Dying to Love You

Chapter 8 The Trap Was Waiting

　　James and Grace stepped into Emily's hospital room, only to see her lying silently on the bed, cheeks flushed and eyes tightly shut.

　　A nurse was setting up an IV drip. James frowned. “What's going on?”

　　“Mr. Mitchell, Miss Carter's running a high fever, 40 degrees. We're giving her an IV to bring it down.”

　　“Forty? That serious?” Grace looked skeptical. No way Emily was really sick—she was probably faking just to dodge an apology.

　　Keeping her face concerned, Grace walked over and gently reached for Emily's hand. The intense heat from it confirmed the fever was real. Still, behind her sympathetic mask, she was gritting her teeth. “Serves you right, you witch.”

　　Even as she silently cursed, her expression stayed soft. She tucked the blanket around Emily with exaggerated care—only to spot fresh kiss marks peeking out from her neck.

　　Her heart skipped. That kind of mark was clearly new. Don't tell me…

　　She glanced at James, who was still staring at Emily, distracted and unreadable.

　　Then it clicked. It had to be James.

　　That slut—she didn't just survive, she climbed into James's bed? Grace was practically shaking with rage.

　　Emily ended up staying in the hospital for two whole weeks before the fever finally broke. She lost so much weight she looked like a shadow of her former self.

　　Maybe because of that, James didn't push her to apologize to Grace. He just had the housekeeper bring her back to the Mitchell estate.

　　Emily followed the housekeeper inside with slow, robotic steps. In the sitting room, a crowd was already gathered—Mr. Mitchell, Mrs. Armstrong, and James, who had his arm wrapped lovingly around Grace's waist.

　　Seeing Emily walk in, the smile on James's face faded. His tone was cold. “Grace is kind enough to let go of what you did. Since you've got no family, you can stay here for now. But hear me out—get your act together and behave. I don't want to see a repeat of any of your past nonsense, got it?”

　　“Yes, Mr. Mitchell,” Emily mumbled, head lowered. Honestly, she didn't want to move in at all.

　　Watching her frail form, Mr. Mitchell sighed. “Take Miss Carter to her room,” he instructed the staff.

　　“I'll take her!” Grace jumped up and cheerfully walked over. She looped her arm around Emily's like they were best friends. “Come on, Emily. This way.”

　　Emily flinched under her touch—it felt more like getting coiled by a snake. She wanted to shake Grace off, but James was right there watching. She had no choice and let herself be dragged upstairs.

　　The second the door closed, Grace's smile vanished. Her eyes were full of disgust. “Emily, why aren't you dead yet?”

　　Emily stood there silently, not reacting.

　　Grace narrowed her eyes. “Let me warn you: stay in your lane. Don't pull any of that fake innocent crap again. If I so much as catch you trying anything—”

　　“I understand,” Emily said softly, still not looking up. “Don't worry, cousin. It won't happen again.”

　　Seeing her like this—meek and quiet, completely stripped of her former pride—Grace almost felt frustrated. It was like punching a pillow.

　　Looked like the girl had grown a brain. Getting rid of her wouldn't be that easy anymore. Fine—Grace would let her be for now. There'd be time to deal with her later.