Chapter 72 A man's dignity
Emma slowly opened her eyes, and the sight of the white ceiling brought a wave of familiarity over her as she realized that she had been brought to the hospital once again.
Maybe she should just get a frequent flyer card for this place. With how often she ended up here, it wouldn't be the worst idea.
Her mind started wandering, like it always did. Guess that was just how brains worked—push 'em too hard, and they either snapped or went off on random tangents.
Wouldould she lose it and end up in a psych ward if this kept up? Maybe then George and Anna would finally back off.
She stared at the ceiling, feeling a warm sensation in her hand. First time her hands and feet felt this toasty since winter hit. The heating was cranked up.
She tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through her cheek, and her arm felt like it was pinned down by something heavy. The room was dead quiet, just the hum of machines in the background. She looked down and saw her clothes had been changed, and her wounds were all neatly bandaged.
The person who was pinning her arm down turned out to be George!
Usually, Mr. Cool and Collected George was now curled up in a corner of the hospital bed, fast asleep. His sleep was anything but peaceful, his brows furrowing every now and then. Each time his brow furrowed, his hand would tighten, pulling him a bit closer to Emma.
His normally crisp shirt was all wrinkled, his sharp eyes hidden behind thin eyelids, and his cheeks. The way his face was smushed made his cheeks look all soft and squishy.
Right now, he didn't look like the big-shot CEO but more like a big kid watching over someone he cared about.
Emma couldn't help but chuckle at her own silly thoughts. What kind of lover would want to see his beloved dead? Sadly, she was still kicking.
Lucky for her, she hadn't kicked the bucket on that freezing night. But what came next was a mess of feelings towards George. His coldness and violence hung over her like a dark cloud, filling her with dread. She quietly pulled her hand away.
Just then, George stirred. His hand instinctively searched the bed. When he realized Emma's hand was gone, he shot up.
Their eyes locked. His expression was softer than usual, and his eyes had this weird glimmer of concern.
Emma's heart did a little flip, and she felt a tiny spark of emotion.
But her touched feelings quickly vanished, replaced by fear. She couldn't believe George could be so gentle with her.
"You're awake," George's voice was low, with a hint of warmth, like he actually cared.
Emma gave a slight nod, but inside, she was a mess. She wanted out of this stifling place. Taking advantage of the moment he turned to get water, Emma quickly lifted the blanket and tried to slip out of bed. She moved cautiously, not wanting to catch his attention.
But after just a few steps, her body wobbled and she started to tip forward. Just as she was about to face-plant, George's arm shot out like a steel trap, yanking her back.
"Where do you think you're going?" His voice had a sharp edge, his eyes cutting into her like daggers.
"None of your damn business," Emma snapped back, not in the mood to explain herself.
"You need to rest," George's tone was unyielding as he dragged her back to the bed and practically shoved her down. She wanted to fight back, but she was too weak to put up much of a struggle.
"Don't touch me! If Anna sees, she'll think I'm trying to seduce you again!" Her voice was shaky but defiant.
"Anna won't. She is so kind-hearted; if she sees you like this, she'll definitely be worried about you. You need to stay put until you're healed," George's eyes flashed with that bossy authority, like he was laying down the law.
Emma felt a wave of despair wash over her. Kind-hearted Anna...
Tears welled up in her eyes. She didn't know how to deal with George or this messed-up relationship. It felt like she was trapped in an invisible cage with no way out.
"I'll stay here with you," George's voice softened, like he was trying to calm her down. But Emma felt suffocated, her trust and fear of him all tangled up, leaving her stuck.
She slumped weakly against the headboard, her eyes vacant, her heart a mess of confusion about the future. Right now, it was just her, the white hospital walls, and the hum of machines. Maybe when he was done with this redemption act, he'd let her go.
"Do you really hate seeing me that much? Is Michael that important to you? Do you think he'd want a woman like you—a woman who's been married, had a miscarriage, and is now all scarred?" George's tenderness didn't even last five minutes before his true colors showed.
Emma smiled, relieved. She knew George's gentleness was never meant for her, especially not for the broken version of herself.
"What are you laughing at?" George's eyes were red with anger. "Does mentioning Michael make you that happy?"
Emma laughed harder. George wasn't jealous, he didn't care about her. He was just using his anger to protect his fragile ego, his pitiful pride.
"Coward! Have you always felt second to Michael since you were kids? And now, even as adults, it's the same. You can't even keep your wife from being taken away," Emma sneered. The movement pulled at her cheek, causing sharp pain, but she didn't care. She wanted the pain to kill any lingering affection she had for George.
George looked like she'd hit a nerve. The Emma who used to love him now treated him like nothing. Resentment seeped into his bones, and anger filled his chest.
All he wanted now was to lash out, to hurt her back.
Suddenly, George felt a splitting headache. Unable to stay upright, he collapsed onto Emma's hospital bed.
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