Mr. Grey-Book I

7

Emilia

The next day, precisely at noon, the driver arrived to pick me up as Mrs. Grey had promised. I found myself sitting in a lavish living room, trying to quell my nerves as I waited.

"Mr. Grey will see you now," a woman in a crisp blue and white uniform informed me. I nodded, gathering my composure as I stood.

"This way, please," she said, gesturing towards an imposing black door. Without a word, she grasped the handle and pushed it open. "Go in."

I stepped into the room, my eyes widening as I took in my surroundings. I couldn't help but gasp at its sheer opulence. The space looked like it had been lifted straight from the pages of an elite interior design magazine.

The king-sized bed was adorned with cream sheets inlaid with fine green silk. Delicate leaves were embroidered so intricately that they appeared to have gently fallen and settled into the fabric. I knew they must have taken hundreds of painstaking hours to create. The curtains were made of pristine white linen, untouched by human hands.

My gaze finally landed on a man standing by the window, his back to me. Two male nurses flanked him like silent sentinels.

"Sit," he ordered, his voice sharp and commanding. A shiver of apprehension ran down my spine at the intensity in his tone. Wordlessly, I sank onto a nearby couch.

The silence in the room was oppressive, broken only by the man's abrupt question. "What's your name?"

"Emilia," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

"You're Spanish?" he asked, a hint of curiosity creeping into his voice.

"Half Spanish," I clarified. "My mother is Spanish, and my father is American." I paused, unsure where this line of questioning was heading. The fact that he hadn't even turned to look at me was unnerving. "Mrs. Grey said you wanted to talk?"

Silence stretched between us once more before he spoke again. "Are you pregnant?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know. I haven't taken the test yet."

"Why not?" His tone was oddly intense for someone who supposedly didn't want this child.

"I... I'm not sure," I stammered. "I thought you didn't want any part of it?"

"I don't."

"Then why did you ask to see me?"

He began to speak but cut himself off. When he continued, his voice was laced with disgust. "Why are you doing this? Do you have any self-respect? Couldn't you find a decent job instead of resorting to something so... degrading?"

His words hit me like a physical blow. "I needed the money," I said quietly, trying to keep my voice steady. But it was probably the worst thing to say.

He scoffed. "Pathetic. You could make money doing anything else, yet you chose this? You're clearly a gold digger and a desperate one at that. People like you disgust me."

I could hear him muttering under his breath, "Where does she find these women?"

As he continued his tirade, I felt tears threatening to spill over. My inner voice screamed at me to defend myself, to yell back, to do something – anything – other than sit there in silence. But guilt and shame paralyzed me.

"You don't know anything about me," I finally choked out.

"I know enough to define you, you're disgusting."

He turned slightly, but his gaze remained fixed at some point in the distance. The nurses moved swiftly to assist him, guiding him carefully towards the bed. It was then that I realized something wasn't quite right with him.

"Get out," he suddenly bellowed, making me flinch.

Without a word, I grabbed my bag and fled the room. Once outside, I slumped against the wall, finally allowing the tears to fall freely. I wasn't crying because of his cruel words, but because deep down, I feared he might be right.

I don't know how long I sat there, but eventually, a gentle voice broke through my misery. "Miss?"

I hastily wiped my eyes and looked up to see an older woman in a housekeeper's uniform looking at me with concern.

"I'm sorry, I'll leave," I mumbled, struggling to my feet.

"Don't let it bother you, dear," she said softly.

I blinked at her in confusion. "What?"

She smiled sadly. "You've been sitting here crying for quite some time. He must have said something to upset you."

I shook my head, trying to compose myself. "No, I should go. Thank you," I said, turning to leave.

"You shouldn't take whatever he said to heart," she called after me. "Those are just his pain talking."

I paused, scoffing through my tears. "What pain could possibly justify treating people like that?"

Not waiting for an answer, I stormed out, my mind made up. I was done with the Greys and this whole arrangement. No amount of money was worth this. This humiliation. He clearly didn't want this and I wasn't going to let him have it.

As I stepped out into the sunlight, I took a deep breath, feeling a strange mix of relief and trepidation. Whatever happened next, I knew one thing for certain – I couldn't go through with this. It was done with the Greys.