Chapter 164 In the Next Life, Let's not Meet Again
Holy Tree rustled in the bitter wind, its branches heavy with winter's cruel bite.
Emma stood beneath the ancient oak, tilting her head back to gaze at the red and green wishing balls tangled together high in the branches.
Those were theirs—the ones they'd thrown up together.
She raised a slender finger, pointing upward. "Help me get that down."
Her voice was barely above a whisper, flat and emotionless.
"Of course, Mrs. Harrison." Charlie didn't dare ask questions. He quickly found a long stick and carefully hooked down the pair of wish pods for her.
She caught them in her outstretched hands.
Charlie's phone rang.
Glancing at the caller ID, his heart leaped into his throat.
He quietly swiped to answer, then tried to cover. "Mrs. Harrison, it's freezing out here. Now that we have the ornaments, we should head back."
"Mrs. Harrison, you're still weak. The wind here is too harsh."
"Wait a moment." Emma began unwrapping the red wishing ball.
Her movements were deliberate, slow, her fingertips pale from the pressure.
"Charlie, have you ever been in love?"
He blinked, caught off guard. "No."
She continued her careful work, her voice drifting away on the cold wind.
"Most of the time, we don't fall in love with the other person—we fall in love with our own love."
"One-sided sacrifice isn't love, it's selfishness, because you rob the other person of the chance to stand beside you."
Charlie didn't understand, but something in his chest ached.
On the other end of the phone, that flat tone was devastating.
The wishing ball finally opened.
Two neatly folded pieces of paper tumbled out.
The first bore his characteristically sharp handwriting: [May my wife Emma find peace, prosperity, and lifelong happiness.]
The second: [May my wife and I meet again in the next life.]
Emma's eyes seemed pierced by those words. Her smile was heartbreaking.
"This life isn't even over yet, and he's already making plans for the next. How presumptuous."
She crushed the papers in her palm, then turned to look at the tree full of other ornaments.
"Take down the rest too."
"What?"
But Charlie didn't dare disobey. One by one, he brought down every ornament carrying someone's blessing.
Emma sat on the stone bench, slowly unwrapping each one.
Sure enough—these were from their wedding, wishes thrown by guests for Mr. and Mrs. Harrison.
[May Mr. and Mrs. Harrison be blessed with children soon.]
[Wishing you a perfect union, a hundred years of happiness.]
[May your love last forever, may you never part.]
She collected each slip of paper, building a thick pile in front of her.
She held out her hand to Charlie. "Lighter."
Charlie hesitated before handing it over.
A pale blue flame flickered to life.
She touched the papers to the fire, watching those blessings transform into black ash that scattered on the wind.
Charlie cried out in shock. "Mrs. Harrison, what are you..."
She stared at the small flame, her eyes heavy with unshakeable sorrow.
"Nicholas, you don't matter."
"You're just a mistake in my life, not my whole existence."
"In the next life, let's not meet again."
Each word was clear and calm.
The call timer kept ticking, but the heart listening was breaking.
They had no parting of the living, no separation by death—just no ending at all.
At that moment, snow began to fall.
Cold, white flakes drifted down. She reached out, catching a frozen crystal in her palm.
The snowflake melted instantly in her hand, becoming a drop of ice-cold water.
The gentle snow settled on her hair, her shoulders, quickly covering her in a thin layer of white.
She stood there like a soulless snow sculpture.
She turned and began walking back slowly. After just two steps, her body went limp and she collapsed straight down.
In the distance, two men approached.
The man in front was tall and imposing, his stride steady, while behind him a bodyguard held a large black umbrella.
"Emma."
His voice was deep and urgent as he felt his way forward and gathered the fallen figure into his arms.
The body in his embrace was like a block of ice that wouldn't warm, making his heart tremble violently.
This time, Emma burned with fever that came and went for days, leaving her delirious and weak.
She felt as though she'd been thrown into a giant steamer, her whole body scorching, heat radiating from her very bones.
For a full day and night.
Nicholas sat vigil beside the bed, touching her flushed cheeks, listening to her unconscious murmuring.
He regretted it.
He never should have let her face this alone.
He reached out, pulling that burning body into his arms and holding her tight.
She mumbled something incoherent, but her restless whimpers seared his heart.
That night, Emma groggily opened her eyes to see a blurred but familiar silhouette.
Instinctively, she called out.
"Nicholas..." Her voice was hoarse beyond recognition.
Thinking she was dreaming, she reached up and pulled him closer.
The man's body stiffened, then he used even more possessive force to lock her in his embrace.
He held her, kissed her.
Burning lips touched her forehead, her nose, finally her mouth.
He couldn't help but pin her beneath him, using his body to chase away the chill of her illness.
The next day, Emma woke to bright daylight in the familiar bedroom of the villa.
The fever had broken.
The clammy feeling was gone too—she felt clean and refreshed, as if she'd been bathed.
The air still held traces of a familiar, crisp scent.
She sat up, feeling weak, as if she'd had some wild dream.
Emma threw back the covers and went to the bathroom.
When she looked up and saw herself in the mirror, she froze completely.
Along her neck and collarbone, a pattern of purple and red marks stood out, vivid and intimate.
This hadn't been a dream.
He had come back!
When Charlie knocked and entered, Emma was already fully dressed.
He carried an elegant breakfast tray and a bag of clean clothes.
"Mrs. Harrison, how are you feeling today?"
Emma emerged with ice in her expression, her gaze cutting into him like a blade.
"Did you touch me?"
Charlie nearly dropped everything, the bag falling to the floor.
"Mrs. Harrison, you're mistaken! How would I dare do such a thing!"
He waved his hands frantically, his face gone white.
Emma's expression didn't soften—if anything, it grew colder.
"You took advantage while I was helpless." She pointed to her neck. "Look at what's on my neck."
Charlie's gaze swept over and his pupils contracted sharply as he blurted out.
"That was Mr. Harrison..."
The moment the words left his mouth, he wanted to bite off his tongue, quickly clamping both hands over his mouth.
"Take me to him."
Her voice was quiet but carried undeniable authority as she turned toward the stairs.
Charlie groaned inwardly.
He felt like he'd walked straight into Emma's trap, but he had no proof.
'Dear God, help me. I'm a dead man.'