Chapter 667 Weakness
Kirk watched Michael walk away, a sinister glint in his eye. "Michael, I've found your Achilles' heel."
Back in the car, his assistant asked nervously, "Mr. Russell, about Kirk..."
"He won't be smug for long," Michael sneered, drumming his fingers on the armrest. "Messing with my weakness means he's ready to be taken down."
The assistant felt a chill and kept quiet.
Meanwhile, Kirk stood by the floor-to-ceiling window and dialed a number. "Keep tabs on Michael's every move. And find out where Celeste, the one he cares about most, is now."
Hanging up, he lit a cigar, a cold smile playing on his lips. "Michael, do you really think you can protect her like this? How naive."
He turned to look at a photo on the table, showing two young boys, one clearly a young Kirk. Kirk's smile was smug, almost childlike. "My foolish brother, see, Celeste is more important to Michael. Five hundred million dollars and a flight route, all to avenge Celeste. Is Emma worth that price?"
As night deepened, the city's neon lights cast shadows on Michael's stern profile. He took out his phone, staring at a photo of Celeste in her youthful, innocent days, his expression complex.
"Celeste," he murmured softly, "this time, I won't let you get hurt again."
In the VIP room at Royal Hospital, Celeste sat by George's bedside, the night outside thick and impenetrable.
George's face was still pale, but his eyes were much clearer. He stared at the ceiling, his voice hoarse. "Celeste, thank you. You saved me again."
Celeste paused while peeling an apple, the knife cutting a deep groove into the flesh. She looked up at him. "For Emma, do you think it's worth it?"
"Yes," George replied without hesitation, a bitter smile in his eyes. "I owe her, and I'll never be able to repay it in this lifetime. Every injury now is penance."
Celeste cut the apple into small pieces and held one to his mouth. "What if she never forgives you?"
"Then I'll keep atoning," George swallowed the apple, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Even if I have to die for her now, I'd do it willingly."
Celeste was silent for a moment, then suddenly laughed. "Even if she's carrying another man's child, even if she's so cold to you, even if she won't even look at you. You still think it's worth it?"
George looked at her. "Ask yourself that question first. You hate Michael, but you can't let go."
Celeste's knife fell into the plate. She turned away, her voice tight. "I'm not like you."
"How are you different?" George struggled to sit up. "You still love Michael, but you won't admit it."
Celeste stood up abruptly, the chair scraping the floor with a harsh sound. "George! You've crossed the line."
"Did I say anything wrong?" George stared into her eyes.
Celeste stared back, but gradually, she lowered her gaze, unable to meet his eyes.
George was right. That day at the hospital, when Michael appeared, her heart raced so fast she worried he might hear it.
Michael had stood at the end of the hallway, his black coat giving off an intimidating vibe. Just one look from him made her tremble. At that moment, she hated herself for still reacting to him after all this time.
"Celeste," George's voice softened suddenly, "loving someone can be a lifelong thing. I get it."
Celeste's shoulders shook slightly. She faced away from George, her voice barely a whisper. "But he hurt me so much."
"Love never makes sense," George smiled bitterly. "Just like I know Emma might never come back to me, but I'll still wait. Even if marrying me was to make me suffer, I'd still accept it."
"Emma is kind and gentle; she wouldn't truly like someone like Michael. She's distancing herself from you for a reason," Celeste's tone softened, offering advice based on her understanding of Emma. "Give her some time; she'll give you an answer."
After that, both George and Celeste fell silent.
Would Emma give George an answer?
Celeste couldn't be sure, but at least George had hope.
But Celeste would never get an answer.
Outside, the moon was obscured by clouds. Celeste looked at her reflection in the glass... that unfamiliar, delicate face was no longer the girl who was madly in love. But why was her heart still the same?
"George," she turned suddenly, tears in her eyes, "we're just two pitiful people."
George laughed, coughing. "Yeah. Two pitiful people who can't have the ones they love."
Outside the room, Michael's bodyguards remained vigilant.
At the Russell Villa, Emma stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, her fingers tightly gripping the curtain. Outside, two black-clad bodyguards stood like statues in the yard, never leaving their posts. Since George was injured and she confessed to Michael, she had lost the hard-won freedom again.
Michael had confined her here, not even allowing her to go to the garden.
"Mrs. Russell, it's time for dinner," the maid reminded softly.
Emma shook her head. "I'm not hungry." Her gaze remained fixed in the direction of the Royal Hospital. Three days had passed, and she didn't know if George was dead or alive. This torment was worse than imprisonment.
Late at night, Emma suddenly heard arguing downstairs. She quietly opened her door and heard the butler scolding the new gardener. "Why are you mowing the lawn so late? Can you bear the consequences if you disturb Mrs. Russell?"
The opportunity had come.
Emma tiptoed to the back door and saw the gardener's lawnmower still on the grass. Taking advantage of the distraction, she slipped out of the villa.
"Stop!" a bodyguard shouted behind her.
Emma's heart raced, and she started running. The night wind whipped past her ears as she sprinted towards the woods. Branches scratched her arms, but she ignored the pain. Turning a corner, she suddenly collided with a warm chest.
"Careful!" Strong hands steadied her.
Emma looked up into a pair of clear, bright eyes. The young man in casual clothes had a fluffy, adorable golden retriever by his side. Under the moonlight, his handsome face showed concern. "Are you okay? Is someone chasing you?"
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