Chapter 648 Explosion
"The explosion was strong enough to blow up a yacht. No way George made it out alive," the man in black said confidently, straightening his posture. "Plus, we rigged a high-voltage electric grid underwater. Even if he somehow got into the sea, he'd be fried instantly. The cops have already called off the search, saying it was an accident."
Michael casually tossed his watch into a drawer and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window. The post-rain sunlight was blinding, casting a long shadow of his triumphant figure across the room, as if it were about to engulf the entire space. "Good. Go get your reward. And remember, this stays between us."
The secret base was eerily quiet at night, not even the sound of insects could be heard.
Emma woke up from another nightmare, this time vividly seeing George standing in a sea of flames, reaching out to her with that familiar gentle smile. Just as she was about to touch him, the explosion's shockwave tore his body apart, splattering warm blood on her face. She sat up abruptly, cold sweat dripping down her forehead, soaking the pillow. Her heart pounded violently, each beat bringing a sharp pain as if it would burst out of her chest.
Outside, a blood-red moon hung high, casting an ominous glow through the gaps in the curtains, staining the floor like spilled blood.
Emma, trembling, turned on the TV, hoping the news would dispel her unease.
The local news was reporting on the dock explosion, the towering flames eerily matching the scene from her dream, down to the exact location of the blast. Her fingers unconsciously clutched her nightgown's collar, a sudden panic making it hard to breathe, as if someone were choking her.
"Reports indicate one person is missing, suspected to be an executive from a certain corporation," the anchor's calm voice announced. Emma stood frozen, as if struck by lightning. Though the news didn't name anyone, a dreadful intuition coiled around her heart like a venomous snake, telling her that person could very well be...
"No, it can't be," she muttered, shaking her head, her nails digging into her palms without feeling the pain. Michael's cryptic words from a few days ago echoed in her mind: "Soon, no one will bother us anymore." His expression then was like a satisfied cat.
The next morning at breakfast, Emma forced herself to swallow each bite of food, casually bringing up, "There was an explosion at the dock last night? The news said it was serious."
Michael's hand paused mid-cut, the silver knife clinking softly against the porcelain plate. He quickly resumed, cutting the steak into neat pieces. "Yeah, I heard. Why the sudden interest?" His voice was as calm as discussing the weather.
"Just thought it was scary," Emma forced a worried expression, her smile as stiff as a puppet's. "I wonder if anyone got hurt. The crime rate is getting worse."
Michael set down his utensils, the clinking of silverware echoing sharply in the quiet dining room. He looked at her meaningfully, as if seeing through her facade. "You care a lot?"
"Of course I care," Emma said, struggling to keep her voice steady, lifting her coffee cup to hide her trembling. The liquid rippled from her shaking hand. "If innocent people were hurt, so many families..."
"Don't worry," Michael suddenly smiled, a smile that sent chills down Emma's spine, like a snake flicking its tongue. "Only those who deserved it got hurt. In this world, someone always has to pay for mistakes." His words were pointed, his gaze lingering on her face, savoring her pain.
The words stabbed into Emma's heart like a knife. She excused herself to the bathroom, biting her hand to stifle a scream.
In the mirror, Emma's face was pale, her eyes bloodshot, resembling a tormented soul from her nightmares. She turned on the faucet, letting the sound of running water cover her sobs.
Late at night, Emma curled up in a corner of the balcony, crying silently. She didn't dare make a sound, afraid of alerting Michael next door. The moonlight cast a cold glow on her, stretching her shadow long, like an unhealed scar. The distant city lights flickered, like countless prying eyes.
"George," she whispered into the void, tears falling onto the cold tiles, quickly dried by the night breeze. "If you're really gone... I'll never forgive myself." Her voice was so soft it was almost a sigh, carried away by the wind.
An owl's mournful cry echoed in the distance, as if lamenting.
Emma hugged her knees tightly, her mind replaying the dream of George reaching out to her from the flames, his lips moving as if saying something. This time, she finally saw it clearly: "Take care of Seraphine." His eyes held emotions she couldn't decipher, but there was no resentment.
A sharp pain spread from her heart to her limbs, and Emma bit her lip until she tasted blood.
She finally understood that the inexplicable anxiety and nightmares might be some form of psychic connection, the last bond between lovers. Like two forcibly separated strings, when one breaks, the other resonates in sorrow.
Meanwhile, across the city, in an intensive care unit, a man wrapped in bandages lay unconscious, stubbornly repeating one name: "Emma." His fingers occasionally twitched, as if trying to grasp something in his dreams. The steady, strong lines on the heart monitor showed that this heart still beat for a name.
Days passed like sand through an hourglass. Emma spent over three seemingly peaceful months in the heavily guarded secret base with Seraphine.
Every morning, as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains into the nursery, she would sit at the vanity, patiently braiding Seraphine's hair and tying it with a pink bow.
In the afternoons, they would walk hand in hand through the meticulously maintained garden, picking ripe strawberries, Seraphine's laughter ringing like bells among the flowers.
At night, Emma would sit by the princess's bed, softly telling fairy tales until Seraphine's long lashes fluttered shut, her breathing even in Emma's arms.
On the surface, it was a picture of a warm, loving mother-daughter life, but only Emma knew the pain she felt every time Seraphine innocently called out "Daddy." It was like a sharp blade slicing through her heart, leaving her breathless.
During these days of captivity, Emma was constantly looking for a way to escape. Like a trapped leopard, she observed her surroundings intently.
She would pretend to stroll aimlessly, but in reality, she was noting the security guards' shift changes. She would use playtime with Seraphine to carefully study every corner of the base, mentally mapping out the layout. She even used her lipstick to secretly mark the locations of surveillance cameras on napkins during meals.
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