Dying to Love You

Chapter 12 He Caged Her

　　When Emily was wheeled out of the operating room, her face was drained of all color. She didn't even know she had been pregnant. Just like that, her and James's child was gone.

　　She knew there was no future between her and James, but a child... that was a whole different story. The baby was innocent. She never imagined their child would come and leave without a sound.

　　The doctor said it was caused by an abortion pill, but she hadn't even known about the pregnancy—so how could she possibly have taken that kind of drug?

　　Emily wracked her brain, trying to think of anything she might've eaten or drunk. Nothing came to mind—nothing suspicious.

　　Wait... After she got nauseous from the chicken soup and threw up, Mrs. Armstrong had a servant bring her a glass of juice. Could that juice have been tampered with?

　　Just as that thought hit her, the door creaked open and James stepped inside slowly.

　　Emily instinctively glanced at his face. His expression was unreadable—calm on the surface, but cold as ice.

　　He walked over to the side of her bed, standing tall and detached, looking down at her. Emily had seen this man smile, even be gentle once. She'd seen him angry too. But she had never seen him like this—completely expressionless. That blank stare made her whole body tremble.

　　She didn't even know what she had done to piss him off. But she had this gut feeling—James wanted her dead.

　　Fear gripped her like a vice. Ignoring the IV still stuck in her hand, she bolted upright, then dropped to her knees with a thud.

　　“Mr. Mitchell! Please—just have mercy on me!”

　　James didn't move, barely blinking as he stared her down. Emily was shaking like a leaf. The needle had snapped, and blood trickled down her hand, but she didn't feel a thing. She just knelt there, pleading.

　　His eyes darkened, voice flat and devoid of emotion. “Emily... do you even realize you owe me two lives?”

　　“I'm sorry! I'm really, really sorry, Mr. Mitchell!” Emily couldn't think straight, didn't even defend herself—just kept apologizing over and over.

　　Watching her grovel, offering nothing more than apologies, James slowly raised his foot—and without hesitation, stomped hard on her injured hand. The pain was excruciating, but Emily bit her tongue, not daring to make a sound.

　　After what felt like forever, he finally lifted his foot and broke the silence again.

　　“You really want to run off with Alex, don't you?”

　　“No! I don't! I swear I don't!” she shook her head furiously.

　　“Really?” James raised an eyebrow. “Here's your shot. If you like him, if you wanna go with him, just say the word. I'll make it happen. I keep my promises.”

　　Emily's voice didn't waver. “No. I won't leave with Alex. I'd rather die.”

　　Her stubbornness softened something in his face—just a little. “Strange,” he muttered, “Alex seems pretty into you...”"I swear I'd never hurt Alex! Please, Mr. Mitchell, believe me. I'm not that kind of person!"

　　"And how am I supposed to believe that?"

　　"Send me away then. Somewhere far where no one can find me."

　　"Yeah? With today's tech, you really think Alex won't know where you are with just a few clicks?"

　　"Please, Mr. Mitchell, I really won't do anything to hurt him. I swear!"

　　"There's only one way I might believe you," James narrowed his eyes. "There's a prayer room in the backyard of my family's estate. You'll live there. Stay quiet, reflect. When I think you've changed, maybe then you can leave."

　　"Fine, I'll do it!" Without waiting another second, James spun around and stormed off.

　　People had thought he'd completely cut her off or done something even worse, but no one expected him to merely ruin her hands and let her be.

　　Grace and her mother were furious. As long as Emily was around, they couldn't sleep easy. Muttering and scheming, they cooked up something even more twisted.

　　After Emily was out of the hospital, she moved straight into the backyard prayer room. The place was nothing like the mansion in front—small and rundown—but oddly enough, she didn't mind it.

　　Honestly, as long as no one bothered her, spending her whole life there didn't sound all that bad.

　　Surprisingly, after settling in, her mood even lifted a bit. She meditated, ate vegetarian meals, and after more than a month, her body slowly healed.

　　Emily had always been pretty. After weeks of rest, she was starting to regain that porcelain-clean look she once had. A few times, she wandered the small garden beside the prayer room after dinner and bumped into James.

　　Each time, she'd spot him from afar and immediately turn around, hurrying back before he could see her.

　　She'd been too silent, too obedient. Even Mrs. Armstrong started softening up to her. She came by a few times to check in and even dropped off some chicken soup one evening.

　　Of all things, chicken soup was Emily's least favorite.

　　She didn't touch it. Just curled up fully dressed and laid down.

　　Her body was already aching from a beating earlier that day—old wounds hadn't even healed and new ones were already popping up. She dozed off quickly.

　　She was completely exhausted and caught in the middle of a rare, peaceful dream when suddenly, something heavy pressed against her chest. It was hard to breathe. Startled awake, she found a man crouched on top of her.

　　When she woke, he immediately slapped a hand over her mouth and started yanking at her clothes.

　　Thankfully, she had the habit of sleeping fully clothed under a blanket—an old reflex from jail. No matter how the man pulled, he couldn't get them off.

　　Emily jolted fully awake and started to thrash. She couldn't scream, his hand clamped tight over her mouth, so she clawed desperately at his face.

　　He grunted in pain and punched her hard in the head.

　　Everything went black. She passed out instantly.