Chapter 5 - The Ride to BostonThe heavy doors of the town car closed with a satisfying, muffled thud, cutting off the distant, muffled echoes of the wedding reception. Inside, the cabin was a sanctuary of soft leather, dim amber lighting, and absolute silence.
Emmett reached into a small refrigerated compartment, pulled out a chilled bottle of sparkling water, unscrewed the cap, and handed it to me.
“You handled that with significantly more poise than I would have,” Emmett said, a faint, appreciative smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he settled back into the upholstery. “If my family had treated me like that, I probably would have set the wedding cake on fire.”
I took the bottle, taking a cool, refreshing sip before letting out a long, shuddering breath that I felt like I’d been holding for twenty-six years.
“Setting the cake on fire is a bit dramatic,” I murmured, looking out the tinted window as the luxury estate receded into the dark Vermont hills. “Though tempting. Honestly, I’m still processing that you actually walked across that entire ballroom just to sit at the kids' table.”
“Where else would I go?” Emmett asked, turning his body slightly toward me. “You think I wanted to sit up front and listen to local politicians talk about real estate markets? I came here specifically to see you, Jenna. When you emailed me that final draft last Thursday at 3:00 a.m., you mentioned off-hand that you’d be ‘stuck at a family wedding in Vermont all weekend suffering through bad chicken.’ It didn't take a genius to connect the dots.”
I blinked, surprised. “You read my side notes?”
“I read everything you write,” Emmett said, his tone shifting from light banter to something intensely focused. “Every brief, every memo, every speech. You have a rare gift, Jenna. You take chaotic, complex corporate structures and turn them into human stories that people actually care about. That’s why Stewart Technologies is where it is today. And yet, back there... they treated you like a domestic servant.”
“They didn't know,” I said quietly, staring down at the condensation forming on the water bottle. “And honestly, part of me liked it that way. In that world, writing is just something you do in the shadows. It was safe. I didn't have to deal with the pressure of expectations. I could just be the invisible sister.”
“Well,” Emmett said softly, the car accelerating smoothly onto the highway heading south toward Boston, “consider your invisibility cloak officially revoked. Because after tonight, the tech world is going to want to know exactly who Jenna Vance is.”
My phone buzzed in my purse. Then it buzzed again. And again. A steady, relentless stream of notifications vibrating against the leather seat.
I pulled it out. The screen was lit up with missed calls and text messages from numbers I didn't recognize, alongside frantic pings from family group chats I had muted years ago.
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Uncle Richard: Jenna, please call me. We need to talk about your consulting rates. Mom: How could you do this to your brother? Answer your phone right now! Nicholas: Please, Jenna. Just tell them it was a joke. Please.
I looked at the screen, watched the little notification badges tick upward, and then, with a calm and deliberate motion, I swiped down, tapped the icon, and turned my phone completely off.
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