughter echoed behind her, mixing with Callan’s low chuckle.

When she reached her room, she shut the door and leaned against it, covering her face with both hands. "Great, Emily. Just great," she groaned.

After a few seconds, she forced herself to stand in front of the mirror.

Her reflection made her wince. Her hair was a tangle of curls, her lashes stuck together from sleep, but at least—thankfully her face wasn’t puffy it was just flushed. "Could’ve been worse," she muttered.

Then her gaze dropped, and she froze again when she realized what she was wearing.

The bralette and shorts were far too revealing for male company.

Her already red cheeks flamed even more.

"Oh my God," she whispered, burying her face in her hands. "He saw me like this. Callan saw me like this."

She peeked through her fingers and groaned again. Her boobs didn’t look so big in this bralette. If she had been wearing a pushup bra they’d have looked more impressive, she thought, dropping both hands to her sides.

"It doesn’t matter," she muttered. "He doesn’t care. He’s seen even prettier girls. It’s not like he hasn’t been with... ugh." She shook her head hard, trying to shove that thought away.

Why was he at her house any way? She wondered as she pushed away from the mirror, and headed into the bathroom.

Thirty-five minutes later, she came out freshly showered and smelling faintly of mint and fruits. Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun that still looked neat enough, and she’d changed into black trousers and a red long-sleeved shirt that hung loosely on her.

A quick swipe of lip balm, a touch of mascara, and a hint of blush, and she told herself the effort had nothing to do with Callan.

Absolutely nothing.

She looked in the mirror one last time and nodded. "You’re fine," she whispered. "He’s just Callan. You’re on your way to getting over him. No pressure."

But her heart didn’t believe her. Not when it quickened when she remembered his grin earlier.

When she walked downstairs again, the living room was empty except for him.

He was standing near the window, phone in hand, sunlight spilling over him. When he turned and saw her, his lips curved into that easy, devastating smile that made her wonder the reason he seemed so happy despite what had happened.

Was he that happy that Ryan Harris was dead?

"Hello again," he said, voice warm. "Sleep well?"

She nodded, trying to sound casual despite how fast her traitorous heart was beating. "I did. Apparently a little too well."

"You needed the rest," he said softly.

"I guess so." She glanced around. "Where’s everyone?"

"They went to join your Mom in the Den," he replied, sliding his phone into his pocket.

Her pulse quickened when she caught the way his eyes moved over her, soft and unmistakably admiring.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" she asked, folding her arms mostly to stop her hands from fidgeting.

He tilted his head slightly. "We agreed to hang out today, remember?"

"Oh. Yeah. Sure. I just didn’t expect you’d come here. I thought you’d maybe send me a location and I’d drive down," she said, feeling really selfconscious because of the way he was staring at her.

"I came to make sure you don’t back out of the plan."

Her stomach growled before she could answer. She laughed awkwardly slapping her hands over it. "I’m starving. I came down earlier to find food."

He grinned. "I’m starving too. If you can be patient, I’ll take you somewhere nice to eat."

"I can’t be patient on an empty stomach," she said with mock seriousness. "Give me a minute."

She disappeared upstairs to grab her phone and purse then on her way back she went into the Den to tell her mom that she was stepping out with Callan, then went to the kitchen.

She returned a moment later with two apples. Handing him an apple, she said, "This should hold us till then."

He took it with a smile. "Sure, Eve."

She giggled as they walked out together, side by side, munching quietly.

When they got into his car, she glanced at him curiously. "So, where are we going? Any place I know? Or somewhere new?"

He started the engine. "A new spot. Somewhere we can relax and talk."

She smiled faintly. "Sounds nice," she said, looking forward to learning as much about him as he was willing to share.

"You know, you look well rested," he said after driving for a while, glancing at her briefly.

She laughed. "Anyone who sleeps twelve hours would look well rested."

"Yeah," he agreed.

Then eyed him. "You don’t look well rested though."

He smiled faintly. "That’s because I didn’t sleep all night."

She raised a brow. "Nightmares?"

He shook his head. "No. I was thinking."

"About what happened at the hospital?" She asked curiously, glad that they were conversing like two normal people for a change.

"That was part of it," he said quietly. "A small part."

Before she could ask what the other part was, he shifted the conversation. "How do you feel about what happened yesterday at the hospital?"

She sighed softly, her gaze drifting out the window. "I don’t feel any particular way on a personal level. But I do feel sorry for you and Dawn. Even Genevieve," she said honestly. "But not for Mr Harris. I never really liked him."

He glanced at her. "There wasn’t anything worth liking."

She smiled. "Well, I wanted to be able to like him because he’s your Dad. I kept hoping maybe he’d change for your sake. But in the end, he didn’t. And I honestly can’t say I’m disappointed, because I stopped expecting anything from him."

"Why are you not disappointed?" Callan asked curiously.

She paused, then added quietly, "Now that he’s gone, I can say this honestly. I knew he was self-centered. I kept wanting to believe he wasn’t totally the way Jamal painted him to be. But he’s actually worse."

Callan’s brows furrowed slightly. "Worse?"

She nodded. "He seized my phone during the flight and told his aide that if anything happened to him, I and the others shouldn’t be allowed to leave the plane alive."

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "He did that to you?"

She sighed. "Yeah. He did."

"Why didn’t you say anything?" Cal asked, seething angrily.

"You were already going through so much, and I didn’t want my issue with your father to cloud your decision," she said flatly.

"Em," he said, voice low and tight, "you are my business. If he couldn’t even treat you decently despite knowing you were connected to me, then he didn’t deserve an audience with me to begin with."

She gave a faint smile. "He realized that eventually and apologized. But I know it wasn’t because he suddenly cared. He just wanted me to not report him to you. Like I said, he’s self-centered."

Callan’s jaw clenched, the muscle ticking faintly.

Before either could say more, her phone began to ring with a call from Mari.

Emily’s heart lifted a little. "It’s Mari," she told him as she reached for her phone quickly, giving.

"Hey, baby," she said, her tone soft and cheerful.

Callan glanced at Emily from the corner of his eye, his chest warming at the way her expression softened when she smiled.

He really hoped she would accept his apology and explanation for his misbehavior even though it was coming several years late.