Chapter 372 The Truth
The Stuart Villa, nestled between the mountains and the water, looked silent and imposing from the outside. However, inside, it remained perennially cold.
In the past, even though it was filled with members of the so-called Stuart family, it never truly felt like a home. Especially when Anna and Molly were around, the villa was often filled with laughter, but it was a laughter that felt forced and insincere, like a series of meticulously planned performances.
Anna, mistakenly identified as the biological daughter, had been living in the villa as a wealthy heiress ever since Sophia brought her there.
She thrived on excitement, hosting lavish gatherings at her villa for high-society ladies, filled with gambling and jewelry showcases. Her life seemed glamorous but was marred by detachment. The bustling villa lacked warmth and sincerity. Even the tense and distant servants seemed part of an endless theatrical performance.
Molly, on the other hand, treated the villa like her personal playground, often ordering the servants around and throwing tantrums when things didn't go her way. The delicate ornaments and expensive carpets were frequently dirtied by her, yet no one dared to reprimand her.
She would hypocritically complain about the villa's coldness, yet she turned it into a never-ending show. Every time Sophia and Henry returned late at night, they were greeted by either a scene of revelry or a mess.
Emma's arrival changed everything.
Although she didn't feel a sense of belonging to this unfamiliar home, she subconsciously made efforts to improve it. She noticed the outdated and rigid decor in the hall and brought in some green plants to add vitality. She felt the dining room was too cold, so she chose some warm-colored placemats and placed handmade vases on the table.
These seemingly insignificant changes brought the once lifeless villa back to life.
She would occasionally chat with the servants, asking about their work and lives. Emma never treated the servants with the condescension of Anna or the arbitrary commands of Molly. She felt compassion for their hard work and would help them with small tasks.
Gradually, the atmosphere in the villa began to change.
The servants were no longer so cautious, occasionally cracking jokes, and even their movements while tidying up carried a bit more enthusiasm.
Emma not only changed the villa's atmosphere but also brought back a long-lost sense of life.
Late at night, Henry stood by the staircase railing, looking at the lights in the dining room below. Emma sat on the sofa with a book, chatting and laughing with Sophia, her eyes occasionally reflecting a serene glow.
Henry had previously thought the villa lacked vitality, but now it brimmed with life.
However, the tranquility and warmth of the villa were about to be shattered by George.
George stood at the gate of the courtyard, clutching a document tightly, his gaze anxious yet composed. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
The door quickly opened, and Sophia stood there with a guarded expression, revealing Henry standing by the sofa behind her.
"George?" Sophia's tone was cold, her eyes filled with undisguised hostility. "What are you doing here? Emma doesn't want to see you."
"I'm not here for you," George shot back, looking past her into the house. "I need to see Emma. This time, I have the whole truth."
Sophia sneered, "The truth? What lies are you trying to feed her now? George, I'm warning you, stay away from her!"
Ignoring Sophia's sarcasm, George's gaze remained fixed as he called out, "Emma, I know you're in there! Come out and see what I have. It's about your memories and the whole truth, including Michael's true nature!"
Emma, who was quietly drinking coffee at the dining table, heard his voice and frowned, feeling a complex emotion stir within her.
She had been inexplicably taken away by George for a few days during a party.
George was a madman, and she didn't contact with him. But over the past few days, she had come to understand George's character—he was a relentless bastard who wouldn't stop until he achieved his goal.
To prevent him from disturbing her further, Emma decided to personally send him away.
"George, what tricks are you trying to pull now?" Emma slowly stood up and walked to the door, looking at him coldly, her tone distant. "What else do you have to say?"
George looked at her deeply and handed over the document. "Emma, I've found some truths about your memory loss and personality changes. It's not your fault; it's Michael—he's been secretly controlling everything about you! And I can prove it!"
Emma's pupils contracted, her face filled with shock and uncertainty.
Michael? How could that be?
She took the document and opened it, her brows furrowing as she read. The documents included receipts for drug purchases, records from a mysterious laboratory, and photos of Emma receiving special treatments during her hospital stay—all proving that Michael had administered a batch of neuro-control drugs as part of her treatment.
"Is this true?" Emma looked up, her heart stirred by a wave of emotions.
"It's all true," George stepped forward, his tone heavy. "Emma, you have to believe me. No one wants to protect you more than I do."
As Emma was lost in thought, the sound of slow footsteps approached the door, followed by a gentle voice.
"George, are you trying to use these fake documents to drive a wedge between us again?"
Everyone turned to Michael standing calmly at the gate, his tone composed and serene. His expression showed no sign of panic, his gaze steady on George, as if everything was under his control.
Emma was slightly taken aback. "Michael? Why are you here?"
Michael smiled warmly, his tone filled with concern. "Emma, you don't need to waste your time on these lowly tricks. Since George claims he has evidence, why don't we resolve the issue thoroughly? What do you think?"
For a moment, silence enveloped the room, each face reflecting its own contemplations.
George stood at the door, clutching the document tightly, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. His gaze was locked on Michael, filled with vigilance and anger.
Michael, however, remained calm, a gentle smile on his lips, as if everything was within his grasp. He looked at George as if he were a naive child.
Emma stood between the two, her brows furrowed, filled with confusion and unease. She looked down at the document in her hand. The so-called evidence indeed raised suspicions, but her intuition told her that things were not that simple.
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