Updated Apr 18, 2026 • ~12 min read
Chapter 24: The Confession (hers)
Emmeline
Two days after the Duke’s complete confession about Caroline and his past, Emmy wakes feeling restless and uncertain because while the Duke has shared everything about his fears and trauma, she’s been less forthcoming about her own anxieties about their marriage—and that imbalance feels wrong when they’re supposed to be building complete partnership without walls.
She finds the Duke in his private library—their private library now, since Emmy has essentially moved into all his spaces—working on estate correspondence, and when she enters he looks up with that soft expression he’s been wearing more frequently since they finally became fully intimate.
“You look troubled,” the Duke observes, setting down his pen. “What’s wrong?”
Emmy settles into the chair across from his desk—the same position where they’ve had so many important conversations throughout their marriage—and she tries to find words for anxieties she’s been holding back.
“You told me everything about your past,” Emmy begins. “About Caroline and Thomas and why you were so terrified of our marriage. But I haven’t been equally honest about my fears. And I think—I think maybe it’s time I shared what I’ve been holding back.”
The Duke’s full attention is on Emmy now, and she sees genuine concern in his expression at the idea that she’s been carrying unspoken fears.
“Tell me,” the Duke says gently. “Whatever you’re worried about. I want to know.”
Emmy takes a breath and decides complete honesty is the only approach that makes sense when the Duke has been so vulnerable with her.
“I thought I was just transaction to you,” Emmy admits. “For months I thought I was nothing but convenient solution to your heir problem. Someone you acquired like you’d acquire property or livestock. Not a person you actually valued but just a means to an end. And that was—that was devastating, Sebastian. Feeling like I mattered so little to the man I was legally bound to for life.”
The Duke’s expression shifts to something that might be guilt or regret, and Emmy sees him understanding how his careful distance must have felt from her perspective.
“I never meant to make you feel that way,” the Duke says quietly. “I was so focused on protecting myself from caring that I didn’t consider how my distance was affecting you.”
“I know that now,” Emmy continues. “I understand your walls were about protecting yourself, not about devaluing me. But for months I felt completely worthless in our marriage. Like I could disappear and you wouldn’t even notice beyond the inconvenience of having to find another wife to produce your heir.”
“Emmy—” the Duke begins, but she holds up a hand to stop him because she needs to finish this confession before she loses courage.
“And then there was Caroline,” Emmy says, her voice cracking slightly. “This perfect ghost I was competing with. Every time I walked into what used to be her chambers, every time someone mentioned how kind and beautiful she was, every time I saw you look sad at Christmas—I felt like I was failing to be good enough to make you forget her. Like I was just inferior replacement for someone you actually loved.”
The Duke stands and moves around his desk to kneel beside Emmy’s chair, and when he takes her hands his grip is firm and grounding.
“You’re not a replacement,” the Duke says urgently. “You’ve never been a replacement. You’re your own person. Someone I fell for completely independently of Caroline. Someone who made me feel things I didn’t feel with her. You’re not competing with a ghost, Emmy. You’re just… you’re the future I’m choosing instead of staying frozen in the past.”
“I know that intellectually,” Emmy admits. “But emotionally—Sebastian, I was so jealous of her. This woman I never met. This tragedy I had nothing to do with. I hated myself for being jealous of someone who died so young and suffered so much. But I couldn’t help it. Because she had what I desperately wanted—your complete love and devotion. And I thought I’d never earn that from you because I wasn’t her.”
Tears are streaming down Emmy’s face now, and the Duke pulls her into his arms while she cries through all the insecurity and fear she’s been holding back for months.
“You’re not second choice,” the Duke says firmly. “You’re not inferior. You’re not failing to measure up to Caroline. You’re just different. Special in your own ways. Someone I love desperately for exactly who you are instead of wishing you were someone else.”
“Do you really love me?” Emmy asks, voicing the fear she’s been too afraid to speak. “Or do you just love that I’m not dead like Caroline? That I’m alive and present and convenient?”
The Duke pulls back enough to cup Emmy’s tear-stained face in his scarred hands, and when he speaks his voice is rough with emotion.
“I really love you,” the Duke says with absolute certainty. “Not convenience. Not gratitude that you’re alive. Actual love for exactly who you are. Your stubbornness that made you refuse to accept my walls. Your kindness that let you be patient while I figured out how to move forward. Your intelligence that challenges me instead of just agreeing with everything I say. Your bravery that made you force me into uncomfortable growth. All of it, Emmy. I love all of you.”
Emmy’s chest aches with relief at hearing those words, at understanding that her fears about being second-choice or insufficient were wrong, and she clings to the Duke while trying to compose herself enough to continue her confession.
“I was afraid you’d never want me,” Emmy admits once she can speak again. “That you’d spend our entire marriage maintaining distance. That you’d eventually consummate our union just to produce an heir but it would be mechanical and loveless. That I’d live my whole life married to someone who tolerated me but never actually wanted me. That was my nightmare, Sebastian. Being permanently unwanted by the one person who was supposed to choose me.”
“That must have been terrifying,” the Duke observes. “Especially when I was being so distant those first months. No wonder you confronted me so aggressively about my walls.”
“I was desperate,” Emmy confirms. “Desperate to matter to you. Desperate to be seen as a person instead of just an obligation. Desperate to build something real instead of just existing in cold arrangement that met legal requirements but nothing else.”
The Duke helps Emmy stand and guides her to the sofa where they can sit together, and when he pulls her close Emmy can feel him shaking slightly with emotion.
