Chapter 78
Emily Windsor's POV
Jacob was sobbing his heart out, trying to manipulate me with this pathetic display of remorse.
"Just come back to me, and I'll do anything! I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you! We can start over, just like before..."
Looking at him groveling in the dirt, I felt nothing but contempt and disgust.
This man never learned to take responsibility—he only knew how to blame others for his failures.
"Get out," I spat through gritted teeth, my eyes cold as ice.
He seemed stunned by my finality, his expression freezing.
But the unease coiling in my gut reached a crescendo in that moment.
Jacob's appearance here was no coincidence. The Lowe family had gone to great lengths to plant him here—not for some redemption arc performance.
Ignoring him, I fumbled for my phone in my clutch, fingers trembling as I tried to message Luke for help.
Before I could hit send, a bony hand shot out from the side, lightning-fast, and snatched my phone away.
The grip was skeletal but strong, knuckles pale white with agitation.
Fury surged through me. I lunged for it, my nails raking across his hand and leaving vivid red welts.
"Give it back!" I shouted.
As if provoked by my resistance, Jacob stumbled backward a step, then whirled around and locked the lounge door from the inside.
Having done that, he raised my phone, a manic grin spreading across his face, then hurled it down hard against the polished marble floor.
The sharp crack of shattering glass echoed through the silent room.
The screen splintered into pieces—my only connection to the outside world, severed just like that.
"Emily, now no one can interrupt us," he panted, advancing step by step. Only now did I notice the unnatural flush on his cheeks, his eyes unfocused—like he was drunk, or worse, drugged.
A chill shot up my spine from my feet to the crown of my head.
I finally understood what game the Lowe family was playing.
They weren't just dumping Jacob on me as a problem. They were orchestrating a scandal designed to utterly destroy me.
"You told me to get lost, didn't you?" Jacob stared at me with sick devotion, his voice carrying a nauseating whine. "But I don't want to leave. I miss you, Emily. I think about you every single day... I'm going insane."
He came closer, the stench of cheap cologne mixed with sweat making my stomach churn.
I kept backing away until my spine hit the cold wall. Nowhere left to run.
I couldn't just wait to be cornered.
My eyes swept the room frantically, finally landing on a heavy brass ornament on the coffee table.
Just as Jacob reached out, about to touch me, I dodged sideways, grabbed the ornament with both hands, and swung it with all my strength straight at his head!
Jacob froze. Warm blood instantly trickled from his temple.
He clearly hadn't expected me to fight back so viciously. The obsession in his eyes turned to shock and pain.
Seizing his moment of disorientation, I spun toward the door.
But he recovered quickly. The pain only made him more unhinged. With a roar, he grabbed my wrist and yanked me toward him.
"You bitch!" he cursed, his other arm wrapping around my waist.
The overwhelming strength difference between us made escape impossible. As his blood-smeared face lunged closer, I made a split-second decision—I lifted my stiletto heel and drove it straight into his groin with all my force.
"AHHH!"
The flush drained from Jacob's face instantly, replaced by deathly pallor. He released me and crumpled to the floor like a boiled shrimp, writhing and convulsing.
The excruciating pain seemed to restore a sliver of clarity to him. He looked up at me, his expression no longer lustful but purely terrified and pleading. "Water... give me water... Emily, please help me... so hot... I need..."
Help him?
Watching him squirm pathetically on the floor, my rage only burned hotter.
The Lowe family's underhanded tactics were truly vicious.
Looking at this useless wretch, I felt my fury had nowhere to go.
Not satisfied, I stepped forward and kicked his curled-up body several more times.
Each sharp heel strike landed without mercy, channeling all my towering anger and revulsion.
"Ah... stop... please stop..." Jacob clutched his head, reduced to feeble begging.
I didn't spare him another glance. Spinning around, I rushed to the locked door.
Escape. I had to get out immediately! I picked up the brass ornament and began hammering at the lock mechanism.
Dull thuds echoed through the room, but the heavy oak door wouldn't budge.
Then I heard footsteps approaching from outside. Hope surged through me like a lifeline. I immediately stopped pounding and began banging on the door panel, shouting for help. "Someone! Help! There's someone in here!"
The footsteps stopped outside.
I heard the lock click as someone opened it from the outside.
Relief flooded me as I stepped back, ready to greet my rescuer.
The door swung open, corridor light spilling in and silhouetting a tall figure.
But when I saw the face wearing an amused smile, every drop of blood in my body turned to ice.
Lawrence Lowe strolled in leisurely, his gaze sliding past me to Jacob still moaning on the floor. His brow furrowed in disgust, as if looking at an eyesore piece of trash.
"Pathetic," he murmured, his tone dripping with contempt and disdain.
In that split second of his distraction, I bolted for the door.
But I'd barely reached the threshold when two black-suited bodyguards stationed outside seized my arms in an iron grip.
I struggled desperately, but they held me like vices. I couldn't move.
In desperation, I gathered every ounce of strength and screamed toward the distant ballroom. "Luke!"
Before my voice could fully carry, Lawrence had already closed the distance. He produced a handkerchief from somewhere and roughly stuffed it into my mouth, silencing every unfinished cry.
I was dragged forcibly through a crew passage—narrow, cold, and utterly incongruous with the ballroom's opulence.
Finally, they shoved me into a spacious storage room.
No plush carpets or crystal chandeliers here. Only cold metal walls and a few overhead emergency lights casting pale, sickly illumination.
Several men already occupied the room—all built like thugs, wearing predatory grins like a pack of hyenas scenting blood.