Chapter 649 Give Up
Michael's security was tight. Every time Emma went out, he had at least two bodyguards shadowing her, leaving her no chance to be alone. These bodyguards were polite but never left her side, even standing guard outside the bathroom.
What hurt Emma the most was that George hadn't shown up.
She started to doubt if he really believed her act that day, if he had truly given up on her.
Whenever this thought crept in, Emma forced herself to stay focused and keep playing the role of the "wife." She practiced smiling in front of the mirror, making sure every expression was perfect; she would take Michael's arm and act lovingly in front of the servants.
But in the dead of night, when the whole mansion was asleep, she couldn't help but wonder: if George had really given up, maybe it was for the best. At least he could live safely, without being dragged into this dangerous game.
Maybe Emma's prayers were answered, as Michael got some unexpected news.
"What did you say? George isn't dead?"
"Yes." The assistant kept his head down, not daring to meet Michael's furious, bloodshot eyes. "Our people saw him at Seraphim."
"Are you sure it was him?"
"Positive. Shortly after our plan, someone saw him at Seraphim. He only appeared once, and our people thought they were seeing things and didn't pay attention. But a few days ago, he was seen again. After investigating, we confirmed it was George."
Michael crushed the wine glass in his hand, the shattered glass cutting into his palm.
George, you really are lucky.
I wonder if Emma will still have feelings for you when she hears this news.
Michael invited Emma to a candlelit dinner. When the servants had left, he casually tapped his wine glass with a silver knife, producing a crisp sound. "I heard George went to Seraphim."
Emma's fork clattered onto the bone china plate, the noise piercing the quiet dining room. She forced herself to pick it up, her fingers trembling uncontrollably, her voice tense. "When did this happen?"
"Shortly after the explosion." Michael elegantly sipped his wine, the dark red liquid swirling in his glass, reflecting his playful gaze. "Why? Are you still thinking about him?"
"I'm just curious." Emma forced a mocking smile, the corners of her mouth pulled as if by invisible strings. "He sure ran fast, like a stray dog."
Michael didn't expose her facade, merely spinning his wine glass, leaving crimson traces on the glass wall. "He has business in Seraphim, probably went to handle it." This explanation made sense, but Emma felt something was off, a hidden implication in Michael's tone.
In the following days, Emma became like a wary cat, using various secret channels to gather information.
She took advantage of accompanying Seraphine to the amusement park, using the restroom as an excuse to secretly call Mia from a public phone; while shopping at the mall, she lingered at the newsstand, pretending to casually browse the international news section; she even sneaked into Michael's study to look through his files when he wasn't paying attention.
All clues pointed to the same fact: George had indeed gone to Seraphim and had been there for over three months, with no news.
Emma's heart grew colder, as if thrown into an ice cellar. She told herself, this was for the best.
George living safely in Seraphim was better than staying in Sunterra and being hunted by Michael.
But in the dead of night, when moonlight seeped through the curtains onto her bed, she couldn't help but imagine if George had started a new life, if he had forgotten her. This thought gnawed at her heart like a venomous snake, causing her sleepless nights.
Desperate for news about George, Emma even tried to seduce Michael.
One stormy night, she showed up in Michael's study wearing a thin silk nightgown, the hem barely covering her thighs. She pretended to be drunk, stumbling into his arms, her fingers tracing his chest suggestively.
But to her surprise, Michael coldly pushed her away, his eyes filled with complex emotions she couldn't decipher, as if he was looking through her at someone else.
Since then, their interactions became strange and distant. Michael's gaze always carried regret and nostalgia. Emma welcomed the peace, focusing all her attention on Seraphine, turning her motherly love into armor to protect her child.
One early morning, just as dawn broke, Michael pushed open Emma's bedroom door.
"Pack up, we're leaving in half an hour," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Emma woke from her sleep, warily looking at him, her fingers unconsciously gripping the edge of the blanket. "Where to?"
"Lakeside Haven," Michael replied curtly. "There's an important auction you need to attend."
On the private jet, Emma was forced to change into an emerald green velvet gown, the expensive fabric hugging her curves.
A professional makeup artist styled her hair into an elegant updo, adorning her ears with earrings. As the plane was about to land, Michael finally sat across from her, leisurely revealing the details. "George will be at tonight's auction. Watch your behavior."
George.
Is he okay?
The plane slowly landed at Lakeside Haven International Airport.
Through the window, Emma saw a row of black Mercedes sedans on the tarmac, each car flanked by two bodyguards in black suits and sunglasses, standing like statues, casting long shadows in the sunlight.
This auction was far from as simple as Michael had said. Her fingers unconsciously twisted the hem of her dress, leaving creases in the expensive velvet fabric.
Lakeside Haven International Convention Center was brightly lit, the dazzling crystal chandeliers illuminating the auction hall as if it were daytime.
Emma walked arm-in-arm with Michael into the hall, the emerald green velvet gown shimmering with understated luxury under the lights, the hem swaying gently with her steps, casting an elegant silhouette on the polished marble floor.
She maintained a poised smile, her lips curving just right, while her eyes discreetly scanned the room, searching for that familiar figure among the guests.
Michael was soon surrounded by several business moguls, engaging in small talk. He released Emma's hand, whispering in her ear. "Go chat with the other women, but don't wander too far." His warm breath on her ear carried an undeniable command.
Emma nodded, accepting a champagne glass from a waiter, her slender fingers lightly gripping the stem, and walked towards the lounge area.
The two bodyguards Michael had assigned kept a three-step distance, sticking to her like shadows, their muscles barely visible under their black suits. She had just sat down on the leather sofa, the champagne glass not yet to her lips, when her peripheral vision caught a familiar figure, George.
He wore a tailored black suit, his tall figure standing out in the crowd.
George had a woman on his arm, a stranger. She looked about twenty-five or twenty-six, wearing a champagne-colored mermaid dress that perfectly accentuated her curves. Her chestnut curls lazily draped over her shoulders, swaying gently with her movements. Her features were exquisitely sculpted, with a high nose and full lips, a stark contrast to Emma's gentle demeanor.
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