Chapter 97
Emily Windsor's POV
The following days, Lawrence treated the whole thing like a game.
Countless expensive luxury items streamed into the room in an endless parade.
Haute couture gowns, rare jewelry, limited-edition designer handbags—they practically filled half the bedroom.
I sat by the window, staring at those objects glittering coldly in the sunlight, feeling absolutely nothing.
Every single piece was stained with Luke's blood. Every single piece reminded me of my current humiliation.
When Lawrence pushed open the door, I was lost in thought, watching a bird fly past the window.
"Don't like them?" He surveyed the gift boxes I'd tossed carelessly into the corner, his tone laced with amusement.
I didn't answer. Didn't even lift my eyelids.
Lawrence wasn't angry. He walked over, leaned down with his hands braced against the windowsill, caging me in with his presence.
"Emily, my patience has limits." He reached out to touch my hair. I coldly dodged away.
His hand froze mid-air. Something dark flickered in his eyes before he turned sharply toward the door and barked: "Get in here!"
Several trembling servants shuffled in, heads bowed, clutching unopened jewelry boxes.
"Mr. Lowe..."
"This is what you picked out?" Lawrence's voice was low, yet it carried a chilling lethality. "Miss Windsor doesn't like them. That means your taste is abysmal. People with such poor judgment have no use for eyes."
The servants frantically begged for mercy.
I frowned and finally turned to look at him. "Lawrence, what the hell is wrong with you?"
He met my gaze, twisted satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "Oh? Finally willing to speak to me?"
He pulled out an elegant revolver from inside his jacket, spun it deftly around his finger, then aimed it without warning at one servant's forehead.
The muffled gunshot tore through the room.
The servant didn't even have time to scream before collapsing into a pool of blood, eyes wide open, frozen in death.
The thick stench of blood instantly saturated the air.
My pupils contracted violently. My body began trembling uncontrollably.
Psychopath. He was a complete psychopath.
Lawrence calmly moved the gun barrel to the second person's head, his expression utterly devoid of warmth.
"Don't..." My voice came out hoarse. I desperately suppressed my terror and grabbed his sleeve. "Stop."
Lawrence paused, turning his head to look at me, eyes brimming with triumphant delight.
"Beg me." He spoke softly, yet pressed the gun barrel forward another inch.
I stared at him, nails digging deep into my palms. In that moment, I finally understood what true despair felt like.
"Please... spare them."
I closed my eyes and bowed my head in humiliation.
Lawrence, I will make you pay for this debt in blood.
Lawrence's laughter echoed through the room, dripping with the cruelty of a victor.
He finally released the trembling servants, but that cold gun barrel remained like an invisible thorn lodged deep in my heart.
"Miss Windsor, you truly are a smart woman." His voice was soft, oozing with nauseating condescension. "Finally learning what it means to be pragmatic."
I didn't respond. Just clenched my fists tighter. Humiliation drowned me like a tidal wave. I knew this was only the beginning.
I was forced to wear those lavish gowns, drape myself in heavy jewelry, like a doll dressed up for display.
Lawrence was pleased with my compliance. He would sit on the sofa, casually sipping wine while admiring my forced beauty.
The greed and control in his eyes slithered over every inch of my exposed skin like a serpent's tongue.
"Emily," he said one evening before a banquet, sitting at the vanity watching the stylist meticulously arrange my hair, a sly smile playing on his lips. "What do you think Luke would say if he saw you like this?"
His words carried hidden meaning. My heart tightened.
I turned around, meeting his gaze directly, my eyes cold and unyielding.
"Lawrence, don't kid yourself." My voice was calm but resolute. "Luke won't take the bait."
Lawrence's wine glass tilted slightly, red liquid swirling dangerously against the rim.
He narrowed his eyes, peach-blossom gaze flickering with scrutiny. "Oh? Do you know something I don't?"
I gave a bitter smile but didn't answer.
Of course I knew.
I knew Luke's plan. Knew he wouldn't rashly reveal himself.
But I couldn't say anything. Would never say anything.
In front of Lawrence, I had to be the woman left in the dark—heartbroken and disillusioned by Luke's supposed "betrayal."
He studied me, doubt flashing briefly before being replaced by smug confidence.
"Doesn't matter." He chuckled, standing and walking over. He toyed with a strand of my hair, fingers brushing my ear. "Either way, you're mine now."
He turned and left, leaving me alone in the room, drowning in nauseating humiliation and boundless hatred.
The moment he was gone, I immediately pulled out the phone he'd "graciously" allowed me from the drawer.
With trembling fingers, I opened Jade's contact and sent a brief message: [How is Lily?]
Seconds later, the screen lit up with Jade's reply: [Lily's safe. She wants you to know—everything's going according to plan.]
Reading those words, my taut nerves finally relaxed.
Lily was safe. Luke's plan was still moving forward. My anxious heart finally settled back into place.
I quickly deleted the message, returned the phone to its spot, and took a deep breath, trying to calm my overwhelming relief.
Just then, the door burst open.
Lawrence had returned. His gaze was sharp as a hawk's, landing directly on the phone atop the vanity.
He strode forward, snatched it from me, eyes cold and suspicious as he stared at the screen, as if trying to uncover hidden secrets.
"Are you contacting Luke?" he demanded, voice thick with undisguised suspicion.
My heart sank, but I forced my expression to remain steady.
I suddenly grabbed the phone back from him, clutching it tightly to my chest, eyes blazing with fury and humiliation.
"Lawrence, what gives you the right to invade my privacy!" I snapped, every word edged with a lawyer's icy precision. "Who the hell do you think you are? Being your prisoner doesn't mean you can trample on my dignity!"
My reaction clearly caught him off guard.
He narrowed his eyes, gaze roaming over my face, as if weighing whether my anger was genuine.