Chapter 460 Sending Shells
Emma struggled desperately, but George held her tight. Her tears spilled over, hot droplets splashing onto George's face. She pushed him with all her strength, but he only tightened his grip.
"I'm that boy! Why don't you remember me?" George growled between kisses, his voice low and pained. "Every promise, every moment we shared—can they really just disappear?"
Emma felt the desperation and love in his kisses, and her body gradually softened. Her struggle turned into silent sobbing, tears soaking both their cheeks.
This kiss seemed to pour out eighteen years of longing, pain, love, and hate.
Suddenly, George let go of Emma, realizing how reckless and disrespectful his actions were. His eyes filled with regret and self-reproach as he stepped back, his voice trembling, "I'm sorry, Emma. I shouldn't have treated you like this."
Emma stood still, her tears not yet dry. She didn't immediately reject or scold him, giving George a glimmer of hope.
"I know you don't believe me," George said slowly, "but I swear, my feelings for you are real. No matter how much you hate me now, I'm willing to spend the rest of my life proving it."
He carefully picked up the colorful shell that had fallen earlier and handed it to Emma. "I lost the shell you gave me before. Can you give me another one?"
Emma paused before taking the shell. In the night, the shell reflected a faint glow, carrying the weight of their past promises.
"I gave you my treasured leaf. Can't you give me a gift in return?" George looked at Emma pitifully, his usual cold demeanor replaced by the pleading eyes of a puppy.
Emma looked at the leaf in her hand and placed the shell into George's palm.
Logically, she should hate George, but her emotions wouldn't let her. No matter what George did to her, she couldn't bring herself to hate him.
Emma felt a twinge of self-loathing—this was a betrayal of Michael!
Holding the shell Emma had given him, George felt that pure, uncomplicated joy.
"The wind's picking up, it's too cold by the beach. Let's head back to the villa. We can talk on the way."
He didn't force her, maintaining a respectful distance to give Emma a sense of security. Emma was silent for a moment before finally nodding.
On the way to the villa, the atmosphere in the car was quiet and tense. George occasionally glanced at Emma, trying to read any sign of forgiveness in her expression.
But Emma remained expressionless, giving George nothing to go on.
Inside the Stuart Villa, despite the bright lights, the air was thick with anxiety.
Sophia paced back and forth in the living room, wringing her hands until her knuckles turned white.
"Why isn't Emma back yet? She promised she'd come see us!" Her voice trembled, the anxiety palpable in the room.
Henry sat on the couch, his face dark. He had contacted everyone who might know Emma's whereabouts, but had come up empty-handed.
Just then, Michael stormed into the living room, his face dark and intense, radiating a suffocating pressure. "I can say with absolute certainty; Emma was taken by George!" His words were squeezed out through clenched teeth, full of anger.
Sophia's face turned pale, her strength seeming to drain away. "How is that possible?"
"I know George too well," Michael sneered. "He's always had this twisted obsession with Emma. Now that she's lost her memory and publicly distanced herself from him, he would definitely seize the opportunity to do something extreme!"
Henry remembered George's abusive behavior towards Emma years ago, his brow furrowing, his expression darkening. He stood up slowly, as if making a firm decision. "We need to act immediately."
He walked to the study, a rarely entered private space. From a hidden safe, he carefully retrieved a special black phone. This was the Stuart family's last resort, used for tracking and investigating the most dangerous situations. He clutched the phone tightly.
"I'm going to use the family's secret resources, no matter the cost, to find Emma!" Henry's eyes were resolute, as if he would turn the world upside down to find her.
Sophia gripped Henry's hand tightly, her nails digging into his flesh. "We must find Emma safely."
Emma's life had been too hard.
What was George trying to do to her?
Henry silently dialed a highly confidential number, a contact he was reluctant to use. A secret search operation began quietly in the still night.
On the island, Emma and George were unaware of the lengths the Stuart family was going to find her.
At that moment, she lay quietly on the large bed in the room, staring coldly at the ceiling. She was contemplating every possible escape, every detail spinning rapidly in her mind.
George tiptoed in, carrying a cup and a clumsy wooden tray. The cup held steaming milk, and the tray had several oddly shaped cookies. These cookies were clearly homemade, irregularly shaped, some parts burnt, but still emitting a tempting aroma.
"I baked these cookies myself," George whispered. "They don't look great, but they should taste good. Emma, would you try them?" His voice was full of anticipation, his eyes showing a humble hope.
Emma glanced at him coldly, without speaking. She suddenly got up and threw the tray out the window. Milk splattered everywhere, cookies scattered on the grass outside the villa.
George's expression instantly turned forlorn, a deep sense of sorrow washing over him.
"Don't play the victim!" Emma snapped. "I won't soften towards you. Just because I gave you the shell doesn't mean I forgive you. I just want to leave, as far away from you as possible!"
Her gaze was firm and icy, and sheclearly stated, she would never compromise with George, no matter what.
"George, let's talk. What will it take for you to let me go?"
"Unless I'm dead."
"Fine, as you wish."
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