Chapter 70 I Won't Die
"This is where my wife lives. Can't I come here? I'm your husband. Is it weird I got a key to this place? You really need a guy that bad?"
George's face was ice-cold, and the chill coming off him was scary. His three back-to-back questions hit Emma like ice daggers.
Michael, worried George might lose it, called out, "George, chill out!"
George didn't even look at him. He walked past, his cold eyes scanning the dining table before landing on Emma's pale face.
"Emma, I'm talking to you. Answer me! You got the guts to bring another guy here for dinner but can't own up to it?"
George smirked, his sharp gaze on Michael. "Uncle Michael, your taste is kinda low. How could you like a woman like this?"
A woman like this? What kind of woman was she?
Emma's heart skipped a beat. She wanted to defend herself but didn't dare. Right now, George was like a demon from hell, ready to devour her.
Seeing Emma's pale cheeks, Michael felt bad and explained to George, "George, don't get it twisted. I was just worried about Emma, so I came to check on her."
"My wife doesn't need anyone else's concern," George sneered again. "Besides, what's there to worry about with such a ruthless, despicable woman?"
Tears welled up in Emma's eyes, her lips lost their color. Before she could speak, tears had already fallen. Michael frowned at George's mocking words and couldn't help but defend Emma.
"Emma is still your wife. How can you say that about her?"
"Am I wrong?" George walked over to Emma, pinching her delicate chin and turning her face so the unscarred side faced Michael.
"Uncle Michael, do you like this face? Even though half of it is ruined, it's still pretty seductive."
George's grip was so tight Emma couldn't break free. The scars on her face, which hadn't fully healed, began to split open again under George's force. The sharp pain spread across Emma's entire face.
Over time, she didn't even feel the pain anymore, just numbness, both physical and emotional.
A hint of red seeped through the white bandage, stinging Michael's eyes. He grabbed George's wrist, his voice tinged with anger, "George, you're drunk. Let go of Emma; she's in pain."
"Tell Uncle Michael, are you in pain?" George released his grip but didn't let go of Emma. Instead, he wrapped her in his arms.
Looking into George's deep, icy eyes, Emma endured the pain, bit her lip, and smiled faintly at Michael, "I'm not in pain. Thank you, Mr. Russell. You should go."
"Emma."
"I won't die."
Michael's frown deepened. He seemed to ponder for a few seconds before nodding, "George, Emma is your wife. Don't be so harsh."
With that, he picked up his coat and turned to leave.
As Michael walked away, the light in Emma's eyes gradually faded. Once his figure had completely vanished, only despair remained in Emma's eyes.
She didn't know what she would endure next, but she knew it would be no less torturous than a slow death. But she no longer cared. As long as he doesn't harm Mia or disturb Douglas's ashes, he could do whatever he wanted.
Emma's eyes were bloodshot as she stared blankly in the direction Michael had left. Unsurprisingly, her actions angered George once more.
"Are you that upset that he's gone? Emma, do you think I'm dead? I'm your husband."
"Mr. Russell," Emma laughed bitterly, "I'm despicable, shameless, and sinister. I've done countless shameless things to get you. I'm dirty and disgusting. And I've kept you from reuniting with Anna and your family. So, let's get a divorce."
Emma spoke these words calmly, thinking George would be satisfied. However, she saw a cold, eerie light flash in his eyes, trapping her soul in an unyielding grip.
"Emma, what makes you think you can ask for a divorce? Do you even deserve it?"
George shoved Emma away. She hit the ground hard, the cold floor biting into her skin. Her scars got rubbed raw, and pain shot through her.
She let out a muffled groan, her eyes filling with tears, but she didn't dare let them fall. George stood over her, a cruel smile on his lips, like this was exactly what he wanted.
"Clean this place up. Whatever you did for Michael, do it again! Hurry up, don't dawdle!" he ordered coldly, his tone dripping with authority.
"Okay, if it makes you happy, I'll do anything," Emma said with a bitter smile, lowering her eyes.
She knew disobedience would only lead to harsher punishment. So, she slowly got up, enduring the pain, and started cleaning. Every bend felt like tearing her wounds apart, but she silently endured it.
"You're cleaning so slow. How long do you expect me to wait?" George's voice rang out again, full of dissatisfaction.
"I'll hurry," Emma responded softly.
After cleaning, Emma braved the wind and snow to hit the supermarket for groceries. When she got back, she immediately started cooking for George.
Emma felt a wave of despair wash over her, but she knew only obedience would mean survival. She busied herself in the kitchen, the knife slicing through the ingredients with a crisp sound, contrasting sharply with her mood.
After dinner, Emma followed his instructions and prepared a bath. As she stood up, a sharp pain suddenly shot through her abdomen, so intense she reflexively squatted back down, her face turning pale.
She tried to get up, but the excruciating pain made it impossible to straighten her body.
Emma lay on the cold tiles, curling up as the pain tormented her, her consciousness starting to fade.
"Emma, are you deaf?" George's voice was filled with impatience.
At that moment, Emma's body couldn't take it anymore. The intense pain nearly made her pass out. Her hand fell limply, and her vision began to blur.
Emma took a deep breath, raised her hand to her teeth, and bit down hard, trying to use the pain in her arm to suppress the pain in her abdomen.
Despair filled Emma's heart as the pain washed over her like a tidal wave, threatening to drown her.
She gritted her teeth, trying not to make a sound, but the cold sweat on her forehead betrayed her suffering. George stood nearby, watching her coldly, a mocking smile on his lips.
"Are you trying to fake your pain to get sympathy?" he said nonchalantly, his tone full of disdain.
Emma took a deep breath and struggled to lift her head. "Mr. Russell, could you please get me the painkillers on the table..."
Emma's voice was weak, barely audible. Her hand gripped the floor tightly, her nails digging into her thigh, trying to distract herself.
The pain was so intense she could hardly breathe. George looked at Emma for a moment before turning away.
Soon, George came back with the bottle of painkillers. "Is this what you want? Think I'll let you off that easy?"
George sneered and casually dumped the painkillers into the toilet. The water flushed the pills away. As the pills disappeared, so did Emma's hope.
"Why are you doing this to me?" Emma couldn't help but plead, tears welling up in her eyes, her voice trembling with pain.
George's voice was as cold as a blade, mercilessly piercing her heart. He bent down, his eyes glinting with malice.
"Because you lied," George said with a cold smile, seemingly anticipating her resistance. "And besides, it's just discomfort. As you told Michael earlier, you won't die."
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