Chapter 33 Questioning

Chapter 33 Questioning

Sophie glanced at her, voice steady but laced with a cold distance. "My business is my own. I'll handle it."

That single sentence erected an invisible wall, cutting off anything else Emma might have said.

They sat in silence, the air in the car thick and suffocating, until the vehicle pulled up outside Sophie's apartment building.

Emma watched Sophie's figure disappear into the entrance, and the mask of concern and worry slid off her face like water. In its place came a cold, venomous smile.

She'd never let Sophie enjoy that freedom.

What she wanted was for Sophie to watch her claim the title of Mrs. Carter, to watch her sit in that position while Sophie clutched her bastard child in some dark corner, suffering for the rest of her miserable life.

The car glided smoothly into the underground garage of Emma's upscale apartment complex. She hit the brakes but didn't get out right away.

She leaned back in the seat, savoring the memory of Sophie's forced composure, of Samuel and Mireille—those two idiots—dancing like puppets on her strings. A sick thrill coursed through her.

Sophie was pregnant and didn't dare tell a soul.

She was still basking in that triumph when her phone rang, jarring her out of her thoughts.

Emma quickly adjusted her expression. By the time she answered, her voice had returned to its usual soft, vulnerable tone. "Aiden?"

"Ms. Roberts." Aiden's voice carried exhaustion but remained respectful. "Are you available right now? Mr. Carter just got back from the old estate, and he's… not in a good place. He's locked himself in the villa."

Emma's heart lurched. She pressed immediately. "What happened? Did they give him a hard time at the estate?"

"I'm not sure of the details, but he's been in a foul mood since he got back." Aiden's concern sounded genuine. "Ms. Roberts, I think… right now, you might be the only one who can get through to him."

The only one.

Those words were like honey, instantly soothing every trace of jealousy and unease churning inside her.

Maybe in some people's eyes, she was still the most important person in Sebastian's life.

Sophie? She was nothing. Just a pathetic creature carrying a baby she didn't even dare claim.

"I understand. I'll head over right away." Emma ended the call, her eyes gleaming with determination.

She returned to her apartment, barely pausing before heading straight to the bathroom and letting hot water wash away the chill and fatigue clinging to her skin.

She changed into the white silk slip dress Sebastian had once said made her look "pure." The smooth fabric clung to her skin, cool against her body.

Standing before the mirror, she deliberately skipped foundation, only smudging a faint reddish shadow at the corners of her eyes to make herself look like she'd been crying out of worry for him—a touch of unintentional fragility.

Once everything was perfect, she grabbed her bag, her heartbeat quickening. Like a general marching into battle, she drove straight to Sebastian's private villa.

The villa was silent, as if the air itself had solidified. Only the cold white light from the second-floor study broke the darkness.

Emma softened her footsteps and pushed open the half-closed study door.

Sebastian stood before the massive floor-to-ceiling window, his back to her, wearing only a black silk robe. His frame was tall and rigid, radiating an icy aloofness that kept the world at arm's length.

The air carried the faint scent of alcohol and a suffocating pressure.

Emma's heart skipped a beat—equal parts fascination and fear.

She drew a deep breath and spoke in her softest, most pitiful voice. "Sebastian, I heard from Aiden that you—"

Before she could finish, a shadow moved.

A powerful force clamped around her wrist. The world spun, and suddenly she was slammed against the cold wall.

The dull thud of impact reverberated through her back, pain shooting up her spine.

Emma let out a startled cry, but before she could process what was happening, his overwhelming presence engulfed her completely.

Sebastian braced one hand against the wall beside her head, trapping her between his body and the hard surface. His other hand gripped her chin, forcing her face up.

The sudden proximity froze Emma in place, followed immediately by a rush of wild elation.

This kind of rough, possessive aggression made her blood sing.

She thought this was him finally losing control after holding back for so long.

"Sebastian…" she murmured, eyes glistening with moisture, trying to respond with her most seductive expression.

But the heated kiss she anticipated never came.

The grip on her chin tightened abruptly, hard enough to make her bones ache.

Sebastian leaned down, his ice-blue eyes burning like cold flames in the dim light, fixed on her with no trace of desire—only scrutiny and frozen interrogation.

"I'm going to ask you one more time."

His voice was low, like a blade dipped in ice, each word cutting through the air between them.

"The woman in that hotel room with me that night—was it really you?"

All the color drained from Emma's face.

The question detonated in her mind like a bomb.

What did he know? Why was he suddenly suspicious?

Panic wrapped around her throat like invisible hands, choking her.

She stared into Sebastian's eyes—eyes that seemed to see through everything—and felt every lie, every pretense being stripped away.

No. She couldn't admit it.

Admitting it meant losing everything.

She forced herself to stay calm, nails digging into her palms, using the pain to maintain control.

Tears flooded her eyes instantly. She met his gaze, her voice trembling but filled with the hurt of being wrongly accused. "Sebastian… what are you saying? That night… if it wasn't me, then who was it?"

Her voice broke, each word dragged out painfully, as if his doubt were a knife plunging into her heart.

"Who else would have been there for you like that? How can you… how can you doubt me like this?"

Emma bit down hard, enduring the crushing weight of his presence, stubbornly repeating her claim.

"The woman that night was me."

Her eyes held no hesitation—only desperate, all-or-nothing resolve.

Sebastian stared at her, at that face full of wounded betrayal, and it looked like nothing more than a cheap performance.

His thumb traced slowly along her jawline. The texture was smooth, but it was nothing like the trembling softness burned into his memory.

The body remembered what words could lie about.

The scrutiny in Sebastian's eyes didn't fade. It only grew colder.

He released her, the sudden withdrawal of force making Emma stumble, nearly falling.

He turned away, picked up his phone from the desk, and dialed Aiden's number—not bothering to hide it from Emma still standing frozen behind him.

"Aiden." His voice was ice. "Send someone to pull every piece of surveillance footage from the hotel that night—hallways, elevators, everything. I want it now."