Chapter 102
The slap I delivered was vicious enough to leave my palm stinging.
Vera's face swelled rapidly on one side. She stood frozen for a moment, then erupted like a lit firecracker, lunging at me with a shriek.
"Emily, you bitch! Who the hell do you think you are, hitting me?" Her manicured nails—filed to vicious points—aimed straight for my eyes.
I sidestepped smoothly, caught her wrist with precision, and twisted hard.
Vera yelped in pain, her body forced downward until she was half-kneeling on the floor in humiliation.
"Let go of me! You're nothing but Victor family's castoff, Lawrence's little plaything—not even worth as much as his dog—how dare you—"
Another sharp slap cut through the air.
This time I used every ounce of strength I had, driving her vile words right back down her throat.
Blood trickled from the corner of Vera's mouth. She collapsed onto the floor completely, staring up at me with sheer terror in her eyes.
I bent down, looking down at her from my superior position, my gaze as cold as ice over a frozen lake.
I reached out and patted her twisted face, my voice low and dangerous. "Vera, watch your mouth. You don't have the right to speak Luke's name. And as for whose plaything I am—feel free to ask Lawrence directly. See if he'd tolerate you talking to me like this."
I leaned closer to her ear, my tone turning glacial. "If I ever hear you spreading lies behind my back again, I'll tear that mouth of yours right off. Don't believe me? Test it. Right now, there's nothing I have left to lose."
Vera went completely silent. She shrank back, trembling, the malice in her eyes crushed beneath raw fear.
I straightened, retrieved the photograph that had been trampled underfoot, and carefully tucked it into the inner pocket of my blazer.
It was the only tangible memory Luke had left me. Even covered in dirt, it was my lifeline.
Under the stunned, breathless stares of everyone around me, I lifted the heavy cardboard box, and on my high heels, walked step by deliberate step out of the law firm's glass doors.
The sunlight outside was blinding enough to make me want to cry. I stood on the street corner, watching the relentless flow of New York traffic, and felt a wave of exhaustion unlike anything I'd ever experienced.
The identity, status, reputation I'd once taken such pride in—all of it turned to ash in a matter of days. I was like a ghost abandoned by the world, with nowhere left to go.
I wanted to contact Lily. Ask about him. Even just hearing "he's still sleeping" would be enough to keep me going through this living hell.
Clutching the box, I headed toward the coffee shop on the corner, seeking some semblance of safety in the crowd.
But that prickling sensation of being watched returned.
Pretending to tie my shoelace, I glanced at the reflection in a nearby storefront window.
A black SUV trailed me at a calculated distance, its windows tinted too dark to see inside.
Lawrence's men. Again.
Disgust churned in my stomach. He was like a greedy vulture circling overhead, waiting for me to collapse completely so he could pick my bones clean.
I abandoned the idea of calling Lily. Instead, I hurried across the street, ducked into a narrow alley, and took several winding detours before finally hailing a cab back to the apartment.
The moment I pushed open the door, I froze.
The once-tidy apartment looked like it had been ravaged by a hurricane.
The bookshelf had toppled over, books scattered everywhere. The sofa cushions had been slashed open, cotton stuffing spilling out. Clothes from the closet were strewn across the floor. Even the bathroom mirror had been smashed.
My heart leapt into my throat.
I bolted into the bedroom and tore up the mattress to check the hidden compartment beneath.
Empty.
The handgun I'd kept for self-defense—and several important items Luke had left me—all gone.
A chill shot up from the soles of my feet straight to the crown of my head.
This wasn't just a search. This was a warning. A blatant act of humiliation.
With trembling hands, I pulled out my phone to check the apartment's hidden surveillance feed.
The words "CONNECTION FAILED" flashing on the screen shattered the last remnants of my composure.
The monitoring cables had been cut cleanly. Even the storage cards had been taken.
Whoever did this was a professional. They'd left no trace behind.
In this neighborhood—supposedly one of the safest in the city—my home had been peeled apart like an onion, layer by methodical layer.
Fury overtook fear. I grabbed my phone, fingers shaking as I dialed the number that made me want to retch.
The call connected after two rings. Lawrence's lazy, faintly amused voice drifted through the speaker. "Miss Windsor. What's this? Missing me already?"
"Lawrence, what the hell do you want!" I screamed into the phone, my voice cracking with rage. "Having me followed, ransacking my apartment, smashing my things—is this what you call courtship?"
A beat of silence. Then Lawrence's soft, almost innocent laugh came through. "Emily, what are you talking about? My men are protecting you, yes. But ransacking your place? Heh. That kind of lowbrow behavior is beneath me."
"Stop pretending! Who else would be this relentless?"
"Emily, you're so naive." His tone darkened, taking on a twisted sort of amusement. "Do you have any idea how many powerful people Luke crossed to build Victor family's empire? How many interests he trampled? Now that he's dead, all those vermin hiding in the shadows are crawling out to settle scores with his woman."
He paused, his voice dropping into something low and disturbingly intimate, like a snake whispering in my ear. "I told you already—it's not safe out there. Luke's enemies aren't as... considerate as I am. They'll tear you apart piece by piece as payment for what they lost."
"So. Have you reconsidered? Come back to my estate. There, no one will dare lay a finger on you."
I bit down hard on my lip, the sting of my nails digging into my palms keeping me grounded.
"Lawrence, don't pretend you're some kind of savior." I enunciated each word carefully. "If Luke's enemies are vermin, then you're the most venomous one of all. I'd rather die at someone else's hands than rot away in your mansion."
"Don't waste your concern. I'm tougher than I look."
I slammed the phone down and collapsed onto the debris-strewn floor, utterly drained.
Amid the wreckage, I spotted the photograph that had fallen out.
In it, Luke's expression was cold and stern—but when his gaze turned toward me, there was an almost imperceptible tenderness hidden in his eyes.
I pressed the photo tightly against my chest, clinging to the only warmth left in this cold, broken shell of a home.
Lawrence, if you want to play games, then fine. I'll play along to the bitter end.
Even if this apartment becomes rubble. Even if the whole world turns against me. As long as he is still alive, I have a card left to play.
I forced myself to my feet and began numbly sorting through the wreckage.
New York's morning showed no mercy for the wreckage of my previous night.
I stood in front of the full-length mirror, layering heavy concealer over the dark circles carved beneath my eyes.