“I’m sorry,” the Duke says. “I’m so sorry I made you feel that way. Sorry I was so focused on my own fear and trauma that I didn’t see how much my distance was hurting you. Sorry you spent months thinking you were worthless to me when the truth was I was falling for you so desperately that it terrified me.”
“I forgive you,” Emmy says, because holding grudges seems pointless when they’re finally being honest with each other. “I understand now why you maintained distance. I don’t like that it was necessary, but I understand.”
They sit quietly for several minutes—just holding each other while Emmy recovers from her emotional confession—and when the Duke finally speaks again his voice is thoughtful.
“What else have you been afraid of?” the Duke asks. “What other fears are you holding back?”
Emmy considers lying—pretending she’s shared everything—but complete honesty feels more important than protecting herself from vulnerability.
“I was afraid I’d never be enough,” Emmy admits. “That no matter how patient I was or how hard I tried, you’d never overcome your fear enough to actually want me. That we’d spend our entire marriage in this limbo where you cared about me but couldn’t act on that care. That I’d die never knowing what it felt like to be completely loved by my husband.”
“And now?” the Duke prompts. “Are you still afraid of that?”
“Now I’m afraid it won’t last,” Emmy confesses. “I’m afraid that this—” she gestures between them “—this intimacy and openness and genuine partnership we’ve built—I’m afraid it’s temporary. That eventually your grief will overwhelm you again and you’ll retreat behind your walls and I’ll lose you even though you’re right here beside me.”
The Duke is quiet, clearly processing this fear, and Emmy sees him struggling with how to reassure her when he probably can’t promise grief won’t affect him again.
“I can’t promise I won’t have difficult days,” the Duke says honestly. “I can’t promise Caroline’s death won’t occasionally overwhelm me. I can’t promise my walls won’t try to rebuild when things get hard. But Emmy—I can promise that I’ll fight those walls. That I’ll choose you every time instead of retreating. That I’ll keep being vulnerable even when it’s terrifying. That’s the best I can offer—not perfection, but commitment to keep trying.”
“That’s enough,” Emmy says, and she means it. “I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to keep choosing me. Keep trying. Keep being present even when it’s hard.”
“I will,” the Duke promises. “Because you’re not second choice or convenient replacement. You’re the person I’m choosing to build my future with. The woman I love completely. The partner I want beside me for whatever comes next. That’s real, Emmy. That’s permanent. That’s not going to disappear just because grief occasionally overwhelms me.”
Emmy believes him—actually genuinely believes him instead of just hoping he’s telling the truth—and she feels something settle in her chest that’s been anxious since their wedding day.
“I have one more fear,” Emmy admits, voicing the concern she’s been most afraid to speak. “What if I can’t give you an heir? What if we try and I can’t get pregnant or I lose the baby or something goes wrong? Will you resent me? Will you regret choosing me over someone who could easily provide you with children?”
The Duke’s expression shifts to something fierce and protective, and he cups Emmy’s face again with surprising gentleness.
“Listen to me carefully,” the Duke says with absolute conviction. “I don’t love you because you might give me an heir. I love you because you’re you. If we have children, that’s wonderful. If we don’t, we build a different kind of life. But my love for you doesn’t depend on your ability to produce heirs. It depends on you being exactly who you are. Stubborn and patient and brave and real. That’s what I love. The rest is just… bonus.”
Emmy’s eyes are burning with fresh tears at hearing the Duke say exactly what she needed to hear, and she pulls him into a kiss that’s desperate and grateful and filled with love.
“Thank you,” Emmy says when they finally separate. “For letting me be afraid. For not dismissing my fears as irrational. For understanding that I needed to voice them even when voicing them felt selfish.”
“Your fears aren’t selfish,” the Duke argues. “They’re completely reasonable given how I treated you those first months. I gave you every reason to doubt whether I’d ever choose you. The fact that you’re still here—still trying, still patient—that’s remarkable. You’re remarkable, Emmy.”
They spend the rest of the afternoon talking—Emmy sharing all her fears about their marriage, the Duke reassuring her with patience and honesty, both of them building the kind of complete trust that requires absolute vulnerability—and by the time evening arrives Emmy feels lighter than she has since her father died.
Because she’s not carrying secret fears anymore.
Not hiding anxiety about being second-choice or insufficient.
Not pretending to be confident when she’s actually terrified of losing what they’ve built.
Just being completely honest with her husband.
Who loves her anyway.
Despite her fears.
Despite her insecurities.
Despite all the reasons she thought she’d never be enough.
That night when they’re preparing for bed, the Duke surprises Emmy by pulling her close and whispering against her hair.
“Thank you for trusting me with your fears,” the Duke says. “For being as vulnerable with me as I’ve been with you. For letting me see all of you instead of just the brave patient parts. That’s what real partnership is—sharing the difficult things, not just the easy ones.”
“I love you,” Emmy responds, because those are the only words that feel adequate. “Completely. With all my fears and insecurities and desperate hope that this is real and lasting.”
“It’s real,” the Duke promises. “It’s lasting. And Emmy—you’re the only choice. The last choice. The forever choice. Not because you’re convenient or because you’re not dead like Caroline. But because you’re you. And that’s exactly who I want.”
Emmy falls asleep in the Duke’s arms feeling completely secure for the first time since they married, and her last thought before sleep claims her is gratitude—for her father pushing her to promise patience, for the Duke finally letting down his walls, for Cordelia’s failed attempt to destroy them proving how strong their love actually is.
They survived.
Both of them vulnerable.
Both of them honest.
Both of them choosing each other despite fear.
And that’s everything Emmy hoped for when she begged the Duke for mercy on Christmas Eve.
Not just security.
Not just survival.
Actual love.
Real and lasting and worth everything it cost to create.
Finally.
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