Chapter 584 Forced
"No way!" George's voice was rough and urgent. "She even ditched Lucas? Can you believe that?"
George's chest heaved as he frantically pulled up his phone's map, his eyes bloodshot as he searched for all the properties under the Russell Group. Suddenly, he remembered something and called an old friend at the police department. "Hey, can you check any properties Michael's bought in the last six months, especially the ones off the radar?"
Michael's mansion was brightly lit, the warm yellow glow from the floor-to-ceiling windows making it look especially cozy on a rainy night. He carried Emma through the courtyard, rain soaking her dress, the silk clinging to her legs and outlining enticing curves.
"Michael, you're back." Celeste approached, her gaze falling on Emma's flushed cheeks, her brows immediately furrowing. "Ms. Stuart, is she..."
"Make some soup," Michael interrupted coldly, heading straight to the master bedroom upstairs.
Celeste quickly followed, her voice low. "Ms. Stuart doesn't look well. Should we call a doctor?"
"No need." Michael kicked open the bedroom door and placed Emma on the bed. She curled up unconsciously, the neckline of her dress falling open to reveal her delicate collarbone. Michael's Adam's apple bobbed as he reached to undo her belt.
"Michael!" Celeste suddenly rushed forward, grabbing his hand. "Ms. Stuart isn't conscious. You can't..."
"Get out." Michael's voice was icy.
Celeste bit her lip hard but didn't move. She had followed Michael for over a decade, and this was the first time she defied his orders. "You promised to wait until Ms. Stuart was willing..."
Michael punched the bedside table, shattering the crystal lamp. "Now, immediately, get out!" He pointed to the door, his eyes dark with rage. "Have the bodyguards guard the stairs. No one is allowed in."
Celeste, eyes red, retreated to the door, hearing the lock click behind her. Trembling, she pulled out her phone, hesitated for a long time, and finally dialed George's number.
But after three rings, Celeste hung up.
That was her Michael!
Michael had longed for Emma for so long, and tonight he could finally fulfill his desire. If she stopped him, would Michael hate her forever?
But Emma was a living, breathing person!
Just because Michael liked her, could Emma be sacrificed?
No!
Justice and morality told Celeste she couldn't let Michael continue doing the wrong thing!
Rain pounded against the car windows as George stared at the third red dot marked on the GPS, a secluded private club in the north of the city. Lucas was already asleep in the back seat, tear stains still on his small face.
"Mr. Russell, we've checked. Michael hasn't been here tonight." The club manager approached with an umbrella.
George punched the steering wheel, the horn blaring loudly. He had checked four places, each a hidden property under Michael's name, but hadn't seen a single person.
His phone suddenly vibrated, an unknown number.
"Mr. Russell." Celeste's voice was tearful on the other end. "Ms. Stuart is at Michael's mansion. She's in a bad state."
George's blood froze instantly.
Michael's mansion? The place everyone knew about? He sharply turned the car around, the tires skidding in the water, splashing up a wave.
"Daddy." Lucas woke up from the sudden stop, rubbing his eyes and sitting up.
"Lucas, be good. We're about to see Mommy." George's voice was eerily calm, his foot pressing the gas pedal to the floor. The speedometer needle swung wildly to the right, the wipers struggling to keep up with the torrential rain.
Upstairs in the mansion, Michael slowly undid his tie. Emma writhed uncomfortably on the bed, the drug making her body hot, her lips dry. She vaguely saw a figure approaching and instinctively shrank back.
"Emma, it's me." Michael leaned over, his fingers brushing her burning cheek. "You're feeling bad, aren't you? Let me help you."
"Who are you?" Emma weakly struggled, her limbs limp. Her consciousness floated, vaguely remembering she had agreed to something important but couldn't recall what.
Michael pinned Emma's wrists above her head with one hand, the other tearing her dress strap. The sound of silk ripping was especially harsh in the quiet bedroom.
"Guess who I am," Michael whispered in her ear, his breath hot. "Emma, I truly love you. Forget about him, okay?"
Suddenly, there was a loud crash and the sound of fighting downstairs. Michael frowned and got up, just as the bedroom door was kicked open.
George stood soaking wet at the door, his eyes blazing with fury. Two bodyguards lay behind him, Celeste clutching her bleeding forehead at the stairs.
"What did you do to Emma?" George's fist swung with a whoosh.
Michael dodged, countering with a punch. "Emma agreed! She accepted my proposal!"
Michael and George wrestled in the bedroom, the dull thud of fists hitting flesh mingling with the sharp sound of antique vases shattering. George landed a heavy punch on Michael's abdomen, sending him staggering into the dressing table, the glass mirror cracking like a spiderweb.
"Stop!" Emma weakly tried to intervene but was struck by a wave of dizziness. Her vision blurred, only able to see two figures tangled together, blood mixing with rainwater on the floor.
Michael suddenly grabbed George's wrist, and the two of them pressed against the wall, their heavy breathing intertwined. Lightning flashed outside, illuminating the blood at the corner of Michael's mouth.
"Stop it, both of you." Emma's voice was faint but made both men freeze.
Michael wiped the blood from his mouth, the gesture creating a small distance between him and George. He suddenly signaled the bodyguards at the door to leave, his gaze complex as he looked at the weak Emma on the bed.
"Get out." Michael's voice was terrifyingly hoarse. "Close the door."
The room fell silent, only the heavy breathing of Michael and George and the sound of rain hitting the windows. Rainwater dripped from George's hair, forming small puddles on the floor.
The bodyguards exchanged glances but silently retreated. Celeste hesitated, looking at Emma curled up on the bed, but finally left, closing the door behind her.
George's fists were still clenched, his knuckles white. He stared at Michael, his chest heaving. "You drugged her?"
"She just drank too much." Michael sneered, calmly fixing his torn shirt sleeve. "But you, breaking into a private residence, I could call the police."
"Do it!" George grabbed an empty wine glass from the bedside table and smashed it on the floor, glass shards flying. "Let the police see how the current president of the Russell Group rapes women!"
Michael's face turned deathly pale.
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