Chapter 107
Emily Windsor's POV
Lawrence.
How could he possibly be here?
"What have you done to Mr. Rogers?" My voice shook uncontrollably, each word sounding as though dragged from a frozen tomb.
Lawrence rose slowly from the sofa, crossing the space between us with languid grace. Those beautiful, seductive eyes gleamed with the cruel amusement of a cat toying with a trapped mouse.
He didn't answer. Instead, he reached out, brushing ice-cold fingertips across my sweat-dampened temple.
"I warned you, Emily," he murmured, leaning close enough that his wine-scented breath ghosted hot against my ear—yet his words chilled me to the bone. "Luke's enemies aren't as... considerate as I am." His lips curved into a smile. "You never listen."
His hand clamped around my wrist with bone-crushing force, dragging me bodily from the room.
In the corridor, the guards who'd once served the Rogers family now stood in neat rows along the walls. As we passed, they bowed in unison, voices blending in perfect, obedient harmony: "Mr. Lowe."
My heart plummeted into a bottomless abyss.
Lawrence hauled me through the mansion and out into the rear garden.
Moonlight bathed the grounds in silver. Roses bloomed in lush profusion, their heavy perfume saturating the night air.
But there, in the center of that immaculately manicured lawn, Harold lay rigid and still. His eyes stared sightlessly at the sky, his face frozen in an eternal mask of terror and rage.
A ragged bullet wound gaped in his chest.
My stomach lurched violently. I wrenched free of Lawrence's grip and stumbled to the nearest column, dry-heaving until my throat burned.
"Disgusted?" Lawrence's voice floated from behind me, laced with sickening pleasure. "This is what happens to those who betray me, Emily. I gave him a chance. He chose not to take it."
I lifted my bloodless face to him, eyes burning red with unshed tears and molten hatred. "You're a monster, Lawrence! You'll burn in hell for this!"
My curse didn't anger him. If anything, it amused him.
He enjoyed seeing me like this—powerless, seething with loathing I couldn't act upon. It fed his twisted need for control.
Just then, a commotion erupted at the front gates. Blinding camera flashes strobed through the darkness as a swarm of reporters surged onto the property like sharks scenting blood, shouldering cameras and boom mics.
Lawrence's smile deepened.
He strode forward and, ignoring my struggles, pulled me roughly into his arms. He wrapped his coat around me in a mockery of protection, positioning us perfectly for the cameras.
Facing the frenzy of clicking shutters, he arranged his features into an expression of carefully calibrated relief and concern. His voice rang out, clear and commanding: "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. My fiancée Emily was abducted several days ago by criminals. I've been searching desperately for her." He tightened his hold on me, the picture of devotion. "Thank God I finally found her safe."
Trapped in his iron embrace, forced to listen to this shameless perversion of truth, I trembled with rage.
He'd murdered a man in cold blood, and now he was using Harold's corpse as a prop in his performance—casting himself as the devoted lover in a heartwarming rescue.
I was shoved into his car and driven back to that familiar gilded cage of a mansion.
When we entered the foyer, Anna—dressed in something barely qualifying as clothing—turned from where she'd been waiting. The moment she spotted me, territorial hackles raised, she sashayed over with a saccharine smile.
"Lawrence, you're finally back! I've been waiting forever." She pouted prettily, though her gaze sliced over me like a blade. When she took in my disheveled, filthy state, cruel satisfaction glittered in her eyes. "Oh my, if it isn't the famous Attorney Windsor. What happened? You look like you've been sleeping in a dumpster."
She clutched Lawrence's arm, pressing close. "Lawrence, look at her—she's absolutely disgusting. Probably been throwing herself at some other man while she was 'missing.'" Her voice turned venomous. "Women like her need to be taught obedience. Why don't you let me handle her? I promise I'll make her... cooperative."
The amusement drained from Lawrence's face like water from a broken glass.
He shoved Anna away without ceremony, his expression glacial. "When did I give you permission to touch what's mine?"
His voice was quiet—which made it all the more terrifying. "Anna, mind your place. If you go near her again, I won't hesitate to erase you from New York permanently."
Anna's face went chalk-white. She stared at him in disbelief, shot me one last poisonous glare, then fled upstairs on wobbling heels.
Two bodyguards escorted me back to the second-floor bedroom. The encrypted phone—my last lifeline—was confiscated without mercy.
My final thread of hope, severed.
The next morning, a servant summoned me downstairs for breakfast.
Lawrence already occupied the head of the table, methodically slicing a perfectly cooked egg. He seemed to be in excellent spirits—he even looked up and graced me with something approximating a tender smile.
I sat across from him, expression blank, unable to force down a single bite.
The television in the adjacent living room played the morning news. The anchor's crisp, professional voice echoed through the quiet dining room.
"Breaking news this morning: At approximately 3 AM, a massive explosion rocked the inpatient wing of St. Mary's Private Hospital on the east side. The blaze was extensive, resulting in multiple casualties. Authorities are still investigating the cause..."
St. Mary's Hospital.
The world exploded inside my skull.
That was where Lily had hidden Luke.
The milk glass slipped from my nerveless fingers and shattered against the marble floor, white liquid pooling among glittering shards.
I jerked my head up, staring at Lawrence.
He'd paused mid-cut, watching me. Those smiling eyes drank in my reaction with connoisseur's appreciation.
He was savoring the terror, the despair, the utter devastation painted across my face.
"Yes, Emily. It was me." Lawrence set down his silverware and dabbed his lips with his napkin, unhurried. Those deceptively warm eyes had become twin abysses, reflecting my ghostly pallor. "I've known about your little conspiracy with Lily for quite some time. Harold? Just bait. A test to see what you'd do."
He leaned back, radiating smug satisfaction. "I let you escape. I wanted to see where you'd lead me—where you and Lily had stashed that sewer rat Luke." His smile sharpened to a cruel edge. "You were perfect, Emily. Like a carrier pigeon, no matter how far you flew, you always circled back... right to his hiding place."
Each word branded itself into my heart like a red-hot iron.
So my careful planning, my desperate gambit—all of it had been nothing but pieces moving across his chessboard.
I had personally delivered Luke's location to this devil's blade.
"Ah—!"
A scream tore from my throat.