Chapter 92 Welcome back, my wife

Chapter 92 Welcome back, my wife

“I’ll kill you, Ethan, if you so much as lay a finger on my son,” Emily hissed, consumed by rage.

With nowhere else to go, she headed straight to Ethan’s location. Upon arrival, Emily stood before the towering iron gates that separated the outside world from the cold luxury of the Ethan family estate.

“Ethan,” she muttered breathlessly.

Her breathing was shallow, her chest heaving irregularly. Her logic had been overruled by a mother's instinct. She knew Ethan was the most dangerous person she could encounter, but she also knew only Ethan could have taken Louei away.

"Ethan! Get out here! Give me back my son!" Emily screamed at the top of her lungs. Her hoarse voice echoed through the concrete pillars, shattering the eerie silence of the night.

Inside the master bedroom, Ethan was watching Louei sleep peacefully. The moment he heard that familiar voice the one that had haunted his nightmares and fueled his regrets he froze.

“Emily,” Ethan whispered.

His heart, usually steady and rhythmic, began to race. He wasn't angry. On the contrary, a faint smile, etched with a painful longing, played on his lips.

"So you’ve finally come back, darling?" he murmured low, almost like a prayer of worship.

Ethan stepped out, commanding the gatekeeper through the intercom to let the woman in. He descended the stairs with the grace of a predator who had finally found his lost prey.

When the massive front doors swung open, Emily was already there. She wore a silver mask that covered the upper half of her face, leaving only a pair of eyes burning with hatred and trembling lips. As Ethan appeared under the glow of the crystal chandelier, Emily reached into her bag and pointed a pistol straight at his chest.

"Don't take another step, or I'll blow your heart out!" Emily threatened, her hand shaking violently.

Ethan stopped, but his face showed no sign of fear. Instead, he took one more step forward, pressing his chest against the cold muzzle of the gun.

"Shoot if it makes you feel better," Ethan challenged in a low, vibrating voice. "This heart has been dead since the day you left, Emily. You’d only be shooting a stone."

"Stop calling me that name!" Emily screamed, tears beginning to flow from behind her mask. "I am not Emily! Emily died years ago! My name is ... it doesn't matter! Give me Louei! He has nothing to do with you!"

Ethan let out a short, hollow laugh. "You think a cheap mask can fool me? I could recognize your heartbeat from a mile away. I could recognize your scent even if you hid behind a thousand perfumes. You are my Emily. My runaway wife."

"I am not your wife!" Emily became hysterical, the barrel of the gun shaking with her emotions. "I only came for Louei. You kidnapped him! You’re a cruel, heartless man! Give the boy to me right now!"

"Louei is safe upstairs. He’s sleeping," Ethan said calmly, his eyes boring into Emily's through the mask. "And if you want to take him, you must enter this house as its owner, not as a stranger. Why are you so afraid, Emily? Or is it that you’re afraid I’ll find out Louei is my son?"

Emily gasped. "He’s ... he’s not your son. I told you, I am not your wife. Give me back my son."

"You think wearing a mask and changing your identity can erase your past? Tell me, Emily, is Louei my son?!"

"He is not your son!" Emily snapped, her voice rising even though she knew the lie sounded incredibly fragile.

Ethan stepped forward again, letting the tip of the gun press firmly against the fabric of his expensive shirt. "Shoot, Emily. Pull the trigger. If I die, you can take Louei and go. But if you can't do it, then you stay here, with me, forever. No more running. No more faking your death."

Emily felt her finger go limp on the trigger. Her hatred was real, but beneath that layer was an excruciating pain that made her unable to follow through with the execution. She hated how Ethan knew her better than anyone else.

"Why ..." Emily sobbed, her shoulders shaking. "Why can't you just leave us in peace? I gave up everything so you could be free. Why did you have to drag Louei into this darkness?"

Ethan reached out with his large hand, slowly touching the silver mask on Emily’s face. Emily froze, seemingly hypnotized by the touch she once loved so dearly.

"Because without you two, I have no reason to remain human," Ethan whispered. With one gentle movement, he untied the mask, letting it hit the floor with a metallic clang.

Now Emily’s face was fully exposed. Pale, tear stained, yet just as beautiful as the day Ethan first fell in love with her.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Emily Pandhearthur Limson," Ethan said. His voice was low, but every syllable carried a tone of absolute possession, as if the name were a seal he had just reapplied to her.

Emily didn’t budge. Instead, she pressed the gun harder into Ethan’s chest, right over his heart. "Let me and Louei go, Ethan. Don't force me to do something we'll both regret forever."

"That will never happen," Ethan replied calmly. His eyes, dark as deep wells, showed no fear of the weapon in front of him. To him, the gun was just a toy compared to the fact that Emily was now within his reach.

Emily curled her lip into a smile full of bitterness. "Who do you think you are, Ethan? Do you think you have any right to my life after what you did?"

"Your husband," Ethan answered quickly, his voice booming despite being spoken softly. "Regardless of time, I am your husband. You are Mrs. Ethan, and that is a destiny you cannot erase just by running away."

Hearing that, Emily actually laughed. Her laughter was melodic yet poisonous, echoing through the cold hallways of the mansion. "My husband? You’re awfully confident, aren’t you, Mr. Ethan?"

Emily took a step forward, letting her body nearly touch his, challenging his dominance. "You have no idea who I am now, do you? The Emily you knew the innocent girl who always cried in the corner of the room. IS DEAD. I am Laurance. The seductress with her sexy dances on stage."

She whispered right against Ethan’s lips, her eyes flashing with insulting provocation. "Do you want to know a secret, Mr. Ethan? Do you want to know how many men have touched this skin? How many men I’ve slept with after they handed over piles of cash?"