Chapter 255 Tell You Everything

Chapter 255 Tell You Everything

"Why are you running?" Grace reached out to push her shoulder. "Aren't you so tough? Aren't you afraid of nothing? Scared now?"

Emily dodged to the side, avoiding her hand. "Don't touch me."

"What if I do touch you?" Grace pressed forward another step, reaching out to push her again.

Emily dodged again, but behind her was the stairway, and one foot was already on the edge of the step.

Grace saw her chance and pushed hard, both hands shoving toward Emily's chest.

Emily reacted in that instant.

Instead of stepping back, she stepped forward, grabbed Grace's collar, and used Grace's pushing force to suddenly spin around.

Both of them tumbled down the stairs together.

But during the fall, Emily held tight to Grace's collar and flipped her underneath, using Grace's body to cushion all the impact.

After rolling down a dozen or so steps, Grace crashed heavily onto the first-floor landing with a dull thud.

Emily landed on top of her, barely hurt except for a scraped arm.

Grace's left arm was twisted at an unnatural angle. Her face was deathly pale from the pain, unable to even scream.

The servants rushed over at the noise and were all shocked by the scene.

Matthew was also disturbed. He wheeled out from his study and saw Emily slowly getting up from Grace's body, dusting off her skirt. "She brought this on herself. You can't blame me."

Matthew had people send Grace to the hospital.

The examination showed her left arm was fractured and two ribs were broken.

When Grace woke up, she was wrapped in bandages all over, grimacing in pain.

The first thing she did was have someone call the police.

The police came and took statements in the hospital room.

Grace pointed at Emily with her only working hand, crying as she claimed Emily had pushed her down the stairs in an attempted murder.

But the hallway surveillance at the villa had clearly captured the entire incident.

The footage clearly showed that Grace had reached out to push Emily first, pushing three times repeatedly, and on the last forceful push, Emily grabbed her and they rolled down the stairs together.

After watching the surveillance, the police told Grace, "Miss Miller, according to the footage, you were the one who initiated the attack. Miss Johnson's actions were self-defense. If you want to hold her responsible, you'll first face charges of intentional assault yourself."

Grace's face turned the color of liver.

Emily stood at the hospital room door watching Grace's humiliation, her expression blank.

She turned and walked out, Matthew wheeling after her.

"I'll handle her situation." Matthew's voice was exhausted. "You don't need to worry about it."

After Grace was discharged, Matthew arranged for her to stay in a remote apartment.

He had people watch her, not allowing her to get anywhere near Emily again.

But Grace wasn't the type to stay put quietly.

Every day she plotted her revenge.

She hated Emily, hated Matthew, hated Alex, hated everyone who was doing better than her.

She wished she could drag all these people to hell with her.

While she was racking her brains, Matthew took her to a dinner party.

At the dinner sat a real estate tycoon in his fifties named Whitmore, known in their circles for his ruthless methods, and privately for a frightening preference—he liked to torture people in bed, and he was brutal.

Matthew seated Grace next to Mr. Whitmore.

During the meal, he raised his glass to Mr. Whitmore with a smile, his tone casual as if discussing something trivial. "Would Mr. Whitmore like a fresh new toy?"

Mr. Whitmore's eyes swept over Grace, and he grinned. "Matthew, you're giving her up?"

"Wouldn't call it giving up." Matthew took a sip of his drink. "I have a dog here that's not very obedient. I need Mr. Whitmore to help me train her properly."

Grace's smile froze when she heard this.

She turned to look at Matthew, her eyes full of disbelief.

He was going to give her away?

Matthew didn't look at her, continuing his conversation with Mr. Whitmore, the topic already moving away from Grace to other matters.

That night when they returned, Grace made a scene, but she was still sent by Matthew's people to Mr. Whitmore's villa.

When she was brought in, she clung to the doorframe refusing to let go, screaming curses that Matthew would die a horrible death.

But no one paid attention to her.

After the door closed, she heard Mr. Whitmore's footsteps coming down the stairs, step by step, like he was stepping on her heart.

The next few days were the longest of her life.

Mr. Whitmore's methods were countless times more brutal than Tyler's, and he knew how to torture someone without leaving permanent damage.

She no longer had that arrogant air about her, and the crazed look in her eyes was completely ground away, replaced by a numb, deathly stillness.

She lay in bed staring at the ceiling, a tear sliding from the corner of her eye.

She wanted to die, and she wanted to drag everyone down with her!

Grace was kept at Mr. Whitmore's place for a full seven days.

That evening, Mr. Whitmore went out for business, and there was a gap during the security guard shift change at the villa.

Grace seized the opportunity.

Enduring her still-healing injuries, she climbed out the second-floor window, barefoot on the cold stone path, limping away into the night.

She ran to a pay phone and dialed Alex's private number.

The phone rang several times before connecting. Alex's voice came through the receiver, cold and guarded. "Who is this?"

"It's Grace."

Alex was silent for a second, his voice even colder. "How did you get my number?"

"That's not important." Grace leaned against the phone booth's glass door, trembling all over, whether from cold or fear. "What's important is I have information you want to know. About Emily, what Matthew did to her—I know everything."

The other end went silent again, longer than before.

"Your terms." Alex said two words.

"Get me out of here, give me money." Grace's voice was shaking. "As long as you can get me out of this hellhole, I'll tell you everything I know about Emily."

Alex didn't hesitate long. "Where are you?"

Grace gave him an address.

Twenty minutes later, a black sedan stopped next to the phone booth.

Grace climbed into the back seat, curling into a ball like a pitiful stray dog.

The car drove to one of Alex's private properties. He arranged for a doctor to treat Grace's wounds and had someone prepare clean clothes and food for her.

After eating and drinking her fill, Grace leaned back on the sofa, looking at Alex sitting across from her.

He was the same as always—suit impeccable, features stern, looking at her like she was a fly. "Talk."

Grace talked.

She told him how Matthew had her disguise herself as a nanny to infiltrate Emily's life, how she put sleeping pills in the milk, how he arranged for people to kidnap Emily, and how he used TMS to weaken Emily's feelings for Alex—one thing after another, she spilled it all.

After listening, Alex said nothing.

He sat on the sofa completely still, his expression terrifyingly calm.

But his fingers were slowly tightening, digging deep grooves into the leather armrest.