“What does her survival have to do with you, for God’s sake? Micah, wake up! Emma’s reputation is in shambles—even the Windsors have washed their hands of her, so why are you still worrying about her? She’s practically engaged to the Carters, carrying their child, and you’re still getting yourself tangled up with her? Honestly, are there no other women in the world? Why are you so obsessed with the Windsor girl?”

Carla pleaded with all the desperation of a mother at her wit’s end, but no amount of scolding could snap her wayward son out of it.

Micah was like a runaway teenager, all brooding defiance and blind loyalty—nothing Carla said could haul him back onto the straight and narrow.

He ended Carla’s call, immediately dialing Emma’s number instead, panic rising in his chest at the thought that something might have happened to her.

Emma picked up, but didn’t say a word—she just started sobbing softly, her voice barely above a whisper, “Micah, Micah…”

That was all it took. Micah’s urge to play the hero surged, stronger than ever. He pressed her for her whereabouts, then raced over without a second thought.

The moment he opened the hotel room door, Emma threw herself into his arms, her tears streaming as she choked on her words, utterly broken.

“Micah, you came… I thought no one in this world cared about me anymore. I was ready to give up—to end it all, I just… It’s all my fault, if only I’d listened to you, I wouldn’t be here now…”

She confessed, she repented, her sorrow so raw and vulnerable that Micah’s resolve completely crumbled.

He found himself apologizing too. “Emma, it’s not your fault—it’s mine. I shouldn’t have left you. If I’d stayed, maybe you wouldn’t have given up, wouldn’t have ended up with that bastard Sheridan Carter… This is all on me.”

There was some truth in that. Micah’s mistakes had played no small part in Emma’s downfall.

They clung to each other, two lost souls, their old resentments dissolving in the wake of shared regret.

Tears still streaming, Emma pressed her lips to his. Micah stiffened, uncertain, his expression clouded.

Emma looked wounded, her voice shaky, painfully self-deprecating. “Micah, do you hate me too? Do you think I’m dirty?”

He hesitated, torn. “Emma, I…”

“I know I’m not good enough for you. There’s nothing left for me now—nothing but the end.” With that, she broke free and made a wild dash for the window.

“Emma!” Micah lunged and caught her just as she flung the window open. She thrashed and screamed, “Let me go, just let me end this—I can’t take it anymore!”

The hotel window wouldn’t even open all the way—she couldn’t have flung herself out if she tried.

But Micah was too frantic to think rationally.

He crushed her against him, soothing her with desperate reassurances, holding her like a child in the throes of a tantrum.

Emma pressed her face into his shoulder, still sobbing, but her features were oddly composed—none of the wild despair of someone truly ready to jump.

Instead, a faint smile flickered at the corner of her lips.

Once she quieted, Micah gently drew back, cupping her face and brushing away her tears.

“Emma, you matter. I care about you, I really do. You have to hang on—things will get better, I promise.” His words were soft but resolute, his gaze full of concern.

Emma looked up at him, eyes shining with gratitude and trust. “Micah, thank you…”

Their eyes met, and Emma leaned in for another tentative kiss.

This time, Micah didn’t pull away.

He yielded, then swept her up in his arms, surrendering at last—to desire, to his own impossible need to be her hero.