Chapter 3 Escape

Emily woke to a searing pain between her legs.

The feverish heat from last night had faded, leaving only a bone-deep chill and an aching body that felt shattered. Her eyes snapped open to reveal an unfamiliar ceiling, heavy curtains, and the sleeping man beside her.

Memories from the previous night flooded back like a broken dam—the dizziness from being drugged, Roy's leering smile, her desperate barefoot escape, and then the uncontrolled entanglement in the bathroom, followed by passionate waves on the bed.

Emily's face flushed with embarrassment, shame and panic coiling around her heart like strangling vines.

She had actually slept with a complete stranger.

No, she needed to leave before he woke up.

Her evening gown had been torn to shreds by him, leaving Emily no choice but to put on Charles's clothes. Whatever this man would wear when he woke up was no longer her concern.

Outside the Johnson Villa, Emily was about to enter and confront Simon about why he would do this to her.

Just then, a coarse, revolting male voice reached her ears. "Simon, what the hell is this? You had Emily play me for a fool! I nearly broke myself chasing after her last night. You owe me an explanation!"

Simon's sycophantic laughter followed, tinged with appeasement. "Please calm down, Mr. Murphy. Emily is spoiled and doesn't know her place. Rest assured, tonight I'll personally deliver her to your bed to make amends. I'll make sure she behaves and doesn't dare cause any more trouble."

"That's more like it. Tell that little bitch Emily not to be ungrateful. Being chosen by me is her good fortune!"

"Yes, yes, of course, Mr. Murphy." Simon's voice grew increasingly subservient.

Emily couldn't hear the rest of the conversation.

She stood frozen, as if struck by lightning, her blood turning to ice. The tearing pain between her legs still lingered, but compared to the chill in her heart, it was nothing.

So it wasn't just Clara's scheme.

Her father had used her as a bargaining chip to please the powerful. The drug last night, the "apology" tonight—all carefully orchestrated parts of their plan.

She had thought that if she endured long enough, she could reclaim her mother's Mirage Fashion, could hold onto that last shred of hope.

But now, she realized she couldn't endure until then.

Emily bit her lip hard until she tasted blood, holding back her tears. She had already cried herself dry; all that remained was bone-chilling coldness and resolve.

She couldn't stay here.

Her life could no longer be controlled by the Johnson family.

...

The rage in Charles's brow had yet to dissipate. This drugging incident was clearly targeted at him. Whoever planned it had been ruthless, executing the timing flawlessly. If his assistant hadn't discovered it in time, the consequences would have been unthinkable.

His gaze fell on the dark red stain in the center of the sheets, now dried, his expression inscrutable.

Who was that woman?

Last night's memories were hazy. He remembered only her faint scent, the blue sapphire necklace that pressed against his skin, and her subtle, trembling resistance in his arms. He had never felt so out of control before, as if she were the only antidote to the wildness within him.

He had expected to question her when he woke, but never imagined she would run.

Not only had she run, but she had also...

Charles's gaze swept across the carpet. She'd taken his clothes?

He picked up his phone and called his assistant, Nathan Brown, his tone icy. "Find out who the woman was who entered my room last night."

Nathan hesitated briefly on the other end before responding promptly, "Yes, Mr. Windsor. There's a blind spot in the surveillance outside your private room, but there's footage from the hallway and elevator. I'll check immediately. Should we contain this information?"

"No need," Charles said flatly. "I want her complete profile. I want to know who she is."

He wanted to see exactly who this woman was—the one who dared to sneak into his room, leave without a word, and take his clothes in the process.

Nathan didn't dare delay. "Yes, Mr. Windsor. I'll get on it right away!"

After hanging up, Charles walked to the window and pulled open the heavy curtains. Morning sunlight flooded in, illuminating every corner of the room but failing to dispel the gloom in his eyes.

Charles had a feeling they wouldn't remain strangers who shared just one night.

His fingers tapped lightly against the window frame as his gaze drifted toward the skyline of high-rises in the distance, his eyes dark with contemplation.

He thought, 'That still unknown woman, you can't escape.'

Whether or not she could escape later, at least for now, Emily had successfully gotten away.

Simon could find her in any city in the country through his connections.

Her only option was to leave the country.

To get far away from this suffocating land, to a place they could never reach.

Emily slipped into her bedroom while the Johnson family wasn't paying attention. She stole her passport, visa, and a bank card her mother had left her with some private savings.

Just as she stuffed everything into her bag and turned to leave, the necklace around her neck caught in a gap in the wardrobe door. The clasp broke, and the delicate blue sapphire necklace, which the one her mother Scarlett had left her, fell onto the carpet.

Her heart clenched, and she instinctively bent to pick it up, but footsteps suddenly approached from outside the room.

"Damn it!"

Emily abandoned the necklace, grabbed her bag, and rushed to the window. She slid down the drainpipe to the ground and climbed over the wall again.

Only when she was seated in a taxi, watching the silhouette of the Johnson Villa recede in the distance, did she dare to look back. Her eyes immediately filled with tears.

That necklace was the last memento her mother Scarlett had left her.

But now, she didn't even have the courage to go back for it.