Dying to Love You

Chapter 3 No One Believes Her

　　Emily kept shaking her head like mad, trying to break free from James's grip. The more she resisted, the angrier he got.

　　She used to jump into his bed every chance she got, and now she was suddenly acting all proud and cold? Like hell he'd let that slide. With a harsh pull, he yanked her pants down, shoved her up against the sink, and took her without a shred of mercy.

　　The whole time, Emily didn't make a sound—just clenched her teeth. That half a year in prison and the endless torment had taught her one thing: begging was useless. All she could do was grit her teeth and survive.

　　After James finally let her go, he stepped back. Emily slumped against the sink like a broken doll, pale as a ghost, her big eyes filled with nothing but despair.

　　Something about that look in her eyes ticked James off. He glared at her coldly and said, "After your parents' funeral, you're heading right back to prison. Got anything to say before you go?"

　　Just hearing the word “prison” made Emily flinch. She stared at him, terrified.

　　From the moment she first saw James, she had fallen hard. Chased after him with everything she had. But he never cared—his heart had always belonged to her cousin, Grace Armstrong.

　　Emily had been young, impulsive, and thought money could fix everything. She figured her cousin and aunt would bail on James for the right price, so she asked Grace to meet with her, looking to buy her off.

　　But before she could say a word, someone knocked her out cold. When she came to, she was on the floor, knife in hand, with Grace lying next to her in a pool of blood.

　　The cops bust in. Grace ended up in a coma and lost her baby. Emily was nailed as the killer and thrown in jail.

　　And the six months she spent locked up were hell. James had people “looking after” her—meaning she got beaten daily. They never touched her face, though, just the body, so her looks didn't change. But underneath her clothes, she was covered in bruises.

　　So many nights she coughed up blood, thinking she wouldn't make it. But somehow, day after day, she survived.

　　If her parents hadn't died, if their funeral hadn't granted her temporary release, she wouldn't even have seen sunlight again. And now… she was going back?

　　Just the thought of the pain, the beatings, the hopelessness—it terrified her.

　　She looked at James with panic in her eyes. “Please, I'm begging you! Mr. Mitchell, I didn't hurt my cousin. I swear, I didn't!”

　　How many times had she said these same words? Dozens? She was shaking all over. “I just asked her to meet. I didn't know she was pregnant… I got knocked out, and when I woke up, she was there, covered in blood. I didn't do it!”

　　James's face was unreadable. No matter what she said, he didn't believe her. If he did, he wouldn't have tossed her into prison to rot.

　　Emily's voice cracked. “I get it. It's all my fault. I shouldn't have fallen for you—I shouldn't have chased you like that. Just let me die, okay? Just don't send me back there... I'll do anything.”

　　“Death would be too kind for you,” James said coldly, then walked out the door without a second glance.

　　As he left, Emily lost all strength and fell to the floor.

　　He was never going to forgive her. Staying alive only meant more suffering. Going back to that place would break her all over again. Better to end it now.

　　She forced herself up and stumbled out of the bathroom.

　　She tore through the apartment, looking for something—anything—that could end it for her. But James must've known she'd try—there wasn't a single sharp object left.

　　So she headed for the balcony, planning to jump. Just as she climbed over, one of James's bodyguards spotted her.