Chapter 587 Lost
Let's rewind to the morning.
Emma woke up in the hotel and immediately tried to call George after seeing the note, but she couldn't get through. She rubbed her temples as fragmented memories from the previous night started to become clear: the glass of red wine Michael handed her, the sudden wave of heat, and George's restrained, pained expression.
"Michael." She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms.
Half an hour later, Emma drove to a private ranch on the outskirts of town. This was Michael's favorite place to go whenever he was feeling down; he would often ride alone until late at night.
The ranch was eerily quiet, with only the sound of the wind rustling through the grass. Emma, in her high heels, stumbled her way to the stables, where she saw Michael from a distance, brushing a black horse with his back to her.
"Michael, what did you do to me last night?" Emma's voice was cold and direct.
Michael paused but didn't turn around. "You're here."
"Answer me!" Emma grabbed his arm, forcing him to face her. "What was in that wine?"
In the sunlight, Michael's face was alarmingly pale, with dark circles under his eyes. He looked at Emma quietly and then suddenly laughed. "You already know the answer, don't you?"
The smile sent chills down Emma's spine. She let go of his arm and took two steps back. "Why? I always thought you were different from them."
"Different?" Michael's laugh turned sinister. "I watched George hurt you over and over again, and you kept forgiving him! And what about me? I waited for you for three years, and what did I get?"
The black horse snorted uneasily, clearly affected by Michael's emotions. Emma forced herself to stay calm. "So you resorted to such despicable means?"
"I regret it." Michael suddenly squatted down, burying his hands in his hair. "Seeing you like that made me sick to my stomach."
His voice was thick with emotion, his shoulders trembling slightly. Emma stood frozen; she had never seen Michael like this.
"After George took you away last night, I almost shot myself." Michael looked up, his eyes bloodshot. "Do you know why I didn't? Because I wanted to see if he would be more despicable than me."
Emma gasped. "You had someone watching us?"
Michael didn't answer. Instead, he pulled out his phone and tossed it to her. On the screen were surveillance shots from the hotel hallway, showing that George hadn't entered the bedroom all night.
"He actually held back." Michael laughed bitterly as he stood up. "I'm a complete and utter bastard."
The wind at the ranch suddenly turned harsh, blowing Emma's long hair into disarray. She gripped Michael's phone tightly, her knuckles white, the surveillance images stinging her eyes.
"Michael." Her voice was so soft it was almost swallowed by the wind. "Why did you do this?"
Michael staggered back a few steps, leaning against the wooden railing of the stable. His eyes were red, his usually neat hair now a mess on his forehead, looking like a shell of his former self.
"I went crazy." Michael's self-deprecating smile twisted his lips. "Seeing you cry for George, laugh for him, it drove me insane." He suddenly looked up, his eyes filled with a sick obsession. "Emma, do you remember? Three years ago, who pulled you out of that fire? Who stayed with you through those hellish days?"
Emma's heart clenched painfully. Memories flooded back: George's coldness, the agony of childbirth, and Michael's outstretched hand.
"I remember," she said softly. "I remember all the good you've done for me over the years."
Michael seemed to grasp at hope, stepping forward eagerly. "Do you remember how George treated you? He wronged you countless times for that woman! He sent you to prison himself!"
"Stop!" Emma covered her ears, the bloody memories cutting into her heart like knives.
But Michael pressed on. "When he locked you up, I was the one who visited you every day! He..."
"Enough!" Emma looked up sharply, her vision blurred by tears. "But George is different now! He's saved me many times, and last night, he could have done something, but he didn't!"
Michael's expression twisted. "Just because he played the gentleman once, you forgive him? What about me? What do these years mean? Am I just a backup?"
Emma winced from the pain of his grip but couldn't break free.
"Michael, you're hurting me."
Michael snapped out of it and released her, looking at the red marks on her shoulders with a flash of panic in his eyes. "I'm sorry, I..."
"I can forgive your impulsiveness today." Emma interrupted, tucking her loose hair behind her ear. "But I can't forgive you for drugging me." She looked up, her gaze steady and unwavering, making Michael's heart race. "That's a crime, do you understand?"
Michael's face turned ashen. He staggered back until he hit the stable post. The black horse snorted uneasily, gently nudging his shoulder as if to comfort him.
"I know." His voice was hoarse. "I regretted it last night, Emma, for the sake of these years..."
"It's precisely because of these years that I'm willing to stand here and talk to you." Emma took a deep breath. "But Michael, feelings aren't measured by time."
Michael suddenly looked up, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "What about Seraphine?" His voice was urgent. "She's only three; she needs a complete family! She's called me Dad for three years!"
The words hit Emma like a sledgehammer. She pictured Seraphine's innocent, joyful face, her pink princess dress, running in the garden chasing butterflies, calling out, "Daddy, look!"
"I admit I'm despicable!" Michael suddenly knelt, grabbing her hand. "But Seraphine is innocent! She's so attached to me, she needs me to tell her stories every night." His voice choked with emotion. "Emma, do it for the child."
Emma's tears flowed freely. She remembered Seraphine's first steps, with Michael by her side; Seraphine's feverish nights, with Michael pacing the room until dawn.
"George is good to Seraphine, too," Emma murmured, more to convince herself. "Seraphine likes him too."
Michael's eyes darkened. "But he's not her father. I am. I've been there for her every single day. Can George say the same?"
Emma's resolve wavered. She knew Michael was right. He had been there for Seraphine in ways George never had. But the betrayal, the drugging—it was too much to overlook.
"Michael, I need time to think," she said finally, her voice trembling. "I can't make any decisions right now."
Michael's shoulders slumped in defeat. "I understand," he whispered. "Just... please, don't take her away from me."
Emma nodded, tears streaming down her face. She turned and walked away, leaving Michael kneeling in the dirt, the black horse standing silently by his side.
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