Collide Into Ruin

Chapter 47: Nothing Can Go Wrong

"Your mom doesn't count," Henry deadpanned.

Em burst out laughing as Cayden groaned. "I hate you both."

Henry grinned and turned to Em. "Anyway, how did the board meeting go?"

Em sighed, stretching her legs out. "Surprisingly well, actually. Hallie tried to make a scene, but no one really seemed to take her seriously. Later, I heard she stormed back in with a face redder than a tomato. One of the nurses swore she had a literal handprint mark." She shook her head. "I'm just grateful it's over. I don't even want to question it."

Henry smirked. "I mean, if someone finally gave her what she deserved, I'm not saying I'd be against it."

Cayden let out a low whistle. "Damn. Remind me never to get on Em's bad side."

Em rolled her eyes. "I had nothing to do with it! Now, tell me about your day," she said, turning her attention back to Henry.

He shrugged casually. "Helped out an old friend."

Em raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And?"

He smirked, leaning slightly closer. "She's excited to meet you."

Em felt a warmth creep up her neck. "Why?"

Henry didn't answer right away. Instead, he just looked at her, a slow, flirty smile spreading across his face.

Em groaned, covering her face with her hands. "You're unbearable."

Henry chuckled, reaching over to gently tug her hands away. "And yet, here you are, madly in love with me."

Cayden mock gagged. "Okay, I'm officially raising the fare for this ride. Romance tax."

Henry and Em just laughed, their hands intertwined as they rode home, the night settling in around them like a quiet promise of everything still to come.

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By the time they arrived home, exhaustion had settled deep into Em's bones, but a warm shower was all it took to revive her. Wrapped in a simple white tank top with tiny cherries and black shorts, she padded downstairs, her damp curls bouncing slightly as she moved. The kitchen was quiet, the air filled with the comforting scent of fresh herbs as she set out ingredients to start dinner.

Henry walked in moments later, towel-drying his hair, his shirt clinging to his toned frame. He paused in the doorway, a slow grin spreading across his face as he watched Em move around the kitchen. "Is this my prize for enduring the day? You cooking in that?"

Em rolled her eyes but smirked. "If you help, maybe I'll let you have a taste."

Henry stepped closer, resting his hands on the counter as he leaned in. "Oh, I plan to taste everything."

She playfully bumped him with her hip. "Grab the garlic and start chopping, flirt."

He sighed dramatically but obeyed, pulling a knife from the block. "You know, for someone so tiny, you give a lot of orders."

"I have to. Otherwise, you'd just stand there looking pretty."

Henry chuckled, moving behind her as she stirred a pot on the stove. His hands skimmed her waist before resting lightly on her hips. "And here I thought you liked looking at me."

Em's breath hitched, but she refused to let him win so easily. "You're useful sometimes."

His fingers brushed up her arm, slow and teasing. "Only sometimes?"

She turned, only for Henry to close the space between them, his lips mere inches from hers. "What about now?" he murmured.

Em swallowed, her pulse racing. "I guess... you're proving your worth."

That was all the encouragement he needed. He tilted her chin up and kissed her—deep, slow, and all-consuming. It wasn't just a kiss; it was heat, want, and every unspoken thing between them. The simmering pot on the stove was forgotten, the only thing that mattered was the way he held her, the way he kissed her like she was something to be savored.

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At Emerald Bay Resort, anticipation buzzed in the air like a crackling fire. The sun cast golden streaks over the emerald pools, their crystal waters shimmering under the light. The private beaches, covered in colorful pebbles and soft white sand, stretched endlessly into the horizon, creating a picture of absolute paradise. Towering palm trees swayed gently, framing the lush, sprawling resort where luxury knew no bounds.

The manager, a sharp-suited man named Daniel Whitmore, clapped his hands together, addressing the gathered staff. "Alright, everyone, listen up! We're expecting an influx of guests for the big event, and more importantly, the owners themselves will be visiting. This is our moment to shine. We offer the best—better than any five-star resort, better than Disney, better than anywhere else in the world."

Excited murmurs rippled through the crowd. This was their time to impress, to show why Emerald Bay was a jewel of perfection, a paradise unlike any other. From the extravagant spa to the world-class dining and endless recreational amenities, guests would find themselves lost in luxury and wonder.

But as the staff dispersed, a shadow passed over Whitmore's face. He glanced toward the horizon, where the ocean met the sky, and for just a second, a flicker of unease settled in his gut. He shook it off.

Nearby, two employees whispered.

"Something doesn't feel right," one murmured.

"Don't jinx it," the other warned. "Absolutely nothing can go wrong."

And yet, in the distance, past the rolling waves and glittering sands, a storm was brewing. Trouble was coming.

And it was already too late to stop it.