Chapter 480 Strawberry Ice Cream
Unable to handle the crushing weight of public opinion, Phoenix locked herself in a dark, cramped room, too scared to even step outside. Her world had become a prison of shadows and fear, as if society was mocking and condemning her with every glance, leaving her in utter despair and pain.
Just as she was on the verge of a mental breakdown, a sleek black Mercedes quietly pulled up outside her apartment building. Two tall, impeccably dressed bodyguards, radiating an intimidating presence, appeared and swiftly escorted her away in a manner that was polite yet impossible to refuse.
Phoenix knew this had to be orchestrated by that powerful figure.
She had thought that once she reached the domain of this influential person, her life would improve. But she was wrong.
The mysterious figure began a chilling psychological destruction plan. He wasn't satisfied with mere physical violence; he chose more sinister, refined, and suffocating methods to torment Phoenix. This was a war without smoke, and the battlefield was Phoenix's fragile mental defenses.
Every night, her room was filled with eerie whispers and inexplicable laughter. Sometimes it was the voices she feared most, as if accusations from hell; other times, recordings that could instantly shatter her mental defenses. The powerful figure had meticulously designed a series of insidious psychological traps: her private contacts were anonymously posted online, her darkest secrets were gradually exposed, and every piece of art she once took pride in was publicly criticized and mercilessly mocked.
He installed a rigorous surveillance system, recording her every move and expression around the clock. Often, she would wake up in the middle of the night to find subtle changes in her room's arrangement, unable to recall when they happened. The fear of being controlled without her knowledge had steadily worn away her sanity, leaving her in a state of ongoing anxiety and distress.
Gradually, Phoenix developed severe paranoia. She was filled with extreme fear and distrust of everything around her, even her own shadow scared her. Her mental state was extremely delicate, prone to collapsing under even the slightest stress.
The drugs he gave her had peculiar ingredients that bizarrely controlled her consciousness. When lucid, she was acutely aware of being manipulated; in her madness, she would scream hysterically, tearing at her hair with all her strength, as if trying to rip her brain apart from the inside. She looked more terrifying than a wild beast.
Her room had become a horrifying mental maze: the walls were covered with eerie clippings and unsettling photos, filled with twisted, distorted writing. She would often stare at these for hours, muttering to herself, unable to distinguish reality from hallucination.
The powerful figure viewed the destruction of the mind as a near-pathological art, each of his actions precisely targeting Phoenix's most vulnerable parts. She had become a terrifying toy in his hands, a mad bomb ready to explode at any moment, awaiting the final detonation.
Yet, Phoenix still didn't know what role she was playing.
Today, she heard about George's injury and, disguised as Scarlett, sneaked out of the tightly controlled estate. She had only one thought: to see George no matter what. But she didn't expect to run into Emma in the hospital corridor.
In that instant, the last thread of Phoenix's rationality snapped. She lost all self-control and screamed hysterically.
Emma and Lucas had moved to the hospital's bright and spacious sun garden, finding a shady, quiet bench to sit on.
Emma bought a strawberry ice cream from a nearby vending machine, sharing the delightful treat with Lucas. The warm, bright sunlight gently bathed them, seemingly sweeping away the gloom and tension from the hospital room, creating a brief, beautiful safe haven for them.
"Mom, this ice cream is so good, and you should have some too!" Lucas looked up with an innocent smile, a bit of cream on his nose.
"Okay, I'll have some too." Emma took a small bite, lovingly reaching out to gently wipe Lucas's round nose.
They chatted and laughed, enjoying this rare, warm moment. Before long, due to her weakness and the earlier tension, Emma began to feel tired and slowly closed her weary eyes, leaning back on the bench.
Michael, as if waiting for the right moment, appeared beside Emma. He gently picked her up, handling her as if she were a fragile treasure. He instructed his staff to take Lucas back to The Stuart Villa while he accompanied Emma back to her room.
Lucas didn't want to leave but was intimidated by Michael's stern gaze.
He knew he had spent half the day with Emma and it was time to go. Otherwise, Henry and Sophia would worry. Plus, he was eager to report Emma's condition to them to put their minds at ease.
Emma nestled in Michael's warm embrace, drifting into a deep sleep. A barely perceptible, complex calculation flickered in Michael's eyes, as if he was plotting something sinister.
When Emma slowly woke, her first reaction was to look for Lucas.
Michael, in a seemingly caring yet insidiously malicious tone, said, "Emma, don't you think Lucas looks a lot like George?"
At that moment, Emma didn't understand Michael's implication. She naturally thought Lucas was George's child.
"Lucas was raised by George from a young age. He looks almost identical to George when he was a child—so smart and sensitive."
"Michael, what are you trying to say?"
"I want to say..."
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