Chapter 92
Emily Windsor's POV
Lily staggered under my frenzied shaking.
Then she shoved me away with brutal force.
I fell backward, unprepared, slamming hard into the cold wall before sliding down helplessly to the floor.
She looked down at me from above, leisurely smoothing out the wrinkles I'd left in her collar. That beautiful face had finally torn away all pretense, leaving nothing but naked ambition and chilling indifference.
"Because I'm a Victor," she said softly, her voice like a blade dipped in ice. Each word stabbed into my heart. "I have to consider what's best for the Victor family as a whole. Luke is dead. A dead man can't secure the family's future."
"He's not dead!" I lifted my head, screaming at her through bloodshot eyes. "No body means he's not dead!"
"So what?" Lily let out a cold laugh, one filled with pity and mockery. "Emily, wake up. Even if he's alive, he's now a globally wanted murderer. He's the family's biggest liability. Only if he's completely dead can the Victors distance themselves and move forward."
She paused, slowly crouching down to meet me at eye level. Those stunning eyes gleamed with a rational, clinical coldness that sent chills down my spine.
"And I need to secure my own future."
I stared at that face—familiar yet utterly alien—as my heart sank inch by inch into a bottomless abyss.
"So, Emily," Lily reached out, using icy fingertips to lift my chin. Her tone carried a hint of benevolent condescension mixed with an unmistakable warning. "Stay put like a good girl. Behave, and you'll still have a comfortable life. If you don't..."
She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a demonic whisper at my ear.
"There's only one way out. Death."
Lily's glacial words were like a poisoned dagger, pinning me in place. The ambition and ruthlessness in her eyes completely crushed the last shred of hope I'd been clinging to.
So this was it. From beginning to end, I'd been nothing more than a disposable pawn on their chessboard.
This must be what they mean by "heart turning to ash."
Two bodyguards hauled me back to the hospital bed. I was like a puppet whose strings had been cut, letting them maneuver me however they pleased.
The following days, I sealed myself off completely.
Jade came to visit. When she saw how gaunt I'd become, tears immediately spilled down her cheeks.
She hugged me, repeating words of comfort over and over, but those warm phrases could no longer penetrate the thick ice encasing my heart.
"Jade, take me away," I grabbed her hand with every ounce of strength I had left, like clutching at the last lifeline. "Please. Get me out of here."
Jade looked at me, her eyes full of heartache and helplessness.
She shook her head, her voice breaking. "Emily, I... I can't. There are Victor guards everywhere. We can't get past them."
She squeezed my hand, lowering her voice to a plea. "Just cooperate. Don't fight Miss Lily anymore. We can't win against her."
I yanked my hand back sharply. Looking at this person I trusted most, I suddenly felt she was unbearably strange and pathetic.
The last flickering ember of hope died out.
I gave up struggling entirely. I gave up eating too.
The meals nurses brought were pushed away untouched. I simply lay there with open eyes, staring numbly at the ceiling, letting my life force drain away bit by bit with each passing moment.
If this was what Luke wanted when he told me to "live"—then this punishment was far too cruel.
Days later, when I was on the verge of passing out from starvation, Lily appeared in my room again.
She still wore that flawlessly made-up, meticulously composed look—a stark contrast to my current wretched state.
She looked at me half-dead on the bed, her brow furrowing sharply.
"Get up," she commanded coldly.
I didn't acknowledge her. I couldn't even spare the energy to turn my eyes toward her.
My listless state seemed to infuriate her. She stepped forward, her voice taking on a teeth-grinding edge. "Emily, you want to die? Fine. But not now. Lawrence is still out there living his best life. Are you really going to let that bastard walk free?"
Lawrence.
That name was like a needle stabbing into my numb nerves.
Yes. He was still alive.
The man who'd killed Luke was probably somewhere right now, relishing the Victor family's collapse, laughing at my powerlessness.
Towering hatred surged through me like adrenaline shot directly into my withered body.
"Get out," I croaked through cracked lips, using every last bit of strength to hurl my pillow at her.
Lily easily dodged it with a casual tilt of her head. Not a trace of anger showed on her face.
She simply set down a thermal food container heavily on the bedside table, leaving behind one icy statement.
"Get back what Lawrence owes Luke—a hundred times, a thousand times over. Then you can die however you want."
With that, she turned and left without looking back.
The click of her heels faded gradually. The room returned to deathly silence.
I stared at the container still steaming on the nightstand. My stomach, triggered by the long-absent aroma of food, began cramping violently.
I couldn't die. Not yet.
I needed to watch Lawrence descend into hell with my own eyes. I needed to make him pay the most agonizing price for what he'd done.
I struggled to sit up. My body felt like liquefied mud.
I lunged toward the container, hands trembling as I opened it. Inside was plain white congee and simple side dishes—perfect for someone who hadn't eaten in days.
I grabbed the spoon like a starving animal and began shoveling food into my mouth frantically.
Just as I was about to finish the bowl, the spoon struck something hard at the bottom.
My heart skipped. I fished out the object.
It was a small note wrapped tightly in wax paper.
My heartbeat stuttered. With shaking fingers, I unfolded it.
Only one line of text, written in sharp, familiar handwriting. Lily's handwriting.
[He's alive. This is his plan. Do as I say.]
The world exploded in my ears.
He's alive.
Those two words were like lightning splitting my muddled consciousness into fragments.
Overwhelming joy crashed over me like a tidal wave. I clamped both hands over my mouth to keep from screaming out loud.
Tears broke free without warning—but this time, not from despair or grief.
He was alive. Luke was alive!
But after that peak of euphoria came something deeper—a crushing sense of betrayal and hurt that seized my heart with iron claws.
This is his plan.
So the explosion, that final "live," the soul-destroying grief of watching him die—it had all been a performance. For my benefit.
Everyone else knew the truth. Only me. I'd been the fool, kept in the dark, manipulated like a puppet on their strings.
Tears mingled with relief and bitter abandonment, scalding as they splashed onto the back of my hand.