Chapter 598 Memory Recovery
His voice softened, as if he was lost in memories.
George snapped the photo album shut. "Why are you telling me all this?"
Michael turned around, his gaze suddenly sharp. "Because I need you to do something for me."
"What is it?" George asked warily.
Meanwhile, Emma wandered aimlessly through the pouring rain. The water soaked her to the bone, but she didn't feel the cold. Her mind kept replaying the past three years: Michael's gentle smile, Seraphine's bell-like laughter, George's loving gaze.
"It was all a lie," she murmured, tears mixing with the rain. "All of it."
Unknowingly, she found herself near the park where Seraphine had her accident. Emma collapsed onto the wet ground, finally breaking into sobs.
"Seraphine, I'm so sorry," she cried, her fingers digging into the asphalt. "I couldn't protect you."
Suddenly, blinding headlights cut through the rain. Emma looked up in a daze to see a truck careening out of control toward a white sedan.
"No!" she screamed instinctively.
The deafening crash of metal on metal filled the air. The white car flipped, glass shattering like raindrops. Emma watched in horror as a young mother was thrown from the car, clutching a doll tightly to her chest.
That doll, the pink one in the floral dress.
"Seraphine's doll," Emma's eyes widened in shock.
Memories flooded back...
The sunny room at Sunterra, where Michael read poetry to her every day; George pinning her to the cold floor, his eyes filled with hatred; George sobbing at her hospital bedside, begging for forgiveness; and that sunny afternoon before the accident, when she wanted to tell George, "I forgive you."
But she never got the chance to say it.
Emma clutched her head in agony as the pieces of her memory finally came together.
She suddenly understood. The inexplicable hatred for George, the heart-wrenching pain whenever she thought of Seraphine—it was all Michael's doing, planted deep in her subconscious.
"He hypnotized me," Emma trembled, staring at her shaking hands. "I've been his puppet all this time."
The rain poured harder, mingling with the smell of gasoline and blood from the crash. Emma staggered to her feet and ran towards Michael's mansion, the rain pelting her face, but unable to extinguish the fire of rage within her.
"Michael, your control," she dug her nails into her palms, "ends now."
Inside the mansion.
Michael suddenly pulled a sleek black handgun from his suit pocket, the metal glinting coldly in the light. He placed it elegantly on the coffee table, pushing it towards George.
"It's simple," his voice was as light as discussing the weather, "I want you to die."
George stared at the gun, a cold smile tugging at his lips. "All this for some photos?"
"Not just that." Michael calmly unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. "It's for Emma. Once you're gone, she'll stay with me forever."
A flash of lightning illuminated the madness in Michael's eyes. He walked to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling in the glass.
"Do you know what these past four years have been like for me?" Michael suddenly turned, slamming the glass onto the table. "Watching her cry over you, comforting her while pretending everything was fine!"
George's fingers lightly traced the cold barrel of the gun. "So you killed Seraphine? To make her suffer?"
"It was a necessary sacrifice!" Michael's voice rose, veins bulging in his neck. "Given a little more time, I could have fixed everything. But you..." he pointed a finger at George, "why did you have to come back and ruin it all?"
George suddenly grabbed the gun, moving with lightning speed. The barrel was aimed squarely at Michael's forehead, his finger steady on the trigger.
"Give me back Seraphine," George's voice was as cold as Siberian ice.
Michael laughed. He slowly drew another gun from his waistband, aiming it at George's heart.
"Looks like we had the same idea," his voice was disturbingly cheerful. "Let's see whose gun is faster."
The two men stood in a tense standoff, the air thick with tension. The sound of raindrops hitting the window was like a ticking clock.
"Did you know?" Michael suddenly spoke. "In these four years, every time Emma got drunk, she called your name."
His finger tightened on the trigger. "Once, she had a high fever. I stayed by her side for three days and nights. When she woke up, the first thing she said was, 'George, is that you?'" Pain flickered in Michael's eyes. "I wish I had killed you then."
George's gun didn't waver. "You know she loves me. Why force it?"
"Because it's not fair!" Michael roared. "I was there for her darkest days! I saved her when she wanted to die! And you..." his voice shook with rage, "what have you done besides hurt her?"
Michael stepped closer, the gun almost touching George's chest. "Shoot, coward. One of us dies tonight."
George could smell the whiskey and cologne, see the twisted obsession in Michael's eyes. He realized Michael had lost his mind.
"Is it worth it?" George asked softly. "Becoming this for someone who doesn't love you?"
"Shut up!" Michael's gun harder. "You have no right to judge me!"
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. "Listen, it's a perfect deal. You die, you get to be with Seraphine. Emma will be sad for a while, but time heals all wounds. And I..." A tender smile crossed his lips, "I'll spend my life loving her, better than you ever could."
The rain grew louder, as if the heavens were weeping for this tragedy. George suddenly laughed. "You're pathetic."
"What?" Michael's eyes narrowed.
"I said you're pathetic," George repeated, enunciating each word. "Using such despicable means to force love. Do you think Emma will accept you like this?"
Michael's face twisted with rage, his finger trembling on the trigger. "Let's find out!"
At that critical moment, the door burst open. Emma stood there, drenched and pale as a ghost.
"Stop!" Her voice was hoarse and broken.
Michael and George turned simultaneously, but their guns remained trained on each other.
"Emma?" George's eyes widened. "How did you..."
Emma's voice trembled as she stepped forward. "I remember everything now. Michael, you manipulated me. You made me believe lies."
Michael's face softened for a moment. "Emma, I did it for us. I wanted to protect you."
"Protect me?" Emma's voice rose. "You destroyed everything! You took Seraphine from me!"
George's grip on the gun tightened. "Emma, get out of here. This is between us."
"No," Emma shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "This ends now."
She stepped between the two men, her presence a fragile barrier. "Put the guns down. Both of you."
Michael's hand wavered, his eyes filled with a mix of desperation and love. "Emma, please..."
"Put it down, Michael." Emma's voice was firm. "It's over."
With a shuddering breath, Michael lowered his gun. George followed suit, his eyes never leaving Michael.
Emma turned to George, her voice softening. "George, I'm so sorry. I was so lost."
George's eyes softened. "It's not your fault, Emma."
Michael's shoulders slumped in defeat. "What have I done?"
Emma looked at him, her eyes filled with sorrow. "You need help, Michael. This isn't love."
The rain continued to pour outside, washing away the remnants of the night's chaos. Emma took George's hand, leading him towards the door.
As they left, Michael stood alone in the room, the weight of his actions crashing down on him. The mansion, once a symbol of his control, now felt like a prison.
And outside, the storm began to clear, hinting at the possibility of a new beginning.
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