Chapter 117
Emily Windsor's POV
Lawrence's face darkened ominously.
He suddenly grabbed my wrist, his grip crushing as if he wanted to pulverize my bones, and dragged me away.
"Emily, I'm warning you—don't you dare leave my sight tonight." He lowered his voice, each word squeezed through gritted teeth, dripping with visceral menace.
I stumbled from his rough pull, staggering behind him. The grief in my heart transformed into an extreme calm. I pulled my lips into a cold smile that nearly tore at the corners of my mouth. "Lawrence, isn't this exactly why you brought me here?"
His steps halted abruptly. He turned to look at me.
"Using a borrowed knife to kill." I met his dark gaze, enunciating each word with crystalline clarity. "Dragging me—this target of everyone's hatred—in front of your pack of enemies, letting them unleash their fury on me, so you can legitimately eliminate your rivals. You've calculated this perfectly."
"I haven't!" he snapped defensively, a flash of exposed irritation in his eyes. "I just wanted everyone to know you're mine!"
"Really?" I asked softly, my tone devoid of belief, filled only with numb indifference. "But I don't care."
My apathy wounded him more than any violent resistance could. Lawrence's expression instantly darkened further. He glared at me, his chest heaving violently, like an enraged beast with nowhere to vent its fury.
Just then, a butler-like figure hurried over and whispered something in Lawrence's ear.
Lawrence's brow furrowed deeply with impatience. He waved the man away dismissively, then turned to me, his eyes brimming with possessiveness and warning so intense they seemed to solidify.
He ultimately left with the butler, but not before calling Anna over.
"Watch her." Lawrence issued a cold command to Anna, his eyes warning her like an owner disciplining a disobedient pet.
Anna's body stiffened almost imperceptibly, then she plastered on that saccharine smile and nodded obediently.
The vast terrace now held only the two of us.
The night wind blew more fiercely. The thin gown I wore offered no defense against the bone-piercing cold.
Lily was dead. Mr. Rogers was dead. All my escape routes had been severed.
Anna had become the last piece of driftwood I could grasp before sinking to the ocean floor.
I lunged forward and seized her arm, gripping so hard she winced in pain.
I stared at her intently, like a drowning person clutching at their final lifeline, my voice hoarse with urgency. "Anna, take me away—get me out of here right now!"
Anna was startled by my near-frantic state. She tried frantically to shake off my hand, her eyes darting around in panic, terrified someone might see us.
"Are you insane? This place is crawling with Lowe family members—how am I supposed to get you out?" she hissed, her voice filled with alarm.
"Didn't you arrange a cargo ship? Take me there now!" My nails nearly dug into her flesh, my eyes burning with desperate determination. "This is our only chance! Once Lawrence comes back, it'll be too late!"
"I can't do it!" Anna wrenched her arm free and stumbled backward several steps, putting a safe distance between us.
She looked at me, her beautiful face written with fear and retreat.
The flickering flame of hope was ruthlessly extinguished by her cold refusal.
I lost control. All the despair, grief, rage, and unwillingness compressed in my chest exploded in that moment.
I advanced toward her step by step, my voice trembling uncontrollably, each word requiring every ounce of my strength.
"Why?"
Anna's expression changed. She crossed her arms and took another step back, the fear in her eyes quickly replaced by resentment.
"Why are you losing it on me?" she said in a sharp, lowered voice, clearly offended. "Look around! There's a bodyguard in black every ten feet—in the corridors, the gardens, the parking lot—they're all Lawrence's men! You want me to help you escape? How? By flying?"
She pointed toward the brightly lit courtyard below the terrace, where several patrolling guards walked back and forth along fixed routes, their walkie-talkies crackling with static.
"I'm helping you because you promised to leave and never come back." Anna's voice carried suppressed anger. "Not so you could drag me to my death! If you get caught, Lawrence will suspect me first. What am I supposed to do then?"
Listening to her words, my chest tightened painfully.
She was right. This estate was an impenetrable web. Lawrence's parting look had said it all—he was guarding against me.
But I couldn't wait any longer.
The news of Lily's death was like a dull blade pressed against my throat. Every second I remained, that blade sank deeper into my flesh.
"Then I'll go by myself." I released her and turned toward the terrace's side door.
Anna grabbed my wrist with surprising force.
"Stop right there!" She spoke through clenched teeth, her voice nearly strangled. "If you rush out looking like this, you won't make it to the front gate before they pin you to the ground! Then Lawrence will know you tried to escape, and he'll lock you in that villa's basement. You'll never see sunlight again for the rest of your life!"
I froze in place, my arm aching from her grip.
Her words were like ice water dousing my fevered mind—cruel, but sobering.
Anna stared at me hard, her chest heaving violently as if making a difficult decision.
Finally, she released my wrist and quickly pulled out her phone, scrolling to a number and dialing.
The phone rang twice before connecting. She turned away slightly, speaking in a voice I could barely hear, then hung up.
"I have a friend on tonight's logistics team." She turned to face me, her expression complicated. "He can take you out through the back kitchen's cargo corridor, but you'll need to change clothes and pose as service staff to get out."
I didn't hesitate.
"Let's go."
Anna led me through the terrace's side door into a narrow service corridor reserved for servants and staff. The lighting was dim, and faded fire safety signs hung on the walls.
I practically jogged behind her in those ill-fitting heels.
At the end of the corridor stood a rust-stained iron door. Anna stopped and knocked three times.
The door opened from inside, and a wave of kitchen grease and detergent wafted out.
A man stood behind the door.
He was heavily built with extraordinarily broad shoulders, wearing a black work uniform with sleeves rolled to his forearms, revealing a thick arm tattooed with a serpent motif.
A scar ran from his brow bone to his cheekbone, looking particularly menacing under the yellow lighting.
His gaze landed on me, slowly scanning from top to bottom.