My Father Married Me Off for Profit

"No, no one."

Emmie Stewart swiftly shook off Finley Thomas's hand and tugged down her sleeve. How had he noticed the slap mark so quickly? Asher Olson, upon hearing Finley's pointed words, moved closer to Emmie, examining her face. Despite her efforts to hide it, the outline of the slap was still visible.

"No one? If you want to keep this under wraps, you might consider staying out of sight until your injury heals. Right now, you look like you've been through quite the ordeal."

Even now, Finley couldn't resist a gentle tease, though his eyes betrayed a tender concern. He softly traced circles on her cheek with his finger, his gaze as soothing as a gentle stream.

Emmie noticed the meaning in Finley's striking eyes, and her heart skipped a beat. This strange emotion surfaced once more; she kept reminding herself that the man in front of her was soon to be her brother-in-law. Yet, a part of her secretly wished to never relinquish this feeling.

No! No! No!

She couldn't entertain such unrealistic thoughts. Her husband would be Martin Thomas's son, and she needed to win his favor, secure his approval, and uphold the Stewart and Thomas family connection. This was how she would continue her mother's legacy.

"It's my face—I can handle it how I see fit. Please, stop interfering."

Emmie brushed away Finley's hand as he tried to comfort her cheek. She built an invisible wall around herself, rejecting the concern of the two men before her. With a firm resolve, she turned and fled; staying any longer would mean giving in to her emotions.

As she sprinted away, Finley's fingers lingered mid-air, frozen in his soft smile. He was taken aback by her abrupt rejection of his care, as if she'd never looked back.

"Fin, what are you daydreaming about?"

Watching Emmie vanish, Asher was at a loss. He couldn't just stand by and do nothing; her arm was still bleeding, and if it wasn't treated soon, it might get infected.

Not hearing Finley's response for a while, Asher turned to see him lost in thought. Finley stared into the distance, then murmured, "You should probably let her be."

The soft words snapped Finley back to the present. He glanced at Asher, "Which way did she go?"

"What are you planning to do?" Asher asked, a hint of worry in his voice. "Don't forget she's your sister-in-law."

Seeing Asher's concerned look, Finley replied with a cheeky grin, "Exactly why I should check up on her—we'll be family soon, you know!"

"Fin…" Asher hesitated.

"Alright, Asher, there's no need to fret. I know where the lines are," Finley assured him. He understood Asher's worry—that Martin might misconstrue his intentions towards Emmie. "Do you really think I'd go for someone like Emmie? Relax."

"Just making sure." Seeing Finley's assured demeanor, Asher felt reassured that he wouldn't overstep any boundaries with his future sister-in-law. Pointing in a direction, he said, "Emmie went that way."

The two quickly headed off, hoping Emmie hadn't gone far. When they emerged from the courtyard, they found her encircled by two sleazy-looking men. As they tried to touch her, Emmie skillfully evaded them, her expression icy and determined.

Unable to watch any longer, Finley rushed forward, delivering a swift kick to one of the men, sending him sprawling to the ground. He groaned, pleading with his friend for help.

"Who are you?" the other man stammered, lacking confidence.

Emmie cast a glance at her timely rescuers, briefly meeting Finley's eyes. For a moment, an unspoken understanding passed between them. She quickly looked away. Satisfied she wouldn't bolt, Finley shifted his focus and sharply declared, "She's off-limits to you!"

"What?" Emmie and Asher both exclaimed in surprise.

Ignoring their surprise, Finley turned his attention to the other man, "You—come here…"

"Sorry, sorry, we'll leave her alone! It won't happen again!"

"Get lost!"

The steel in Finley's gaze was enough to make them uneasy, like a dark angel revealing its fearsome wings.

"Y-yes… we're going." The other man hurriedly helped his friend up, and they fled across the street.

Relieved by their retreat, Finley approached Emmie, who appeared slightly stunned. He gently flicked her forehead and lightly scolded, "You're a trouble magnet, aren't you? That's twice now I've saved you. You owe me!"

"Fin." Asher's tone was full of exasperation. He couldn't tell if Finley was serious or merely jesting. Hadn't Finley vowed to steer clear of trouble?

"Got it!" Emmie realized she'd been reading too much into things. She backed away, creating some distance between herself and Finley.

"Come with me."

Finley, unbothered by Emmie's apprehension, led her toward a car parked by the roadside. Asher followed quietly, his unease mounting.

The white BMW pulled into the underground parking of Chicago's finest hospital. Finley held Emmie's wrist steadily as they approached the emergency room entrance. There, Emmie finally wriggled free from his grip and said coolly, "I know where I'm going. No need to drag me."

"Then go on in." Finley opened the door and gently nudged her inside. Emmie shot him a look before disappearing behind the door. The doctor examined her, inquired about her injuries, and after a brief evaluation, handed her a prescription before sending her off for treatment.

Outside, Finley and Asher watched as Emmie exited without a word, heading in a different direction with a slip of paper in hand. Finley called after her, "Did they treat your wound?"

"No!" Emmie waved the paper she was holding. "I have to get the meds first."

"Okay, but hurry back." Finley found a seemingly comfortable chair in the waiting area and sat down, looking as if he intended to remain until her return. Emmie's initial annoyance gave way to a reluctant acceptance—perhaps she'd overreacted to his concern.