Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 108

“What did you delete?” Theodore’s brow furrowed as he walked over, dressed in a T–shirt and sweatpants, water still dripping from his hair.

Emma locked her phone with a studied calm. “Nothing important.”

He didn’t buy it. He held out his hand. “Give it here.”

“Theodore.” She kept her voice low, arguing quietly, “You don’t have the right to control who I talk to.”

“Oh, really?” He sat down, close enough that their shoulders brushed.

She could tell he was about to snatch the phone, so she shot to her feet, clutching it tightly and trying to make her escape. But he caught her around the waist, pulling her back down beside him.

“Theodore! I’m warning you, don’t start acting crazy!” Trapped in his arms, she could only tighten her grip on the phone and glare at him in warning.

Of course, Theodore knew her too well. They were at his grandmother’s house–she’d never cause a scene in front of her, never risk making his grandmother worry. Which meant, for once, he could get away with just about anything.

“Let me go!” She tried to break free, and when that didn’t work, she bit down on his shoulder–hard.

“Emma, are you part terrier or something?” he grunted, wincing, but stubbornly kept his arms locked around her. His hand brushed the phone.

She shot him a look: Let go, and I’ll stop.

He wasn’t having it. Instead, he tightened his grip on her waist and pressed his other hand to the back of her head, pulling her in for a kiss–her ear, her cheek.

She had no choice but to release her bite. Glancing anxiously toward the kitchen, she hissed, “Theodore, have you no shame?”

He caught her looking at the kitchen, but leaned in anyway, whispering against her lips, “And why should I be ashamed? Even if Grandma sees–so what? You’re my wife. What’s wrong with kissing my own wife?”

Emma had had enough. She slapped him, hard, finally breaking free–just as his hand snatched the phone from her loosened grip.

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But Theodore didn’t let go. Instead, he pinned her in place, holding the phone up to her

face to unlock it.

He scrolled through her WhatsApp messages, searching one thread after another. Finding nothing, he shot her a sharp glance and went straight to her contacts. He typed “Seb” and, sure enough, there was Sebastian–his WhatsApp name just “Seb.”

Theodore tossed the phone back to her, a cold laugh on his lips. “What did you delete–every single message? Not even a trace left, not even the friend request?”

Emma had wiped the chat. Sebastian had mentioned something about leaving the country, and she’d deleted the whole conversation in one swipe rather than bother picking through it.

“Speak,” Theodore growled.

Emma nodded.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” He leaned in, eyes narrowed and hostile.

“I deleted it. Yes, I did.” She met his eyes, calm and unflinching, not the slightest hint

of denial.

That only made him angrier. He was trying to keep it in, but she could see the fury flicker across his face, turning into a cold, derisive smile. “Deleted it, huh? And you’re this smug about it? What exactly did you delete?”

Emma just smiled, a little too sweet. “Don’t you think you’re being ridiculous? If I deleted it, obviously I didn’t want you to see it. So why are you asking me what I deleted? Do you really think I’d tell you?”

“You-” His chest rose and fell with barely contained rage.

He was used to being in control. Ever since Mr. Whitman had started his own company, he’d been unstoppable, always calling the shots, never

challenged–certainly never defied like this.

“Fine! You can be like this if you want!” He ground out the words. “If I don’t get done in by competitors, you’re going to be the death of me, Emma.”

He kept his voice low, almost a whisper, not wanting his grandmother to hear.

“I really… misjudged you.” Suddenly, he swept her up in his arms and strode toward

the door.

“Put me down! I’m not going home–I’m staying here with Grandma!” Emma hissed in his ear.

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Outside, he set her down, blocking her in with both arms braced on either side of the wall. “Now talk. Say it here. Louder. Grandma can’t hear you now.”

He needed to vent, she realized, needed to get this anger out one way or another.

But Emma just leaned back against the wall, composed. “I have nothing to say. That’s just how it is. Who I talk to, what we talk about–I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“Oh, so that’s how it is, Mrs. Whitman,” he snarled, jaw tight. “I must have raised a real

traitor.”

“Oh, here we go,” she thought, rolling her eyes. He was always so quick to act like he’d given her everything–good food, a roof over her head–and now she was betraying

him?

“Emmie! Theodore! Dinner’s ready!” Grandma called from inside, her footsteps approaching. “What are you two doing out there?”

Emma stayed leaning against the wall, Theodore’s arms still boxing her in. The moment Grandma’s voice reached them, he pulled her in for another tight hug and, before she could dodge, kissed her cheek.

Grandma stepped out just in time to catch the scene.

“Oh, don’t mind me!” she chuckled. “Dinner’s ready–I’ll go set the table.”

Once Grandma was out of sight, Theodore seized Emma’s arm, holding her tight. “You’ll see. Some things just aren’t up for debate.”

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